Her mouth tightens, and I think she’s about to read me the riot act. Or worse. She side-eyes me, but that’s it. Her scowl relaxes, and now she seems more sad than mad.
“Death ain’t somethin’ we like to talk about, Evalene. We’ve seen a lot of it. A lotta horrors. We do what our foremothers did: we keep goin’ forward, and we only look back when push comes to shove.”
“But why do we keep all these secrets?”
“We don’t. We have our own ways of sharin’. You’re just startin’ to learn. It’s not so mysterious.”
“Who… who is buried out here?”
“Lotsa folks. Some by choice, some not. Ain’t nothin’ to cry about. We will all be feedin’ worms at some point,” she chuckles. “Once somebody’s dead, there ain’t nothin’ to fear no more.”
That’s a helluva way to think about death, but I guess it’s true.
“I’m sorry for gettin’ snippy. Just tired, I guess.”
“You look after that boy as best you can,” she says. “We can’t prevent destiny once it’s been writ, but we can do our damndest to influence it. A little goes a long way.”
That statement is too complex for my mind to unravel right now.
“Time for you to get home,” she says, and then she goes inside and closes the door. Done for the night.
As I walk down the path, I think about the word “destiny.” I’ve never cared for it. I hate the idea that our lives have been etched in stone someplace we can’t touch or see, and we’re all just players in a drama that already has an ending unbeknownst to us.
When I open the gate, Clay turns on his engine. I will look after him—even when he annoys me like tonight. I will look after Anne Marie, Mama, and the twins. And me. Though my malcreant has been absent lately, until I get rid of him myself, I won’t feel safe.
I believe I have the strength to take care of myself and the people I love. I will keep my eyes and my heart directed at them, so that if destiny tries to harm any of ’em, it will have to go through me.
21
Acquainted
“EVALENE! TELL HER WHAT I did after lunch! Tell her about my art!” Abigail demands. It’s the end of the day, and all I want to do is go, but Miss Ethel won’t stop talkin’. Sometimes she gets chatty with me when she gets home just before I leave. Whenever this happens, it’s cuz she feels the need to remind me that she’s the boss.
“Wait a minute, sugar,” Miss Ethel tells Abigail, sweet as honey cake. She turns back to me with considerably less sweetness. It’s already five minutes past six, but she enjoys wasting my time. “Now, Evalene, you didn’t let her eat any Mary Janes, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Because I told you, she cannot have any more candy before her dentist appointment on Monday, and I mean that.”
“I understand, ma’am. She had no Mary Janes.”
She looks at me doubtfully. Maybe she hopes she can catch me lyin’. Maybe she gets her jollies that way.
“Evalene! Evalene! Evalene! Show her my art! Show it to her!”
I indicate the paper stuck to the fridge with an old “Peace and Prosperity” vote-for-Ike magnet. It is the most pitiful rendering of a baby and her dog I have ever seen, but Abigail is proud of her “art,” so I dutifully point it out.
“My, how pretty,” Miss Ethel lies. She then pays me with a tight smile and advises me to get enough sleep so I won’t be late in the morning. Bitch.
I pedal home quickly. Keeping an eye out in case somebody’s followin’ me. Again.
When I get home, I’m granted the honor of bathing the twins, cuz I’m doomed to take care of little girls endlessly, it seems. I can’t figure out how they get so dirty. Tonight they looked like they’d been workin’ all day on a damn farm.
I get in bed later, and I’m antsy. I wonder what Clay’s doing right at the very same moment. What he’s thinking. I check the clock. Ten till eleven ain’t so late.
I tiptoe down to the kitchen and quietly dial the phone. I decide if he doesn’t pick up by the third ring, I’ll hang up.
It rings once. Twice.
“Hello?” It’s his mother, and she does not sound happy.
I panic and hang up. I go back up to my room and look for something to read. I pull out my old standby, The Golden Book of Astronomy, and leaf through the worn pages.
I feel more relaxed and sleepy as I read. I don’t know if anything is as calming for me as the stars and the night sky. What would it be like to travel out into space? If it ever becomes possible for regular people, I wanna go.
Something jolts me awake. I don’t know what time it is, but it feels late, and my book has fallen to the floor. I fluff my pillow, and I am about to lie back down when I see Coralene standing stone still in my doorway.
“What are you doin’? You scared me,” I whisper.
She just stands there, staring.
“What’s wrong? It’s late.”
“I can’t sleep,” she says.
I sigh and beckon her over to me. “Bad dreams?” She shakes her head no, but something has frightened her. I check to see if she’s wet herself, but she doesn’t smell or feel damp. I try to blink myself more awake when Doralene’s little face appears in the doorway.
“What is going on?” I whisper-shout.
“Evvie? Can you make that man go away?”
I am wide awake now. “What man? Are you dreaming?”
“The man in our room,” they both say in unison.
Before I can think, I’m up and runnin’ down the hall, and there he is, illuminated by their strawberry nightlight, without a drop of shame. The blood drains from my face to see him here. In
