“Thanks for the romantic proposal.” She turned away, hugging herself.
Shame gripped him. Crossing the room, he put his hands on her arms. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” He caressed her arms. “Ruth, I’m sorry. If I could undo things, I would. I know this wasn’t planned. I know how much your education matters to you. I wouldn’t ask you to give up on it. Just sit tight for a few days, all right? Let’s think things over. Let’s weigh all the options. Isn’t that what choice is all about? Knowing there are options.”
He felt her muscles relaxing. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared. I’m so scared, Cory.”
Corban leaned down and kissed the curve of her neck. “So am I.”
He wondered if they were afraid for the same reasons.
“You there!” Leota shouted from her front door. “Leave those children alone or I’m calling the police.”
The two teenagers bullying Arba Wilson’s children shouted obscenities at her and took off down the street. She came out onto her porch. “Come on inside, you three. You’re sitting ducks for any little hoodlums out there on the sidewalk. Didn’t your mother tell you to play in the backyard?” She held the door wide open for them. “Go on into the bathroom and clean yourself up, Vermont.”
“My name ain’t Vermont.”
“It is when you’re in my house. Now, get going.” The two little girls were crying. She closed the screen door, latched it, closed the front door, and double locked it. “You two come into the kitchen with me.” She took two dish towels from a drawer and wet them with tap water. She gave one to each and told them to wipe their faces. “What did those two boys want, anyway?”
“They wanted Nile to let ’em in the house.”
Nile stood in the doorway, a wet cloth pressed over his eye.
“You’re a brave boy.”
“Don’t call me boy.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Fine. You’re a brave young man. Do you like that better? Now plant your tailbone in that chair and cool off.”
“Why should I?”
“Keep standing in the doorway, and I’ll give your cookies and milk to the girls.”
Nile sat.
“Mama’ll wonder where we are.” Kenya wiped tears from her cheeks.
Leota patted her shoulder. “She’ll know, honey. I told her you three were welcome here. You can consider this a safe house. Carolina, you sit there. Indiana, you can have my chair. What time does your mama get home?”
“Six,” Indiana said. “She’s picking up Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight.”
“It’s her favorite,” Nile said with a jerk of his head toward Kenya-Carolina. “She gets it ’cause it’s her birthday today.”
“Your birthday, is it? How old are you?”
“Seven.”
“Well, I’m twelve times seven. So what does that make me?”
“Eighty-four,” Nile said in a split second, adding, “Old.”
“Brave and good at math. Looks like you have a fine future ahead of you, unless you let your lips start moving before your brain’s in gear.”
Indiana giggled. “You talk funny.”
“It’s called English, honey. I don’t know ebonics.” Leota put the icing-covered animal crackers on a pretty porcelain plate. By the time she poured three glasses of milk and set them down, the cookies were almost gone. Tunisha-Indiana had saved three for her. The Wilson children were polite. They said thank you. Even Nile-Vermont, who had put the wet rag aside. His eye was going to be swollen shut by the time his mama arrived.
She took the three cookies from Tunisha’s hand and gave one to each of the children. One bag of cookies cost three dollars and eighty-nine cents. On sale. No wonder Arba Wilson had to work such long hours. Leota couldn’t help wondering how many buckets of chicken the poor woman would have to buy in order to fill up these growing children.
Six o’clock was still two and a half hours away. Resigned, Leota went to her pantry.
The three children ate two cans of fruit cocktail, six slices of bread, and three slices of American cheese before they were full. Leota stopped counting up the cost. The truth was, she enjoyed having them in her kitchen. They relaxed and chattered like little magpies. She had the feeling that now that they were refueled, they’d be running like Energizer bunnies.
“Would you like to watch television?” Anything to keep them calm and quiet. And inside where they were safe.
The children followed her into the living room. Unfortunately, talk shows and soap operas seemed to dominate the schedule. “Too bad I don’t have any children’s books. I could read to you.”
“I have a book,” Tunisha said. “I got it from the school library. It’s in my backpack.” She was out the front door and gone before Leota could call her back. Concerned those bullies might still be around, she went out on the front porch and waited. Tunisha ran up the driveway and around to the back of their house. Leota heard the screen door slam. A minute later it slammed again, and the girl came running back down the driveway with a book in her hand.
Leota watched her come up the steps. “Did you lock the back door?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Panting, she handed Leota the book she had checked out.
“The Wind in the Willows.” Leota smiled. “Well, we’ll see how far we get before your mama comes home.”
A few minutes after six, the doorbell rang. Leota couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Before their mother was even in the door, the girls were recounting the trouble on the sidewalk, the snack of animal crackers, fruit cocktail, bread, and cheese, and the adventures of Mole. Arba tried to shush them, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. Worse, she looked scared. She tipped Nile’s face up and inspected his eye. Then she looked at Leota. “Thank you for stepping in, Mrs. Reinhardt. I hope they haven’t been too much of a bother.”
“You can call me Leota, and they’ve been perfect ladies and gentleman.” As soon as she had started reading, they had gone quiet as little mice. A pity she wouldn’t get to finish reading the story. She’d been enjoying it. Resigned, she took a piece of junk mail from her side table, tucked it into the book, and closed it. “Don’t forget your book, Indiana.”
Tunisha took it and held it against her chest. “Would you read some more tomorrow?”
Arba Wilson winced. “No, Tuny.” She ran her hand tenderly over her daughter’s neat cornrows. “Mrs. Reinhardt has more important things to do.”
“Like what?” Leota said bluntly.
Arba’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’d like to hear the end of the story.”
Indiana grinned broadly at Leota and then up at her mother. “Can we, Mama? Please?”
Carolina snuggled against her mother. “Please? Can we? Can we?”
“A smart woman knows when she’s defeated.” Leota managed to restrain her smile. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Corban Solsek would be coming over to take her shopping again. She had better write up a new grocery list. She needed to lay in supplies.
Chapter 14
Annie flew up the stairs, unlocked the apartment door, and tossed her backpack onto the sofa. Grinning, she picked up the telephone and punched in her grandmother’s phone number. She paced as she waited for her to answer. “Hello,” came the mellow greeting.
“Grandma! I’ve got the greatest news!”
“You won the lottery, and you’re going on an around-the-world cruise.”
Annie laughed. “Something better than that. My art professor has a friend with a gallery here in San Francisco. One of my paintings is going to be hung.”
“Hung?”
“In his gallery. On a wall. For sale. My picture, I mean. Oh, Grandma, I didn’t expect something like this to happen in a million years!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why not? Anyone with half a brain can see you have talent.”
How she adored her grandmother. “You’ve never even seen my paintings, Grandma. You have no idea whether I have talent or
not.”
“Of course, I know. I don’t have to see anything to know. It’s in the genes. Your great-aunt did those wonderful renderings. Great-Grandma Reinhardt was an artist with her embroidery needles. And your mother was a master seamstress by the time she was sixteen.”
“Mother? You’re kidding, aren’t you?” She had never known her mother to pick up a needle.
“No, I’m not.”
“I didn’t even know she sewed.” Any mending that needed doing went to the French laundry.
“Oh, my, yes. She started sewing her own clothes when she was thirteen. She made the most beautiful things. She’d go down to the most expensive stores and see what was popular. Then she’d buy remnants at one of the big fabric stores downtown and make copies with her own ideas added. She even finished the edges on all the seams, just like those exclusive shops do. She had a real knack for it. She got so good at it she was making her own patterns from tissue paper she bought at the five-and-dime.” Grandma Leota didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then added quietly, “I wonder why she stopped sewing.”
Annie wondered as well. “I’ve never seen Mother make anything.”
“If that isn’t the strangest thing. Why would she quit doing something she enjoyed so much?”
“She probably didn’t enjoy it, Grandma.” Truth to tell, Annie couldn’t think of one thing her mother had ever enjoyed. According to her mother, even shopping was a chore. Everything in life seemed to be just another burden. Why did she feel that way?
“Eleanor spent hours on that old treadle machine in the bedroom,” Grandma Leota said. “It belonged to Grandma Reinhardt. She used it for mending. She showed your mother how it worked. In fact, I think that’s how your mother started, by doing the family mending. When she was sixteen, she said she wanted a brand-new sewing machine. I would’ve given anything to get her one, but there wasn’t money at the time. . . .”
Grandma Leota was rambling again, but Annie liked it when her grandmother remembered the past aloud. Annie had learned more about her mother in the past few months than she had in her entire life of living with her. It was hard to picture Nora as an eager teenager designing her own clothes.
“Eleanor always seemed to be enjoying herself when she was sewing on that ancient machine, but then again, you can’t judge by me. I’ve been told I don’t know anything about anyone. Except myself, of course.” She made a little sound like she was clearing her throat. “How much is that painting going to be?”
“Painting?”
“Your painting in the gallery. The one you called to tell me about. How much are they going to ask for it?”
“Oh . . . I don’t know, Grandma. I was so excited, I didn’t even think to ask.”
“Any chance I could see it before you sell it?”
“I could ask for it back for a few days and bring it over this weekend. Unless you have other plans.”
“Not unless you count plucking the hairs from my upper lip as plans. But don’t get it back. Take a picture of it. You should keep an album of pictures of your work, noting who buys each piece. Oh, and, Annie, before I forget, do you have any books around your place? Children’s books?”
“I have a box of things I brought from home. There might be a few in there. Why?”
“Arba’s children have been over here the past few afternoons. They come after school, and I read to them. They’ve even started bringing their homework here so they can do it at the breakfast-nook table. And now they’re bringing friends. Two little Mexican boys from down the block and a Vietnamese boy from across the street. Can’t remember their names. Tom, Dick, and Harry, I call them.”
“You’re reading to six children?”
“I’m halfway through Robinson Crusoe, but they don’t seem much interested. The language is too old-fashioned for them. Carolina brought me some books yesterday. Children’s horror stories, if you can imagine. I’ve never seen such book covers. Horrible things. She said all the kids are reading them. No wonder the world is going mad.”
“I’ll stop by the library.”
“Just bring anything that will keep them interested until Arba gets home. I don’t want the children getting restless and tearing my house down around my ears. At least they’re bringing their own snacks now. I thought they’d be eating me out of house and home after the first day. I’ve never seen children put so much food away as those three Wilson children.”
Annie could imagine. Three growing children were undoubtedly hungry after a long day at school, and her grandmother’s Social Security check probably didn’t stretch beyond feeding herself. Annie smiled at the picture of her grandmother reading stories to six children under the age of nine. No small task. She could help her grandmother’s literacy efforts by picking up some peanut butter, jelly, and a few loaves of bread. And a couple of gallons of milk. Maybe a bag of apples and a bunch of bananas as well.
“I have some good news, too,” Grandma Leota said. “Barnaby’s eating just fine. Even tossed some seed on the floor today. Still hasn’t made a peep.”
“Great! I’ll tell Susan. She’ll be relieved. Do the children like him?”
“They leave him alone. Anyone even approaches that bird and he has his beak open and ready for attack. Arba calls him Jaws. Now, listen, honey. We’d better hang up. This is costing you.”
“Only a couple of cents, Grandma.”
“A penny saved is a penny earned.”
Laughing to herself, Annie shook her head. “I’ll see you Saturday morning, Grandma.”
“Not Friday this time. Do you have a date with that Sam fellow on Friday?”
“Nope. I’m working at the restaurant.”
“A pity. Such a nice young man. And handsome, too.”
Annie laughed. “And dangerous. I love you, Grandma.”
“I love you, too, honey.”
Annie called her father with the good news, but he wasn’t available, so she had to leave the message with Monica. She knew it was unlikely her father would receive it. Monica always seemed to forget to pass messages along. Annie punched in the numbers for home, then pressed the Off button before the telephone had time to ring.
She sat with the telephone pressed against her forehead for a moment, praying silently that her mother would rejoice with her. She knew it was a lot to expect, but she wanted to share her good tidings with all those she loved. Besides, if her mother heard the news from someone else, it would just give cause for more hurt feelings.
Taking a deep breath, Annie pressed the numbers again and waited, counting the rings. She was trembling slightly, hoping—just this once—that their conversation would be pleasant. Someday her mother was going to have to accept the fact that Annie was no longer a child. She had to find her own way in life.
Oh, Mother, please, just this once . . .
“Gaines residence.”
“Mother, it’s Annie. I just called to share some wonderful news with you.”
“The only good news I need to hear is that you’ve decided to be sensible and come home.”
Annie steeled her resolve. “One of my paintings is going to be in a San Francisco gallery. For sale.”
“How did that happen?”
Annie hesitated. “Well, my professor told me he was so impressed with it, he showed it to a friend.”
“How nice for you.” Her voice was so dry, Annie wished she hadn’t called. “How old is this professor of yours?”
What tack was this? “Forty, forty-five. I don’t really know. What does that matter, Mother?”
“All you have to do is think about it, Anne-Lynn. Do you really think a first-year art student is going to have a painting shown in a San Francisco gallery? Those galleries show paintings of well-known artists. I should know. I’ve been in them often enough buying paintings for this house. If you ask me, that professor wants something from you, and I can guess what it is.”
Annie hadn’t asked. All the excitement and joy she had felt was gone, along with the hea
dy taste of confidence. “He’s married, Mother.”
“Do you think that makes a difference?”
“He’s happily married.”
“Oh, is that what he told you? You’re intimate enough with him already that he’s telling you about his personal relationship with his wife.”
“Why do you twist things—?”
“I’m not twisting anything. I was young once. Men in power positions are always hitting on stupid girls who are so starry-eyed they can’t think straight. Use your head, Anne-Lynn.”
Annie wiped the dampness from her cheek.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What would you have me say, Mother?”
“You want the truth, don’t you? I’ve always told you the truth about everything.”
“You’ve never even seen my painting, and yet—”
Her mother sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose now you’re going to feel sorry for yourself.”
Something inside Annie ruptured, leaving anger and sorrow in its wake. “I’ll leave that to you, Mother.” She pressed the Off button and put the telephone back in its cradle. Within seconds, it rang again. Annie ignored it. The answering machine clicked on.
“Stop pouting and pick up the telephone, Anne. I’ve really had enough of this childishness. . . .” She kept talking until the machine clicked. Annie leaned over and turned the machine off. The telephone started ringing again. It rang ten times before it stopped. Within a minute, it started ringing again. Fifteen this time. When it finally stopped, Annie sat down and wept. It would take a miracle for her to have the kind of relationship with her mother that she longed to have. She was battle weary.
The telephone started ringing again and went on and on. Her mother wouldn’t stop until she answered. Picking up her jacket, Annie went out the door.
Nora fumed. The longer the telephone rang, the angrier she felt. How dare Anne-Lynn not answer? Leota was to blame for this. Nora’s nails pressed painfully into her right palm as she waited for her mother to answer.
One, two, three, four . . .
The click sounded and she didn’t even wait to hear Leota’s voice. “What have you said to my daughter to turn her so against me?”