Miles from Ordinary Read online

  But I did. I listened in every night, sometimes with the feeling of Granddaddy looking over my shoulder listening, too. And I knew. Just like that I realized Momma wasn’t gonna change and Aunt Linda wasn’t gonna budge, though really, in a way she did. In the end, I mean. She left, after all.

  “Angela, you know I can’t do this much longer.” Those were Aunt Linda’s words to Momma. In my memory I sat crouched in the hall, like a kid in the movies who listens in on people. “I’ve tried to get you help. I’ve taken you to the hospital when you’d let me. I’ve tried to keep you on your meds, but you just won’t take them. I can’t watch you kill yourself this slow way even a day more.”

  When I heard Aunt Linda say that, I tell you, the blood grew thick in my veins. Was Momma … I couldn’t even think the word. But I sure could hear them fight about it.

  And Momma’s reply: “Killing myself? Don’t you say that to me. You hear? Don’t you say I am killing myself, ever. You don’t know who I am.”

  Peeking over the rail in the hall upstairs, I saw Aunt Linda lean toward Momma. My mother’s face was angry red. Her teeth clenched. Her whole self seemed to tremble.

  “I know who you used to be, Angela. You change more and more every day.”

  Momma’s hand went up in the air. Not like she was gonna hit her younger sister or anything. But to point in her face, though, truth be told, the pointing was just a weak jab. “And who was that?”

  “Someone who was alive,” Aunt Linda said. Her voice was so quiet I had to move forward to hear it. “You went outside—don’t you remember your garden? You haven’t been out there in years. You used to laugh.” Now Aunt Linda lifted her own finger. “You spent real time with your daughter—held her, hugged her, listened to her. You weren’t the walking dead.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Momma said. “Don’t you dare bring Lacey into this.”

  Why? I wondered that night. And I’ve wondered it since. Why didn’t I matter enough to be in that conversation?

  The argument went on a while longer. Then the awful part. The worst part of all. Both of them screaming. Yelling. And then Momma hollering. Those terrible words. Her voice screeching.

  “Linda, I want you out. I want you out of my house.”

  “What?” Aunt Linda had said. She looked like Momma had slapped her a good one in the face. “You can’t make me leave my home. I was born here. I grew up here.”

  “I can,” Momma said. “And I will. This is my place. Daddy left it to me. And I can choose who stays and who goes. And you”—Momma jabbed again at my aunt—“you are going. Get out.”

  Those last two words were a scream. High and loud. It hurt my ears.

  And before I knew it, I was hollering in the mix. Up above, looking down on them, yelling, too. Then running down to them both. That old T-shirt I slept in not even covering my underwear. I missed the bottom two stairs. Fell to my knees, skinning one so that it stung when I took a bath the next day.

  “No! Don’t make her go.” Momma and my aunt looked up, surprised. I could see the tears on Aunt Linda’s face. Could feel my own. Fear was thick, scaring me. I had to do something. Save Aunt Linda, and in the process, I knew I’d be saving myself. “Momma, please don’t.”

  Momma’s face went all confused, like she was trying to make decisions right at that second. You could see it all there. By the way she looked at me and then Aunt Linda. All of us crying together. Standing in the half-dark living room. The night pushing in on us.

  Momma didn’t say anything more than, “You heard what I said, Linda.” Her voice was near the floor. Then she went to her room, slamming the door shut.

  For a moment Aunt Linda didn’t even move. Then her shoulders slumped. Her head bowed. She went to Momma’s door and called through to her, telling Momma that she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to leave me. I stood there next to Aunt Linda so close I could smell her perfume. So close, her arm brushed on mine as we knocked on Momma’s door. I stood there, calling. Calling in, “Momma? Momma?”

  Aunt Linda turned. She took hold of my arms in a tight grip and got right in my face. Her breath smelled like bacon. “I’ll take care of you, Lacey,” she said. “I swear it. I’ll do what I can to get you with me.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  I whispered, “I can’t leave Momma. You stay here.”

  Aunt Linda was crying. Not making a sound but the tears ran outta her eyes and fell right off her chin. “If she’ll let me stay.” She leaned her forehead on mine. “But if she won’t, Lacey, I’ll talk to the police. And to a judge. To whomever I have to talk to. And I’ll get you with me.”

  “I can’t leave Momma,” I said again. “Who will take care of her?”

  Aunt Linda pulled me close. Her arms went around me so snug I had a hard time pulling in a breath.

  It was too much. This was the last time I would cry. Of course, I didn’t know that then, but man did I bawl. There with my aunt, us turning together after that hug, to tap on Momma’s door. Telling her all the good things about Aunt Linda and why we should stay together. You know, like how she read to me, how she was more like my sister than Momma’s sister, how she kept good care of me.

  Like that, Momma slammed the door open. It bounced on the wall and almost closed again. I stared at Momma. And it was like I was looking at her, seeing her, for the first time. She looked crazy. Wild-eyed. Hair a mess. Skin blotchy, red and white. Anger had changed her face to someone I almost didn’t recognize.

  “Get in your room.” Momma’s voice was a howl. I backed away, running into the oak railing that peeked over to the parlor below.

  “What?”

  “Now, Angela, calm down.” Aunt Linda reached for Momma, who slapped her hands away.

  “Go to bed, go to bed, go to bed!” Momma’s voice deafened me.

  “Go, Lacey.” I almost couldn’t hear Aunt Linda for the ringing in my ears.

  “But…”

  “Hurry.” Again that almost whisper.

  I moved down the hall, slow, unable to look away.

  Momma took a step toward Aunt Linda. Her hands out. “It’s three-fifteen. You have two hours,” she said. “Then I’m calling the police.” Momma stepped back into her room, slamming the door shut so hard I was surprised it didn’t splinter in half.

  And Aunt Linda left.

  Packed her bags that night and high-tailed it outta our house. Told me in whispers she planned to stay in a hotel in Peace then pick up Mr. Dewey from the library as soon as she could. That she would call who she had to call. That she would make things right.

  Just like that, she was gone.

  Now my guts still tightened from the recollection. I tried to shake this heavy memory from my shoulders as I gripped the cart handle. “The only way to forget,” I said to the books, “is to get to work.”

  So I started in the informational section, quick like I used to when I would help Aunt Linda, before. I piled the books on the shelves where they belonged, making the rows as neat as possible. In the background a mother read to her baby too young to even sit up. An ancient woman looked for something on the computer. Three little boys discussed horror stories at a round table in the center of the room.

  I did my job and tried not to think of what still hurt to the quick.

  My aunt leaving me.

  I worked like a madman. Went through all those dinosaur books. The insects. Sharks.

  The air conditioner flicked on, making the lights dim for a second. I tried hard not to remember the next part of that late night. The part of me running into the dew-covered grass, my legs getting damp from the calves right on down. The stars so bright. The sky not appearing at all the way I felt it should. You know, sad for what was happening in my house. What was happening to me.

  What about you?

  “Aunt Linda.”

  She was in her car by then. Her three suitcases piled up in the backseat.

  She glanced at me, her face lit
pale in the dashboard lights. “Lacey-girl. What are you doing following me? You’re gonna catch a cold.” She used her gentle reading voice there in the dark. So Momma wouldn’t hear? Wouldn’t wake up and call the police? “You don’t want your mother to see you.”

  Goose bumps covered my arms and I rubbed the chill away.

  “Where you going?” I had stood in Aunt Linda’s bedroom doorway watching while she packed, even after Momma sent me to my room three different times, the last with a swat to the bottom—at my age.

  But I had snuck out. I had to sneak out. Had to say good-bye.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. A breeze pushed at oak leaves making them chatter.

  “Now baby, I can’t tell you that.” Tears filled up Aunt Linda’s eyes. For a moment I was sure they’d spill free, slide down her face, drip off her chin, maybe fall fall fall all the way to China. But those tears didn’t fall. Not even when she gave a shrug.

  “Why not?” Something jabbed at my insides.

  Aunt Linda looked past the windshield of the car like the way she spoke of was up ahead. Though the engine was on, she’d left the lights off. She took in a deep breath, let her words escape with it. But it was like she spoke to herself. “I knew this was coming for a while now. I could see it coming.” She shook her head. “I could see poor Angela getting lower. More depressed and anxious and afraid. Like before. You remember before, don’t you, Lacey?” I nodded. “I tried to get her into the doctor, but she wouldn’t have any of the pills he gave her.” Aunt Linda squeezed the steering wheel. “I can’t stand to see your mother like this. It’s so hard to watch her. It’s as though she’s had our father sitting on her shoulder for the last few months. It’s like he’s pointing the directions she should go and she never hesitates.” Aunt Linda took in a deep breath.

  My feet were cold. A frog called for rain, and far away the sky lit up with a streak of silent lightning.

  “She hates for me to talk of it, you know.”

  I nodded again but Aunt Linda wasn’t looking at me. Just staring straight ahead. Into the dark. Quick, I looked that way, too. Checking.

  For what?

  There was nothing. Even the lightning bugs had gone to bed.

  “Angela really hates for me to point to the things that aren’t working. Or the fact that Daddy is gone and that he’s been gone as long as you’ve been alive. She doesn’t get it that we have to move on.” Aunt Linda’s voice was soft, like she was convincing herself, not just me. “She’s not right. But you can’t tell people that, can you?”

  I shook my head. I mean, I’d known for years Momma was not quite right. And that she’d been getting worse, little by little. Someone slipping over a steep ledge in slow motion.

  “This whole thing,” Aunt Linda waved a hand around like the yard had something to do with Momma’s sadness, “this whole thing is dragging me down, too.” From somewhere came the smell of pine and water. I heard a sandpiper cry out. “And Lacey, it’s dragging you down. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  Boy, the truth of that was a shovel to the head. All this time I felt like I was stuck in an ice cube. That no one saw me in all the trouble. But Aunt Linda had.

  Her knowing this made me wild with worry at her going. Panic ran up my spine. Made me speak.

  “Please don’t go,” I had said. And I reached in the car and touched her warm shoulder. Felt the shimmer of her shirt beneath my fingers. “Please. I’ll beg her. I’ll help with her more. I’ll do better.”

  Aunt Linda’s tears fell then. Green-colored light reflected in the wet path on my aunt’s face.

  “She won’t let me stay. And she won’t let me take you, Lacey,” Aunt Linda said. She put the car in gear then, and took off, driving slow. I walked beside her. Fear worse than anything the thought Granddaddy might have caused took hold of me tight. “I begged her, Lacey. I told her that I would care for you. I’ve looked for two-bedroom places. I have.”

  Momma’s voice cut through the night—a scream that sent the hair on the back of my neck straight up. “I’ve called the police. I’ve called the police and they’re on their way.”

  “Momma,” I said. I was so sad I thought I might follow my mother to the edge of the cliff where she seemed to be in her head. “Momma, please!”

  “Get inside now, Lacey!”

  “I’ve looked for a place for the both of us,” Aunt Linda said. She peeked in the rearview mirror like she checked for Momma. But I could see my mother standing in the doorway at the front of the house, pale as a spirit.

  “Okay.” My pulse quickened at my possible going. I could do it. Go with Aunt Linda. Just check in with Momma. You know, make sure she was okay. I could live half with Momma, half with Aunt Linda. That would work! It would!

  “It’s kidnapping if I take you, she told me that,” Aunt Linda said. She was quiet. “We’ve fought about this a lot. I even went to see a lawyer. I can’t get you unless your momma is a harm to you or herself. Depression doesn’t count.”

  “They said they’d be here in less than five minutes.” Momma’s voice was a scream. A neighbor’s light went on.

  “So stay,” I said. Desperation clawed at me. Made it hard for me to see. “I’ll talk to the police when they get here.” I pulled at Aunt Linda’s shirt to make the car stop going, to convince her to stay with me. “I’ll hide you in my room. I got that big ol’ walk-in closet. I’ll sleep there. You can have the bed.”

  Aunt Linda gave this laugh that turned into a hiccup from all the silent crying she was doing. Had done.

  “I’ve done everything I can, baby Lacey.” She reached for my hand. I thought maybe she would hold on to me, but she pried my fingers away from her shirt.

  I grabbed the door handle. “Don’t go.”

  “You’re killing me,” she said.

  “What will I do if you go?”

  “I’ll make the calls again. I’ll call the state offices and tell them about your mom. I’ll try to get you. Until then, you just call me if there’s a problem, you hear? You know my cell phone number.” And she moved forward faster, even though I held on to the car. Even though I jogged next to her, ignoring Momma’s screaming. Out of the driveway. Down the street a bit.

  “Let go, Lacey.”

  Me running for a moment. Feet slapping at the road. Passing two houses. One with their upstairs lights on.

  “Let go.”

  I did.

  And she left. Left me standing in the dark. The smell of car exhaust in the cold night air swirling around, drowning out the pine and water scent.

  “What if I can’t call?” I was crying too, though I discovered it right that second. Crying because I had thought she loved me enough to stay. No matter what. Even with the police. No matter what a lawyer said.

  Except Aunt Linda was down the road now. All the way to the STOP sign. She couldn’t have heard me. Probably couldn’t even see me anymore. But that’s when the reverse lights came on. The engine whined as she backed up.

  “I’ll get an apartment,” she said, full-out weeping. “I’ll make sure it has two bedrooms. I have a friend who said I could have a job at the St. Augustine library. It’s a pay raise even. More responsibility. They’ve promised it to me. That’s only twenty minutes away by car, you know. If I can work things through, I’ll get you over to my place.”

  Hoping, I said, “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “And maybe a place for Momma, too?” Because, even a year ago I knew I shouldn’t leave her. At that point me and Aunt Linda couldn’t leave Momma on her own. What in the world would she do all alone? If I went with Aunt Linda, I mean? What would Momma do?

  Aunt Linda was quiet a moment, tears running down her face. “Lacey. Just call me if you need me. Or if your momma needs me. You promise?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “I’ll check on you. I’ll stop by and see how you are. And I swear I’ll make those phone calls again.”

  And she did come by. Three ti
mes. She was met by Momma with a breath of fire and words that stung. I watched from the window each visit, peered through the curtains. Saw and heard it all. The way Momma was. Saw the way my aunt cried. And when I tried to come outside that first visit, Momma had slapped me a good one right in the face, something she had never done before.

  Then there was the last time. That awful last time. When Aunt Linda pulled into the drive and a few moments later the police arrived. Right in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. The whole neighborhood, it seemed, peering at us from behind curtains—some people coming right onto their front porches to watch us.

  I had run outside that day. Run straight to Aunt Linda, who stood half in her car, half out.

  “What’s this?” she said.

  Momma came outside, the screen door slamming behind her. “I told you, Linda,” Momma said.

  I glanced at her. Did a double take. Momma was dressed in her Sunday clothes, from before, when we used to go to church. She had on high heels and carried a purse that didn’t match. She wore makeup. Her hair was brushed.

  “Momma?” I said.

  Momma moved to where I stood and put her arm around my shoulders. “Baby,” she said, and her voice was soft. “Baby, she’s not allowed to be here.”

  Aunt Linda got out of the car. A policeman and -woman got out of their cars. Someone nearby laughed. A mockingbird cried out. The sun was so hot. So hot.

  With her arm around me, Momma marched up to the police. “I own this house,” she said. “This is my girl.” Momma squeezed me close. “And my sister, she wants everything. Including this child of mine.” Momma swallowed at something. “She’s tried to take Lacey from me.”

  “Momma,” I said. The air was as still as a failed promise.

  Aunt Linda hurried over. “I just want to visit with my niece. I just want to come to the home where I was raised.”

  “I have a restraining order,” Momma said.

  “What?” I said. And Aunt Linda said, “What?” too.

  “I did it myself.” Momma straightened her shoulders. “Went into the police station. Alone. Saw the judge, even.” She smiled and I could see it wasn’t quite real, that smile. It was almost see-through. Like glass. From her purse Momma pulled out some paperwork. Her hands shook. The papers shivered.