“Now Momma,” I said. “Don’t you think of any of that. This is about money. Remember how worried you are about money? That’s why you’re here.”
Momma’s arms loosened a little. Then she pressed her dry lips to my cheek. Up close like this I could see tiny wrinkles near her eyes, near her lips. Her breath was shaky on my face.
“I remember,” she said. She squeezed her eyes closed. “I can do this.” Her fingers shook so that when she reached for her necklace I didn’t think she’d catch hold of it. But she did. And as soon as she touched the small heart she said, “I can do this,” again. Under her breath, “Daddy, you help me. I know you can. Daddy?” Her words were a prayer. A prayer to her dead father.
I glanced around the bus to see if maybe Granddaddy had materialized. I made eye contact with Aaron. He stared at Momma and me.
I ached seeing Momma like this. Guilt piled up inside. You know, for wanting her to go. For me wanting to be alone for a few hours. I almost took her arm and said, “Stay right here, Momma, we can figure something else out.”
But what if Aunt Linda waited at the library?
What if she was there?
She might be.
Better to not miss that chance.
“You remember we’re gonna meet at four-thirty? I’ll pick you up just like we practiced. And if this isn’t a good thing, why, we’ll never do it again.” Tears stung.
Momma kissed my forehead hard. “I remember, Lacey,” she said. “I’ll try to do good.” She sounded like she was five years old. Again I felt guilt crawl through me. It knocked any embarrassment at seeing Aaron right out. But I didn’t let that guilt stop my mother from going. I didn’t say to her, “What do you say to us just going on out to the beach? Walking along the shore.”
I needed her to go. Who needs their momma to go?
Bad girls do.
Don’t think that!
Someone else pulled the bell, and a bunch of people stood to leave, including Momma.
“You look real nice,” I said, touching her back. “Red’s a good color for you.”
Momma bent over and hugged me. I could smell lilac powder and shampoo.
“Four and a half hours,” I said. “That’s not so long.”
“Right.” She gave me a worn-out smile and wrung her hands, rocking with the bus movement. “Four and a half hours. That’s not so long. I can do that. And I won’t let anyone down, either. I won’t. I won’t.”
“You are going to be the best they’ve ever had,” I said. “People will remember you in the Winn-Dixie. They won’t ever forget you.”
Momma smiled, showing her small teeth.
The bus stopped with a loud gasp.
She made her way down the aisle, and every once in a while, turned back and waved. It was weird how I felt. Kinda teary, you know, like I might start bawling. When she got to the stairs Momma said in her thin voice, “I love you, Lacey Marie.”
Somebody behind us let out a yelp of a laugh. A look of surprise crossed her face.
Who in the heck? Who would laugh at us?
“I love you too, Momma,” I said, loud, making sure the whole bus heard me. I stood up so she could see me. “I love you, too.”
At first I thought she might not move. But then she turned and headed down the stairs, the bus doors closing with a heavy air sound behind her. I watched as she walked across the black parking lot toward the strip mall where the Winn-Dixie was tucked in tight. She seemed so small. Like a good wind might take her away. Twice she looked back and waved. Then she was out of my sight.
IV
It was the tattooed guy. I know ’cause when I turned around to give the yelper a wicked look, he grinned at me. Aaron had moved into the seat behind him.
“I love you,” Tattoo Guy said, his voice heavy with meanness.
“Mind your own business,” I said, giving him the worst glare I could by stretching my face all out of shape. I stared him down hard, then looked away.
It made my heart pound, him laughing at Momma and me. Why, if Granddaddy could influence anyone outside our house the way he ran things in our house, I would have summoned him right then. But Granddaddy has a mind of his own—even dead. That’s what Momma always says.
I looked at Tattoo Guy again. Who did he think he was anyway? And what had we done wrong? What was so bad about telling someone you loved them, if you did care? Even as I thought the words I knew there didn’t need to be a reason.
“You lookit here, Lacey,” Momma used to say as things were getting worse and worse. As Granddaddy was running things more and more. “The world is full of hate and meanness. It’s full of lies and deceit. But we Millses, we treat people good, no matter what. You hear?”
How many times had someone at school said something ugly to me? Even before Momma was bad off. Before Aunt Linda drove away. Before I was alone watching out for Momma with Granddaddy peering close over her shoulder.
One thing goes wrong at school and they remember it forever.
Like Momma stopping by. That dirty housedress on. The lipstick. Her hair unbrushed.
Coming to my classroom door. Standing there, silencing even the teacher.
And me, looking up, seeing her. That her shoes don’t match. All us fourth graders, quiet like we’re waiting for a surprise from the woman who looked scared even then. And me seeing it for the first time.
“Lacey?” Momma had said.
I didn’t move. My pencil had become a tree trunk in
