“To make him go away, Beulah hauled out one of the brand-new suitcases Charlie had bought for Joan. She gave it to him an’ said, ‘Bury the dog in this.’ Charlie left, an’ Joan hightailed it out of state the next mornin’, despite just birthin’ a baby two days afore. Never saw nor heard of either one again.”
The musical gong sounded again.
“That’s last call.” Darlene pulled her cigarette from the holder, snuffed it out in the sand on the concrete ash can, then put the holder in a pocket hidden in the side of her muumuu. “I gotta goon in or I’ll miss a meal. The food’s not that great, but I won’ be cheated out of anything I’m due.”
I had a feeling she’d had a life of being cheated—and the person who’d probably cheated her the most was herself.
“Thank you for talking to us.” I pulled out another twenty and handed it to her.
“My pleasure. Thank you kindly.” She took the bill and stuffed it in her bosom. “My goodness, it’s been a while since I’ve been around a real gentleman!” She gave me a coquettish little wink, and for half a second, I could see her as she must have been back in the day—all womanly wiles and compliments and southern charm, parting men from their money easy as a comb parts hair.
45
adelaide
Isat there, my hands limp in my lap, as Matt and Hope finished telling me all that they’d learned in Mississippi. Relief flowed through me like some kind of intravenous painkiller. Charlie hadn’t killed that baby after all! He’d never even seen it. It wasn’t even his! And that blood on his clothes—it had belonged to the woman’s dog. And the pistol was missing because that man Ben had taken it.
I’d no sooner tasted the sweetness of relief than regret shoved its ugly snout in my face. Oh, heavens. I’d been so unfair to Charlie. So hideously, horribly unfair!
Charlie had tried to tell me, hadn’t he? He’d tried to tell me afterward, but I was too angry—angry and disgusted and revolted. I’d just turned away.
Oh, I should have known he couldn’t do such a thing! I should have been more sensitive! But I’d been too wrapped up in my own heartache to think about his. I must have spoken out loud, because Hope tried to console me, but the memories were crowding in, and I couldn’t hear anything except my own thoughts.
1948
I’d hated lying and pretending to be pregnant, but by the time the baby was due, I felt like Iwashaving a baby. I was looking forwardto having a new little life to nurture. I’d been hopeful that it could be a new beginning for Charlie and me.
But when there was no baby, it all boiled up inside me again, worse than ever. All that Charlie had put me through, forcing me to deceive my friends and family like that! I felt like such a wretchful fraud.
Of course, he must have felt that way, too, when he married me and pretended Becky was his—but that had been a good thing, a happy thing. He’d gained a child.
I had no one to talk to about it but Charlie—and I hated him. I deplore having to admit it—hate is the worst sin, isn’t it?—but I did. It churned in my belly like battery acid. And I’m so sorry for it! But for months there, I just hated him.
The most shameful thing about my behavior is that I was furious he picked that particular time to turn over a new leaf. He stopped drinking, he was an attentive father, he read the Bible. He was good with the children, considerate toward me, and did chores around the house without me even asking. The nicer, the more godly, the kindlier, the more thoughtful he was, the angrier I got. I was so, so angry—white-hot, blue-flame angry.
Everyone thought I was cantankerous because I was grieving the baby. Mother insisted that Dr. Henry come see me. I was mortified. All the lies about why I hadn’t seen him—his questions about my problems with the baby—why, I didn’t know what to say. He thought I was having another nervous breakdown.
And maybe I was, because that’s when I wrote to Joe. I couldn’t keep all the secrets inside anymore. They were just eating me up, just gnawing at me day and night.
I wanted to telephone, but I couldn’t. Long-distance calls went through a local operator, and the whole town would know my business. Same thing with sending a telegram. So one day, while Charlie was at work and the kids were playing at my friend Marie’s house, I sat down and wrote a letter. I told him how I couldn’t bear for Charlie to touch me, how just looking at him made me sick.How I dreamed about just not waking up, but I didn’t want to leave my children motherless.
I begged him to please come and get me before I lost my mind.
Well, the phone rang before I finished. It was my neighbor Marie—Becky had fallen and cut her head, and it looked like she might need stitches. Well, I dashed out the door without another thought. I just dashed.
And it ended up that, yes, she needed stitches. And by the time I got her to the doctor’s office, and we’d been seen, and all the stitching and instructions and everything were taken care of, it was supper time. I panicked, because I remembered I’d left the letter out. I hurried home, but it was too late. Charlie had already seen it.
I knew, because the letter was gone. So was the bottle of scotch hidden in the back of the kitchen cabinet—and the cabinet was open. There was no sign of Charlie, which meant he must be out drinking.
I thought about what I had written—the cruel things I’d said, the vile way I’d portrayed him, the revulsion I’d expressed—and, well, I just felt heartsick. Ashamed. Horrified. Horrible. The truth is, Charlie’s biggest flaw was loving me, and I’d turned him into a monster. I was literally nauseous at the thought of how much that letter must have had hurt him.
But on another level, I felt something else: relieved.
He’d have to agree to a divorce now. He couldn’t want to live with a wife who felt the way I did. He just couldn’t. I sagged into my chair. I was tired, so tired of hiding my feelings. So tired of running away. It was time to confront this thing, head-on.
I put the children to bed—I had to cut Becky’s shirt off her little body, because it pulled on over her head, and there was another round of tears because it was her favorite shirt. This last crying spell left me completely exhausted, but I was too upset to go to bed. Charlie was out drinking, and there was no telling what he would do when he got home.
I heard a knock on the door. I saw police lights outside. My firstthought was,They’re bringing Charlie home because he passed out drunk.
