I knew how it felt to be ignored by my mother and I felt sorry for Uncle Frank. But I knew better than to say anything to my mother. No one else said anything to her either. I figured that whatever he’d done must have been pretty bad—either that or she had finally given up on him the way she often threatened to do with me.
As much as Sonora was a blessing to me, it was a nightmare for my mother. She had planned on us staying with Uncle Forrest and Aunt Opal just long enough for her to get a job. Unfortunately, there were no jobs in this little town—that is, unless you were a miner or a lumberjack.
With her movie star looks, charm, and charisma, my mother could sell snow to a snowman. So, in desperation, she started selling Avon cosmetics door to door. Fortunately, it didn’t snow again while we were there, so at least she didn’t have to contend with that. She’d get all dressed up—her usual routine, with full makeup, jewelry, and high heels—and drag herself and her cosmetics case up and down the hills of Sonora, knocking on doors and selling her wares. It must have been quite a surprise for the housewives of Sonora when they opened their front doors and found such a glamorous woman standing on the other side. But the houses were few and far between, and soon my mother was exhausted from climbing the hills.
She was unwilling to inconvenience Uncle Forrest for very long, so after about a month she decided we needed to move to Ceres, a little town down in the valley about fifty miles from Sonora, where she thought she’d be more likely to find work and where the weather was warmer. I was heartbroken once again. I loved living with my aunt and uncles and didn’t want to leave them. And I didn’t want to leave that warm, cheerful home.
Momma couldn’t afford to rent an apartment or house yet, so we moved in with Forrest and Opal’s daughter, my cousin Joanne. The story went that Uncle Forrest had married Opal when she was pregnant by another man. My mother had always been impressed that Forrest would do that—raise another man’s child as his own. He adored Joanne, and Momma said he had spoiled her.
Joanne had gotten married very young—I think it was at the age of sixteen—and although she was only in her early twenties, she already had four children. Her oldest, Donny, was a couple of years younger than me. Then there was Sherry, the apple of Aunt Opal’s eye, and Linda, who was about two years old. Lee Ann was about six months old. To say that Joanne had her hands full was an understatement.
She and her husband, Keith, a small, short man who compensated for his size by being a tyrant, lived with their gaggle of kids in a suburban neighborhood where there were lots of other kids running around. Every morning, right after our breakfast of Kix or Sugar Smacks or some other sugary cereal, we were sent outside to play until lunch. I loved being around so many kids because there was always someone to play with.
Joanne adored my mother. She always talked about how glamorous and sophisticated she was and how she wished she could be just like her. It was because of this admiration that she’d invited us to stay with them in their little three-bedroom tract home. Momma slept on the couch, I slept on the floor.
Joanne always seemed to compete with me for my mother’s attention. She often interrupted me when I was trying to talk to her. If I came into the kitchen to ask Momma something or just to be near her, Joanne would shoo me away to go play with the other kids. She took on an air of impatience with me, even disdain, treating me more like a younger sibling than the daughter of a beloved aunt.
Donny didn’t seem to welcome me either, and I didn’t blame him. I was just another girl to put up with. But Sherry was always sweet to me and I adored Linda, the two-year-old, who I carried around like she was my own child. Linda reminded me of a little Pam with her big, dark eyes and dark brown bob.
Donny turned out to be a real bully—he taunted me constantly. Sometimes, when we were playing in the front yard, he’d run by me and push me for no apparent reason. Other times, when he was playing softball in the street with the other boys in the neighborhood, he’d yell, “Hey, Beverly, why are you so ugly?” or “Hey, stupid!”
At night, when we were all crammed into the little living room watching TV, I’d look up to see him glaring at me for no apparent reason. I never complained to my mother or to Joanne, though; I knew we were intruding on his territory, and besides, I couldn’t afford to make waves.
My mother hated it that she had finally been forced to accept someone’s charity. She was so uncomfortable with the situation that she spent every moment when she was back from selling Avon products trying to help Joanne in the kitchen or with the kids.
One evening, after we had been at Joanne’s for about six weeks, my mother came home a little later than usual. Along with her Avon case, she was carrying a bag of groceries and a six-pack of Pepsi-Colas. All us kids spotted the large bottles of cola and squealed with delight. Joanne couldn’t afford such luxuries as Pepsi, so we mostly lived on Kool-Aid.
Donny and Sherry each walked over to the counter, where the Pepsis
