I take a deep breath.
“We’ll figure it out. What if we tell everyone your husband is in the service? I know—he’s in Vietnam…”
I cringe. “That’s an awful thing to do, but…it actually might work. I stay to myself pretty much. I can’t talk about it because I’m sad he’s not here, and I’m not wearing a ring because he wanted to buy me a nice one, so we’re waiting till we can afford it,” I say, getting more into the story now.
This really might work.
“At least until the baby is born. And then I’ll have more to explain.”
“So you’ve accepted that you are?” she asks.
I think about it a moment. The tears I haven’t allowed myself come then. “Yeah, I’m certain I am.”
We sit on the couch, her arm around me.
“It’s gonna be okay, Caroline.”
“Brenda, I told you about what happened with Leroy and Les, but I didn’t tell you that after that…after I left Tulma, when Isaiah found me…we-we were intimate then.”
“You think it could be his?” she asks, shocked.
“It’s the only way I can get through each day, thinking there’s a possibility that it is.”
“Are you gonna tell him?”
I think about that long and hard and never answer her.
MY THOUGHTS ARE tormented. The reality that I’m not married and expecting, is horrifying in itself. I’ve let go of some of the worries about what everyone back in Tulma would think, but the fact is, it’s going to be a problem anywhere. It’s a good thing I’ve been by myself, because people sure won’t want to stay with me now.
I’m fortunate to look older. But what’s really making me crazy is wondering who the father of this baby is. I want it to be Isaiah’s so badly, but I know that’s probably too much to wish for. It makes me pray to the God I’m not sure about…I plead for him to give me this one thing.
In my new swing shirts and high-waisted clothes, I look pregnant. One morning, I go in early and talk to Shelby before the customers start arriving. I tell her the tale that I rehearsed with Brenda. I feel terrible lying to her, but I just don’t want to risk getting run out of town. Chances are, once they see this baby, I will be anyway, but I need to keep a job for as long as possible.
She believes every word I tell her, which makes me feel even worse, even though I’m also very much relieved. My husband was sent to Vietnam just a few weeks ago, out of Fort Knox. I visited him every chance I got before he left and have been quiet about it because I just miss him so much. She wipes a tear from her eyes and reaches over to give me a hug.
“You just say the word, sweetheart, whatever you need. I’ll do whatever I can. Where is your family, dear? Are you sure you don’t need to go be by them until the baby comes?”
“It’s just me,” I tell her sadly, leaving her to assume the worst. And she does. It’s the most honest thing I tell her.
“Bless your heart, what a hard time this must be. And you’re such a good worker, too. You just tell me what you need, okay?”
“Thank you, Miss Shelby. It helps me to keep busy—working here helps.”
She gives me another pat on the shoulder. “Well, I certainly love having you here, and the customers sure appreciate your cookin’. Why, I get compliments on your pies every single day!”
I give her a big smile and get to work.
AT NIGHT, I put my hands on my growing stomach. The little bitty ball is firm and beginning to absorb my thoughts. A fierce feeling comes over me. This baby is mine.
I whisper, “You’re my baby and I’m going to love you and take care of you. We’re going to love each other most. I’ll never leave you. I’ll protect you from everyone and everything that comes against us. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you ever, I promise.”
I love the way my body is filling out. I’ve always felt so gangly; everything on me is long and skinny. The curves are softening all my features and I feel like I fit in my body so much better.
The more my feelings grow for the baby, the more I miss Isaiah. I feel an urgency to see him again. Maybe I should tell him. Even if the baby isn’t his, which I don’t even want to consider as an option, I just want him to know.
The thought nags me for days. On a whim, I go to Shelby and ask her if I can have an extra couple of days off around Christmas time. She reminds me that she’d said to let her know whatever I needed. I thank her, and then I go tell Brenda my plan. The relief on her face is almost comical.
“Oh, Caroline. I’ve been hoping you’d do this. I’m so glad.” She clasps her hands together and helps me get my things packed.
I’m able to afford a bus ticket to Tulma. At the crack of dawn on the Sunday morning after Christmas, I board the bus. Hours go by with me staring out the window, dreaming of seeing Isaiah, what I’ll say to him, what he’ll say. The excitement and nervousness builds with each mile. We stop a few times, and I freshen up in one of the restrooms. As we get closer, I nearly lose my nerve and turn around to go back. But the thought of being with Isaiah drives me forward.
When we finally arrive in Tulma, I’m the only one to get off at the stop. I walk through the bus station quickly, hoping I won’t see anyone I know. Taking the back way, I walk to Isaiah’s church. He should be getting out of church soon. Hopefully I can see him right away.
The breeze from the river picks up. It feels good to be home. I wish I could see everyone, but my bulging stomach kinda ruins that plan. I wrap my sweater tighter around me. Finally I wind around the corner and lean against the tree by the church. It’s large enough that I can stand behind it without anyone seeing me.
I hear the organ playing and know they’re almost done. About ten minutes later, people begin filing out. Almost everyone leaves and then there’s a lull where no one else comes out. Then Sadie comes out and I feel like a little kid playing hide and seek. All of a sudden, I wish I could find a restroom.
Just when I start thinking he might have stayed home, there he is! My heart thumps in triple time. He looks so handsome in his church clothes. I can’t take my eyes off of him. Except…I realize he’s not alone. He looks back and a beautiful girl in a pale green dress steps forward. Her skin matches his, and for the first time I know jealousy in its truest, vilest form. She has everything I want.
They look so perfect—like they belong together. It knocks the wind right out of me.
They walk to a car I don’t recognize. She says something and Isaiah’s head rears back and he lets out the laugh that I love. The one I haven’t heard in so long. He opens the door for her and it’s then that I see the look on his face. Looking at her. The way he used to look at me only a few short months ago.
I double over, the pain staggering. It sends me to my knees. Grateful for my hiding spot, I stay there until everyone is gone, my sobs becoming more forceful. Eventually, I make my way back to the bus station, my plan crushed back in the dirt by the tree.
I GET BACK on the bus and ride back to Bardstown, no one in Tulma the wiser.
I HIDE OUT in my room. Everyone thinks I’m gone, so I don’t bother letting them know otherwise. After becoming a huge, swollen puffy mess from tears and feeling every possible emotion toward Isaiah Washington, I feel the finality of losing him. Every hope I’d been hoarding the past few weeks, months, years…it’s completely gone.
I never thought of Isaiah as fickle, so the thought that he could have feelings for someone else this quickly is a shock. I did tell him to go find someone else, after all. I just didn’t expect it to be practically overnight. I can’t wrap my head around it. Hours and hours of contemplation lead me to the conclusion that he never loved me the way I love him.
Which seems to be a recurring theme in my life.
What seemed like a beautiful memory in Memphis—our time together in that motel room, just the two of us in our hideaway—now has an ugly tarnish to it. It’s just like staring through Nellie’s dresser mirror, everything is blurry and the edges are completely wo
rn away. Nothing is clear anymore. Now I don’t believe that I was meaningful to Isaiah at all. Or maybe being with him in that way opened up something in him that he can’t be without.
Mama always did say boys were pigs when it came to s-e-x and to never give one the upper hand by letting him take that part of me. The phrase ‘damaged goods’ was thrown around. I never did fully understand what she meant until now. Except the difference is I’ve managed to become triply damaged, all before the age of sixteen. The reality of this unhinges me. I just want to disappear. Please, God. Put me out of this hell.
The days drag in despair. I have to force myself to eat. It feels really strange when I go too long without eating, only further proving that I’m growing someone. At some point—I think when I’ve eaten all that’s left in the cupboard—I start chanting vows to the baby. Like a crazy person. Ranting.
I will never make you wear pink foam curlers.
I will never lie to you.
I will teach you responsibility.
I will spoil you with affection.
I will iron my own clothes.
I will love you even if you’re ugly.
I will love you even if I hate your father.
I will never leave you.
You will be my person, my blood, the one I know best, the one I admire most, my baby.
My purpose in life will be to make you shine.
I will be your mama. A real one.
And again from the top. Again and again. Until I’m pacing and crying and blubbering and falling back on the bed and snotting on the pillow. The words rush out of me like a waterfall, promises plunging into the deep. One hope is dying and another is rising in its place.
WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, the sun is shining. It’s a new year. My baby will be born in 1972. Feels so strange to say—all of it. I get out of bed and devise a story to tell Shelby soon, about my dead husband.
I pat my stomach. “It’s just you and me, baby.”
Saying that aloud reminds me of the dream I had in the night. I was holding my baby and she was a perfect little girl. I could see her as clear as day. I grin for the first time in days.
“Okay, baby girl. We’re in this together.”
Before I go to work, I stop by and hug Brenda, avoiding her eyes. She sees my face and knows.
“Oh, Caroline. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’ll tell you everything later, I really will. I have to get to work.”
“I’ll come by your room tonight.” She gives me a tight hug and looks like she’s going to say more but stops herself.
It’s a quiet day at Shelby’s. A few regulars stop in, but I think most everyone is with their family on New Year’s day. We close earlier than usual. I go back to the room wiped out and sleep through the night. In the morning, a note is taped to my door. It’s from Brenda. I must have slept right through her visit.
When I do finally tell her the details of my visit to Tulma, she cries with me. She also says it might not be what I think, but I tell her how he looked at her and she sadly accepts that I’m probably right.
Over the next few weeks, Shelby’s is busy, and it makes the time go much faster. I find myself taking more time with the customers, investing in longer conversation, getting to know people better in one sitting than I have in the previous weeks of waiting on them. It takes my mind off my heartache, and also, I think I’ve accepted that I’m in Bardstown to stay. At least for the time being. And when this baby is born, I’m going to need some allies.
I have a pile of money growing. One day I’ll have a house of my own somewhere. With no history but mine with my baby. I hope it will work here—I like this place. But if not, we’ll search until we do find a place to make it work.
THE DAY I kill off my pretend husband, I meet ol’ Dr. Harrison for the first time. He’s been retired for years and besides coming to Shelby’s, seems to stay to himself. No one seems to know exactly how old he is. I’ve heard everything from seventy-five to ninety-two. He’s old enough that everyone tacks that ol’ on the front of his name.
I’ve just told Shelby my horrible news and feel like a lily-livered goat of a person when I tell her I need to keep working that day to stay sane for the baby. She cries more than I do and keeps saying I must be in shock or something. I know I’m going to hell.
Usually Shelby takes care of Dr. Harrison because she’s says he’s an old coot with a toothy bite. She’s in the back when he comes in and I don’t even think about it—I walk right up to Dr. Harrison’s booth to take his order.
“Hello, what can I get for you today?”
He looks up at me as best he can under his huge mound of bushy eyebrows. They’re white as meringue and I can’t take my eyes off them. I’ve never been this close to him before. I come to with him snapping his fingers under my nose.
“Pardon me, what was that?”
“I said, I’d like my reg’lar.”
“All right. Would you mind telling me what that is?” I look at him and smile, holding a pencil over my small tablet.
“Well, I’ve come in here every day for years and I’ve never had to tell anyone my reg’lar.” He huffs and I notice his blue eyes finally, since they’re glaring at me.
“Yes, but this is the first time I’ve waited on you.”
“I know it. Whatcha got against an old coot like me?”
I guess he’s heard his title. I can’t help it, I laugh. And not just a little laugh, but a long, loud hysterical laugh—the kind that comes after you’ve cried far too long. He huffs and blows little Pffts out of his mouth, but as I’m wiping the tears from my eyes and still giggling, I see something shift in his eyes. A softening.
“How far along are you, girl?”
“I’m not sure,” I whisper.
His eyebrows collide in a huge V and I get tickled again. He is the cutest old man I have ever seen.
“Well, I’ve delivered plenty babies in my day and I’d say you’re near ’bout five months? That sound ’bout right?”
I hope and pray I’m only five months. With everything that is in me, I wish for that, but I know that I might just be smaller than some.
“Yes, sir,” I answer. “That’s probably right.”
“You and your husband excited ’bout the baby?” he asks.
Shelby comes up then and says, “That’s okay, honey, I can take over from here.” Her eyes are huge and she tries to shake her head at Dr. Harrison without me seeing but doesn’t know subtle from her backside. She gently shoos me off.
“Hey, I want the girl!” Dr. Harrison scowls at Shelby, and she backs away, looking at me with her doe-eyes.
I smile at her. “He’ll have his regular, please.”
Shelby nods and hustles off to the kitchen.
“Now, what were you sayin’ ’bout your husband?” he continues.
I bite the inside of my cheek and take a deep breath before answering. “My husband was a soldier and I just got news that he didn’t make it…” Oh God, forgive me, I don’t wanna go to hell.
Dr. Harrison blows a big breath out and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” he says softly. “So many boys, gone. Generations lost. I lost my boy in the first war…and my beloved grandson in the second.” His eyes get even bluer with the tears that fill them. I reach out and take his hand and give it a squeeze. The gesture seems to shock him. He pats my hand and I let go.
“Thank you, girl,” he says quietly.
“Caroline,” I tell him.
“Thank you, Caroline girl.”
HE’S MY CUSTOMER from that moment on. And when he comes through the door every day, Shelby excuses me being with him just about as long as he desires because she’s so happy to not have to wait on him anymore. She says I’ve brought out the nice in him, but when she tries to come around and get friendly with him, he pulls out the grouch act again, so she’s given up.
Every time he leaves, I can’t wait to see him again. He makes me laugh and seems genuinely inter
ested in knowing what I think about things. Brenda laughs at all my Dr. Harrison stories, and we both swoon over the way he talks about his wife, Eileen, who passed away twenty years ago. He still talks about her like she’s right there.
“Caroline girl,” he says one Saturday morning, “I brought you something.” He holds up a handful of daisies and hands them to me. “I picked them from my garden just before I came and remembered you saying you loved daisies.”
“Oh, Dr. H. Thank you,” my voice gets caught in my throat and to my embarrassment I get tears in my eyes, “I haven’t been given flowers in a long time.”
Memories threaten to wash me away, but I squelch them down. Every last caramel-skinned one.
“Well, I’ve got a garden full. You should come over for iced tea sometime and pick all the flowers you want.”
“I would love that!” I tell him and mean it with my whole heart.
I’ve missed gardening. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have a yard or the space to grow anything or I’d just miss Miss Greener and home more than I already do. But when I walk into my little place from work, especially when Brenda is working, the time drags on endlessly.
“When would you like to come?” Dr. H asks.
“I’m off tomorrow. After you get home from church maybe?”
He throws his head back and barks out a laugh. We tease each other about our lack of church attendance every chance we get, trying to one-up the other on how non-spiritual we are in a town of spirituals.
“Well, I’ll probably beat you there then, since you seem to hightail it away from the altar when the prayer time comes.” His shoulders shake as he says it.
“I bet I can be at your house before the offering plate has even reached the third row,” I chime in.
“That’s doubtful since I will still be seeing the back of my eyelids at that point.”
“Pfft. You’re an early riser and don’t you dare deny it.” I pour his third cup of coffee and it’s not even eight o’clock yet.