Daddy brought Mama home the day before the Fourth of July. Between Ray and me and with a lot of help from Aunt Carrie, we’d cleaned the house as best we could so Mama wouldn’t have to worry about it for a good while yet. We’d even made a cake. Vanilla with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. Mama’s favorite.
When I heard the rumble of Daddy’s truck I felt sick with worry. It would have been horrible if she came back worse than she’d left. Or if, like I’d seen in a movie, they’d electric-shocked the sense right out of her head. And I worried she’d be home for a day or two just to take off again, making us feel the loss of her all over again.
Ray had run out to meet them, in case they needed him to carry anything.
As for me, I stood in the middle of the living room, still as could be so as not to wrinkle my dress or mess my hair. I wanted to look the perfect lady for Mama. I wanted to make her proud of me. And I did all I could not to sneak a peek out the living room window at her. I wanted my first look of her to be when she stepped inside.
“Go on in, sugar,” Daddy said.
I shut my eyes like I was hoping to get a surprise.
Mama had worn hard-soled shoes that day. They clipped and clapped against the wood floor. Lavender-scented powder and the feeling of a body close to me made me open my eyes.
Mama stood right in front of me, her real smile spread across her face.
“You’ve grown another inch,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what a beauty you’re becoming.”
She put her hands on my shoulders. How warm she felt and how near. I reached my arms around her waist, she wrapped her hands around my head, feeling of my hair and kissing the top of my head.
Mama was home.
She tucked me into bed that night. It’d been so long since she had, I didn’t know what to do with myself. When she came in, I was still sitting up and looking out the window at the woods, trying to see the tip-top of the twisted tree through all the branches heavy with leaves.
“You want to say your prayers?” Mama asked, sitting sideways on the edge of my bed.
I shrugged.
“Don’t you say prayers anymore?” she asked.
“Not the rhyming ones.”
“Oh. I guess you’re too old for them.”
“Maybe.”
She turned her eyes to her lap, smoothing the flowered fabric against her thighs.
“Pearl, I did you wrong,” she said.
“Mama—”
“No. I did.” She swallowed. “I put the blame on you because it was too heavy for me to bear.”
I waited for her to go on, not understanding what it was she was getting at. It took her a little while, she swallowed and sighed and brushed a tear out from under her eye.
“I should have been the one to come after you,” she said. “The day of the big duster. But I … I told Beanie to holler out for you. I told her to find you. I never expected her to get lost.”
I felt the sting in my eyes and I tried to fight the crying, but I didn’t think I’d win.
“I thought it was just a normal one,” she said. “I didn’t know. Still, I never should have sent her.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“It should have been me,” she said, lifting a hand to hold her head. “She would still be alive.”
I wrapped my arms around my bent knees, digging my nails into the skin of my arms to remind myself not to cry.
“And I tried finding every way I could to blame you,” she went on. “I told myself if you never went off, she’d be all right. If I could blame you, I’d be able to live with myself. But I couldn’t do it and it made me so angry.”
“Mama, don’t.”
“It was my fault, Pearl.” She shook her head. “Mine. I thought if I left I could forget about Beanie. I could forget I’d ever had a family at all. I could start over.”
I wanted to beg her to stop, not to go on. It was too much. But I found I couldn’t hardly open my mouth, let alone form the words.
“But I couldn’t.” She gasped, holding a hand over her mouth. “All I could see was Beanie. And you. The way you looked at me after I slapped you. You were so scared. And I hate myself for that.”
She shook and sucked in shallow breaths.
“I never wanted to be like my mother,” she said. “I never wanted to do to you what she did to me. But I did. And I can never hope that you might forgive me.”
I couldn’t hold back. Not anymore. I moved so I was close to Mama and put my arms around her, let her rest her head on my shoulder, held her while she shook.
“I forgive you, Mama,” I whispered, hoping it was loud enough she could hear it.
“I don’t know why you ever would.”
“You’re my mama.”
It was all I could think to say.
By the way she held me tighter, I thought it was right.