And she said, “I wouldn’t with Eddy.”
Well, I just stared at her then. There she sat with her hand on her mama belly, with all her long hair swept back just so, that mug of lemony tea in her other hand. She was watching her girls, and looked so much at peace. And yet that statement had just come matter-of-factly right out of her mouth. I said, “I beg your pardon.”
She shrugged her shoulders and kept watching her girls a minute. Then she turned her eyes on me, and I steeled myself inside, because I knew Lucia was one to say what she was thinking when she looked like that. She said, “If Eddy were my kids’ father, the way he’s been acting, I wouldn’t want to bear another one of his. I’d just say no thank you. Because you know what, Leela—and don’t you look at me that way, because I’m telling you the truth. The Lord commands us to raise them up in righteousness. And there’s no point in bringing them down from heaven in the first place if that’s a covenant you can’t keep.”
I said, “I think you ought to be leaving now.”
“Oh, it’s no reflection on you,” she said. “But something’s gone dark inside that man and you know it. It seems like he’s always grinding on the edge of that temper like a blade. You didn’t do anything to deserve that, and I’ll tell you what, neither did Elias. Randy said next time he sees his brother pin that boy against the wall, it’s going to be the last time.”
I stood up, and once I did, she pulled herself up, too. “Well, I guess I’ll fetch my girls,” she said.
After that I didn’t say one more word to her. I didn’t have the kind of words inside me that could talk about those kind of feelings. I’m not a violent person in any way, but as soon as she walked out the door I felt like kicking it and slamming on it with both fists. All I had inside me was a scream, and it seemed to fill me up like a tongue of flame. I was made of rage. I don’t think I really understood until then why we need redemption. I knew why we need strength from the Lord, sure, and his help in carrying our burdens. But it wasn’t until right then that I could understand how even a good-hearted person, a God-fearing person, could break every commandment in her heart, shatter them all like a mirror falling off a wall.
I never told Eddy what she said. He saw I had a cold shoulder for Lucia after that, but he chalked it up to women’s bickering. It was a few months later that I found out I was expecting again, and I took that news with joy, even as a small part of me guarded itself a little. I could feel that baby’s spirit hovering around me, and I knew who she was. It was different from with Candy. I remembered this spirit from the first time, with Eve, like when a good friend walks up behind you and without even looking you know who’s standing there. It was a welcoming feeling, as if inside my heart I was saying,
You know, I remember, when I was a child, how some mornings my mother would pull up the shade as she was waking me for chores, and I’d turn and see the light so bright that I had turn back to face the wall. And other times, when it was pig-slaughtering season, I’d watch them string up the hog, but once they slashed it open I’d grimace and look at my father instead. And this was one of those things. When I woke up one morning and found my sheet thick with blood, my heart couldn’t bear to look upon it. Instead I just pictured Lucia, sitting there filled up with her son and all her sanctimony, telling me why I didn’t deserve to bring down another soul from heaven, or to give a second chance to the one I’d lost the first time. Why my family wasn’t good enough for Eve.
A lot of women might pat my hand over that, and say, oh, Leela, those are the thoughts of a grieving mother. You’ll be forgiven of all that anger. But if you want to know the truth of it, I don’t want that forgiveness so much as I want an answer to my question. If the Lord wants to grant us our righteous desires, then I want to know why he kept taking her back from me. Because you can’t fault a woman for the man she married. God knows we go in with the best of intentions. I think Lucia was wrong about that, and if she wasn’t, well, the Lord and I have some things we need to work over. I can take on the burdens of my children’s failings, but not those of my man. It’s too much to ask, and I don’t say that too often.
Chapter 17
My due date was three weeks away. I could hardly eat a thing anymore, with my stomach crowded out by the baby; also, I got winded easily, and my bladder had been shoved aside to make room for somebody’s head. I got up two or three times every night to pee, and that might not have been so bad except that the August heat— tolerable during the day, this being New Hampshire—seemed to settle over our bedroom at night. This made falling back to sleep an arduous task. We slept with our door closed, for privacy, and our windows open, for circulation, but it did little good.
And so, after using the bathroom one night, I trekked down the stairs to sleep on the sofa, where the air was cooler and Cade’s warm body would not be beside me. As I arranged the pillows I noticed an unusual sight over in the addition: Elias was awake, sitting in his old chair just the way he used to. I walked over to where he sat and said, “Hey. You all right?”
He grunted a yes and didn’t look away from the television.
“Haven’t seen you up at night in a long time.”
“No.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and glanced at me. “I didn’t take my meds today.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” He seemed to toy with leaving that as his only answer, then spoke again. “I’ve been taking more than I’m supposed to.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m an idiot. When my leg starts to hurt I always pile on the Tylenol, you know—like, ‘kill it with fire,’ and it takes the edge off in no time. That doesn’t work so great with Xanax. And then you run low, and guess what? You got two weeks before you’re allowed to refill.” He sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I ought to know better.”
My heart ached for him, but I knew he would be ashamed for me to make a show of it. I nodded. “I’ll make you another appointment, okay? I’ll see what I can do to get a sooner one this time. They must have
A dullness descended over his gaze. “No. I don’t need people making special exceptions for me like I’m a friggin’ invalid. I’ll work it out. I’ll probably take one in an hour or two so I can get some sleep. Right now I’m just trying to remind my body who’s boss.”
I hesitated, but then reached out and stroked his forehead. It was beaded with sweat. “I’m sorry, Elias,” I said.
“Fuck, don’t be sorry for me. Jesus, Jill. You know that’s the last thing I want to hear anybody say.” He laid his head back against the chair and allowed me to stroke the sweat back from his forehead, massage his scalp with my fingertips. “This sucks,” he said. “I wish I’d stayed on the other stuff.”
“I’ll take you back to the doctor. They’ll straighten it out.”
“No. I’m starting to feel like a goddamn science fair project. Forget that. I’m just gonna get myself off this stuff and go back to what I know. It’s not worth it.”
“There’s got to be something that’ll work better than what you had before.”
“I don’t even care. I can live with that. I just don’t want to be like this.”
I rubbed his shoulders reassuringly, but when he didn’t lean forward as he normally did, I ran my hands down to his arms and kneaded the muscles there. “I love it when you do that,” he said. Then he laughed a little and said, “I totally fucking hate it.”
My hands froze in place, then retreated. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t stop.
I began again, but hesitantly, feeling the sudden rangy energy his body was putting forth. He tolerated it for a few moments, then threw my hands off with a flail of his arms that was almost violent.
I took two steps back. He rose from the chair and walked around it to the refrigerator, retrieving a beer from the produce drawer. As he cracked it open and drank, I watched him from a distance. He wore a T-shirt that was large even for him, shorts that hit below his knees and, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, a pair of battered running shoes. Elias was never without shoes. He slept in his sneakers. Now, for the first time since I had moved in, he looked as though he might need them to escape the house.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, my timing awkward, my voice small. “You can be hard to read, Eli.”
