We never saw Kay again. Miss Oldenburg finally told us that her family had come and taken her home. We were never told where.
I wanted to go home too. I lived for the day. But at the same time, I didn’t want to go into labor because I still couldn’t bring myself to sign the adoption papers, and I knew I couldn’t take my baby home.
At over a hundred degrees in the shade on Labor Day, the heat was murderous. Miss Oldenburg excused us from chores when our due dates were two to three weeks away, so thankfully I got to abandon my latest job, weeding the flower beds.
With all the other girl slaving away at chores, I was bored with nothing to do all day and anxious because I hadn’t heard from Mama in almost a month. Still forbidden to make a call, I waited until Miss Oldenburg was out to use one of the two house phones.
Carmen answered. When she heard my voice, the first thing she said was, “This isn’t a good time to talk.”
“Why?”
“It’s just not. I’m getting ready to go out.”
“Let me speak with Mama.”
A long silence, then, “She’s not here. She and Aunt Hattie are . . . not here.”
“Aunt Hattie is still visiting us?”
“Yeah. She was having so much fun socializing with all her old friends, she decided she’d stay on.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
“How can I come home with her still there?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet.”
I was astounded at what she was telling me. On top of that, she sounded remote and not the least bit glad to hear from me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
Her voice came back with a ring of false gaiety. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. You just sound odd.”
“When are you having the baby?”
“Not till September thirteenth.”
“That’s a Friday!” she said. “I’m staring straight at the calendar. You can’t have the baby on Friday the thirteenth. It’s bad luck.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” I said under my breath. “Have you seen Farrel lately?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean? You’ve either seen him or not.”
“I’ve seen him around, but we haven’t been out. You asked me not to go with him, didn’t you? Well, I’m doing what you asked.”
“Has he asked you out?”
“Look, Julie, this discussion is ridiculous. When you get home, you can work things out with him yourself. Leave me alone about it, okay?”
If she had slapped my face, I couldn’t have been more stunned.
“Have Mama call me the minute she gets home, will you?” I said.
“I’ll deliver the message. I can’t guarantee she’ll call.”
“Why not, in heaven’s name?”
“I’ve got to go, Julie. Be good. I hope everything goes well for you when the baby comes.”
I hung up, more despondent than ever. Anxiety gnawed at me. Something was wrong. I knew it. I wanted to scream and throw things. I was trapped out here in this house of hell, about to have a baby at only seventeen years old, and I couldn’t even talk to my mother.
Marty found me sitting alone in the rec room, tapping out a song of Elvis’s with my fingers and staring glassy-eyed at nothing while I waited for Mama to call. Marty urged me to help her in the kitchen, which I did, and she suggested we go out for a walk after dinner.
“We haven’t been to the newsstand in a week or so,” she said. “Let’s go buy your hometown newspaper. Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”
“Mama should have called by now. I’m afraid she’ll call while we’re gone.”
“Oldenburg’s back. She wouldn’t let you talk to her anyway.”
“She wouldn’t dare tell my mother she can’t talk to me,” I said.
But by the time dinner was over, I couldn’t bear waiting around any longer. With my nerves still edgy, I nonetheless grabbed a wedding ring and left with Marty on our walk.
“I don’t believe Carmen gave her my message,” I said as we waddled along.
Marty frowned. “Why wouldn’t she?”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine, unless Aunt Hattie was always around and she didn’t get an opportunity. When we were talking, I got the distinct feeling something was wrong.”
“What did she say to make you think that?”
“Not anything, really. I just read between the lines.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” Marty said, squeezing my hand. “Your mother would have contacted Miss Oldenburg if something was wrong.”
“One thing I know for a fact. Mama would have called me back, if Carmen had told her.”
“Maybe she hasn’t had a chance yet,” Marty said.
“With the baby so close to arriving, she’d make a chance. I just know she would have called if she’d gotten the message. I can’t explain it, but I have one of those nauseating premonitions I always get when something is wrong.”
At the little newsstand, I headed straight for the El Dorado Daily News.
The skinny man behind the counter began his litany, “You read, you—”
“I know, I know,” I shouted. “You read, you pay. We’ve got it down pat now. You can save your breath.”
He glowered at me from beneath lowered lids. He still needed a shave, only worse than usual, and his hair had grown below his earlobes.
I tried biting my lip to keep from letting loose with my rude remark, but it didn’t work.
“What have you heard about the barbers’ strike?” I said, giving him a snide smile as I slapped a dime down on the counter.
His jaw went slack before fury ignited his eyes.
“Get outta here, both of you! Those dime store rings don’t fool me, you pregnant whores.”
Marty and I waddled as fast as we could back out onto the sidewalk, howling with laughter.
“Good for you,” she cried, clapping her hands.
“I’m surprised he got it,” I said.
At the diner, we found a booth and squeezed in. I pushed the table toward her to make room for my belly.
“Don’t do that. You’ll squash my baby. I’m as big as you are.”
“Sorry. I’m so squeezed in here I can barely breathe.”
“Take small breaths,” she said with a grin.
We each ordered a coke, all we could afford, and I unfolded the paper to read while we waited. Marty reached across the table.
“Reading your hometown newspaper all summer has gotten me hooked. I can hardly wait to see what’s in the Society Section today. I bet I know everything there is to know about the Junior League ladies, the DAR members, the PTA, which lady gave the most elaborate tea this summer, and who took the kids to Europe on the grand tour.”
“You forgot the United Daughters of the Confederacy,” I said, “and don’t forget who attended what piano recitals, which church is having a supper this Sunday, and what’s being served at the county fair food booths.”
The thought of the Union County Fair made my throat ache with homesickness.
“Every year, each elementary school has a food booth,” I told Marty. “There’s a big competition between them to see who can make the most money at their booth. Hugh Goodwin always wins. They make fabulous chili.”
The front page of the news section announced that the Rialto Theatre would be getting Elvis’s movie Jailhouse Rock as soon as it was released. The story went on about how the Southern boy had made good after playing concerts right there in town before he hit the top.
I turned to page two, but as my eyes flicked over the paper searching for the continuation of the story about Elvis, they came to rest on the Obituary column. At first I thought I must be seeing things. The top of the column in bold type read “Elizabeth Lawrence Morgan.”
The letters danced before my eyes. It couldn’t be true! Not Mama! There must be some mistake.
“Marty!” I said. “My mama’s dead!”
Marty looked up, her eyes wide with shock. “What?”
“She’s dead! The paper has my mother’s obituary in it! My mama’s dead!”
“She can’t be!”
“You girls need to keep it down,” the waitress said, setting icy cokes in front of us.
“My mama,” I said, barely able to sound out the words. “She’s dead.”
“Give me that!” Marty said, snatching the paper. “Which one is it?’
Marty did not know my last name.
“The first one.”
“Elizabeth Lawrence Morgan?”
I nodded, numb with shock and still not able to believe it.
“Oh my God.” Marty read, “‘Departed this earthly life on Sunday, September first, after a brief illness.’ That was yesterday.”
I clawed my thighs through my cotton skirt.
“No one even called me to tell me she was sick! And on the phone today, Carmen didn’t say a word. Not that Mama’d been sick or that she had died. Oh God, it can’t be true!”
“Who else knew you were here?”
“Only Carmen and her mother, and she’s in London. Why in God’s name didn’t Carmen tell me?”
“Calm down, Julie. Let me read the rest. I still can’t believe it’s really your mom.” Drawing a quick breath, she continued, “Born December 11, 1914.”
“That’s Mama’s birthday! It is her! She’s dead, Marty. My mother is dead.”
A rigor ran through me.
“You’re shaking. Take it easy,” Marty said, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. “You’ll traumatize the baby.”
“It can’t be true,” I cried. “What did she die of? Does it say?”
Marty scanned the column. “No, just that business about a brief illness.”
“She’s dead, Marty. My mama’s dead.” I broke down, unable to control the tears.
Marty picked up the glass and held it out to me. “Here, take a sip of your coke.”
As I raised it to my lips, it slipped through my fingers and spilled all over the table. Coke and ice cubes splashed on my maternity top and my skirt. I pushed myself out of the booth.
“I’ve got to get out of here!”
The waitress came running with rags and a mop, but we shoved past her and headed for the door. The man at the cash register yelled at us. Marty threw a dollar bill on the counter.
“Wait! Don’t you want your change?” he called.
Neither of us broke our stampede out the door to answer.
Once outside and walking as fast as I could back toward Happiness House, I said, “I’ve got to get home, but I can’t! Everyone in town would find out about the baby. When is the service? Did the paper say?”
“I didn’t get that far.”
Stopping right there in the middle of the sidewalk, she flipped back to the Obituary Section and read aloud.
“‘Services will be held at ten A.M. on Thursday, September fifth, at the First Methodist Church, 201 South Hill Avenue. Interment will follow in Arlington Memorial Cemetery.’”
Tears streamed down my face. Over and over my brain repeated, “My mama’s dead! She’s dead!” But my mind refused to accept it.
My body did not refuse, however. We barely made it inside the door of the home when I felt liquid running down my legs. The next instant, I doubled over in pain.