Looking For Salvation At The Dairy Queen Part 8

With the sound of her voice, the pain started pouring out of my body again. "I did this," I sobbed, confessing my sin. "I left him. He didn't want me to go. My leaving, it, it was too much for him. I killed him, Gloria Jean. I broke his heart."

But Gloria Jean told me to hush.

"Stop that right now, Catherine Grace. I don't want to hear that kind of talk out of your mouth again. This had nothing to do with you. Blame the Lord if you want, He's the one who decides who's coming and going, but you had nothing to do with it," she said in a firm, unwavering tone, pus.h.i.+ng me back from her chest so she could look me directly in the eyes.

"You understand me," she added, more as a command than a question. I wanted to believe her, but forgiveness wasn't as simple a thing as the Bible or Gloria Jean would have you believe.

Then she walked me into the house, holding my body next to hers. Ida Belle and Roberta Huckstep were pa.s.sing plates of ham biscuits. Mrs. Huckstep nodded as I pa.s.sed, for once uncertain of what to say. Ida Belle gave me a hug and a hot ham biscuit neatly wrapped in a paper napkin. She said I needed to keep up my strength. I figured she'd already been talking to Flora.

Gloria Jean kept moving me through the room, not letting anyone pull me into a conversation. But suddenly I felt somebody tugging at my hand. It was Lolly. She hugged me tight around the neck and said she was sorry about my daddy. She said her own mama cried when she heard about Reverend Cline dying so sudden and all. Lolly said there was so much she wanted to tell me, and she hoped we'd get a chance to talk while I was in town. I told her I was glad she was here. When I was in Atlanta, I honestly hadn't thought of Lolly much since I'd gone to the Varsity with Babs. I guess I was too busy thinking about myself, but now, looking at her face, I wanted to drag her into my bedroom and tell her everything that was racing through my head-everything about Daddy, Miss Raines, Martha Ann, Mr. Wallis-just everything.

Miss Raines was sitting on a chair in the far corner of the room. Her long, blond hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail, and her beautiful blue eyes looked red and swollen. She was alone, weeping gently into a worn-out Kleenex she held up to her face. Until now, I had forgotten about my Sunday-school teacher and her delicate condition. Martha Ann was wrong about her and Daddy. She must have been spending too much time listening to Emma Sue and her grandmama's web of lies and gossip. Daddy was a true man of G.o.d, just like Flora said. He loved Miss Raines. I knew that. And I also knew he would have never taken a woman into his bed without a wedding ring on her finger. But I couldn't think about that right now.

Gloria Jean led me to Martha Ann's bedroom and opened the door. The light was low, but I could see my little sister, lying on the bed with a pillow over her head. "She hasn't come out of here since this morning. Maybe you can get her to talk. At least get her to take that pillow off her head before she suffocates."

I stepped quietly into her room, not sure if she was sleeping or just hiding in her own body.

"Martha Ann, it's me . . . Catherine Grace," I said gently as I moved closer to the bed. She sighed, letting me know she wasn't asleep. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here with you." But Martha Ann remained motionless, refusing to acknowledge my presence.

"Martha Ann," I said again, this time sitting down on the bed next to her, stroking her head just like I did when she was little and had a hard time calming down at night. "I know you can hear me, whether you want to or not, so I'm just going to keep talking," I said, pausing for a minute while I tried to straighten out my thoughts. "I never meant to hurt you or Daddy. I just wanted something of my own and I guess I thought that . . .

"Well, I guess I figured, way down deep, Daddy understood. I mean when he gave me the luggage, I always thought it was his way of . . . Oh G.o.d, I don't know. But I do know that I wouldn't have left if I thought for one minute I could have done something, anything to keep Daddy from dying."

I knew my thoughts were pained and twisted, but I couldn't help believing that I was at least partly to blame for me and my sister being left alone, without a mama or a daddy. If she never spoke to me again, I would accept that as part of some deserved punishment I must endure for the rest of my life. But then she moved. Martha Ann moved her right foot just a tiny little bit, but it was enough to let me know she was willing to talk. I lifted the pillow off her face and saw the tears running down her cheeks. I started crying too, and without saying another word, we held on to each other, painfully aware that we were all alone in Ringgold, Georgia.

I woke up the next morning in Martha Ann's bed and found my house feeling more like its old self. Everyone had left, except for Gloria Jean, Miss Mabie, and Flora. Gloria Jean had convinced them to stay a few days, and Flora was already at the stove cooking bacon and scrambling a dozen eggs. And Miss Mabie and Gloria Jean were sitting around the breakfast table chatting like old friends.

"Well, honey," Gloria Jean said as soon as she saw me walk through the kitchen door, "you are looking much better this morning. I was pretty worried about you and your sister last night. Sit down." She motioned for me to take a seat next to her.

"Your dear Miss Mabie and I have been getting to know one another. Turns out, she and I come from the same part of Alabama, right outside Birmingham. We figure there's a good chance we may be kinfolk. Heck, we figure there's a good chance we even loved some of the same kinfolk, the Birmingham Hixson boys," she said with a laugh, nodding at Miss Mabie as though they had a closely guarded secret. "How do you like that!"

I couldn't help but laugh a little, too. It felt good. I took my seat at the table between Miss Mabie and Gloria Jean, and all of the sudden I started thinking about what color nail polish Gloria Jean would find appropriate for a funeral, probably some deep, dark shade of red, like Ruby River Night. And then I felt guilty, wondering why I was thinking about something as silly as nail polish the day after my daddy died.

Flora put a plate in front of me and told me to eat up. "I know," I told her. "I'm going to need my strength." But I had to wonder how much strength it was going to take to bury my daddy. I doubted there was enough bacon and biscuits to give me what I needed.

Gloria Jean said that the funeral home director down in Dalton suggested that both the service and the reception afterward be held at the church since Daddy was sure to draw a big crowd. The fellows.h.i.+p hall could hold at least five hundred. Since there wasn't a funeral parlor in Ringgold, visitations should probably be held at the house, where the family would be most comfortable. Besides, Gloria Jean and Brother Fulmer were afraid that the drive back and forth to Dalton might be hard on the Euzelians. "And Lord knows those blue-haired women will want to keep a prayer vigil going for the next few days."

Then Gloria Jean turned to me and asked what day I wanted to have the service. She said we couldn't wait too long, but anytime before the end of the week would probably be fine.

"And, sweetie, you need to be thinking about who you'd like to give your daddy's eulogy. I'm sure Brother Fulmer or Brother Blankens.h.i.+p would be honored to do it or, if you'd prefer, we could get that preacher over in LaFayette that your daddy liked so much, if you'd rather have a certified man of G.o.d overseeing everything."

Whatever, I thought to myself, but nothing came out of my mouth.

"I'm going to head down to Dalton later this morning and pick out a casket. Now, you don't need to go with me, unless you just want to," Gloria Jean continued.

All these decisions needed to be made, I understood that, but I kept thinking I shouldn't be the one to make them-in my house, I felt like such a little girl. "No, I think I'll stay here with Martha Ann. Just be sure it's real pretty, something simple but pretty," I said. Daddy never put on fancy airs when he was alive, and he certainly wouldn't want to in his grave.

But before leaving, Gloria Jean said she and Flora were going to walk down to the church. Ida Belle had called an hour ago and said that the florist had already delivered more than fifty arrangements, just this morning, and that before long no one was going to be able to find her among all the gladiolas and red carnations. Gloria Jean said she actually heard for the very first time a tinge of panic in Ida Belle's voice, and Flora thought she might be able to help.

Gloria Jean hadn't stepped foot inside Cedar Grove Baptist Church for years, not since Mama died, and now she was on her way to help make sure things looked pretty for my daddy's funeral. I never really knew what had kept her from going to church, but whatever it was, I guess daddy's dying left her feeling a bit more forgiving.

Anyway, Gloria Jean thought I might like to go with her and spend a few quiet moments in the church before everyone in town started coming to pay their respects. Miss Mabie said she'd stay at the house in case Martha Ann woke up. She promised she'd call as soon as Martha Ann got out of bed.

"Flora," she called as we were walking out the door, "don't stay down at that church too long 'cause we got to get this house in order 'fore the mourners start showing up in droves."

Flora just waved her hand like she was hearing what she already knew. She insisted on driving Miss Mabie's sedan the half mile or so down to Cedar Grove. I told her we could walk, that's what we always did. But she said it was too cold for her to do that what with the arthritis in her knees acting up. Daddy drove the Oldsmobile to church only when it was thundering and lightning. He said walking with the Lord helped prepare him for the morning. It felt wrong to be driving.

Climbing out of the backseat of Miss Mabie's sedan, I thought I saw Daddy standing on the top step, holding his arms open wide, waiting to welcome me home. I gasped, and looked again, but he was gone. "Come back, Daddy, please come back," I cried to myself where n.o.body could hear. Three generations of Cline men had welcomed the faithful and prayed for the lost right there on those steps. Now the steps were bare, and I wondered who was going to shepherd Ringgold's orphaned flock.

I mounted the stairs with Flora standing steady behind me, and then I slowly walked down the red-carpeted aisle toward the cedar pulpit that my great-granddaddy had made with his own two hands. I savored every step, thinking of all the times Daddy had pounded his fist on top of that pulpit, drawing my attention back to the sermon. I wondered if he knew all the times that Martha Ann and I were playing tic-tac-toe while he was working up a sweat trying to save another soul. I wondered if now that he was in heaven he knew about all the little secrets his girls held tightly on the back pew.

Flora found Ida Belle in the kitchen, already boiling water for the deviled eggs she planned on making later that afternoon. Ida Belle never liked people in her kitchen offering to help. "The helping hand strikes again," she'd say, shooing some well-intentioned old lady out of her way. But Ida Belle didn't seem the least bit bothered by Flora's presence. In fact, she seemed to appreciate another woman who knew her way around a kitchen as well as Flora did, even if her hands were dark brown.

Gloria Jean and I made ourselves comfortable on the soft, plush rug in Daddy's office. She said she couldn't remember when she had gotten down on the floor for any man, but I told her it just didn't feel right to sit anyplace else. Brother Fulmer said Daddy died working at his desk, preparing Sunday's sermon. Daddy always said the good Lord would take him in his boots, so to speak, and apparently He honored his word. Now all I knew was that his chair seemed like some piece of holy ground, and I didn't feel worthy enough to touch it.

We read some of Daddy's old sermons and flipped through the pages of his Bible, looking for favorite verses he had marked with a pencil. Just touching the pages I knew my daddy had touched a thousand times felt comforting, almost like we were reaching out to each other. I told Gloria Jean I thought we should read from Galatians and Second Timothy. We both agreed that the choir had to sing "The Old Rugged Cross" and "Just As I Am." And that was all I knew to do.

Gloria Jean wondered if Brother Fulmer should deliver the eulogy, since he was so devoted to my daddy. But all I could see was Brother Fulmer standing on the front porch, wiping tears from his eyes. "No," I said, "let's get the preacher from LaFayette. The church needs to grieve."

"I think your daddy would be very proud of you, Catherine Grace," Gloria Jean responded, as if I had said something thoughtful and wise. "Listen, hon, I'm going on. Now don't stay here too long. You need to go on home and get some rest. You hear me?"

"Don't worry, I will," I said automatically, already feeling anxious about leaving Martha Ann back at the house.

Gloria Jean got up off the floor, which took a little doing, and then hugged me good-bye and walked back into the sanctuary. The church doors blew shut behind her, rattling even the walls in Daddy's office. But in the quiet that followed, I lay down on the floor, and with Daddy's worn, tattered Bible placed across my chest, I stared out the window, wondering if Daddy was riding on one of those clouds floating by in the sky, wondering if he had found Mama. Closing my eyes, I started singing softly to myself.

Just as I am, Thou wilt receive.

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve.

Because Thy promise I believe, O Lamb of G.o.d, I come! I come! O Lamb of G.o.d, I come!

I rocked myself back and forth and continued to sing, lulling my body into a comfortable place it hadn't known the last couple of days. Suddenly I felt someone watching over me, listening to me, and I wondered for a moment if maybe my daddy had come to check on his little Catherine Grace. Flora said that when you pa.s.s to the other side, sometimes you stop and spend a few days saying all your earthly good-byes before you go and take your place in heaven once and for all. I even felt a s.h.i.+ver run down my spine, a sure-enough sign, Flora said, that a spirit had come to pay a visit. My spine never did tingle after Mama died, although sometimes I pretended it did.

I figured this was as good a time as any to tell Daddy how bad I felt about leaving town. I was truly, truly sorry I broke his heart. I just couldn't seem to help wanting something else. And though I hated to make him feel bad on his first full day as an angel, I desperately wanted to ask him about Miss Raines and why he kept his love for her a secret from Martha Ann and me. I mean, seeing her last night, with those teary eyes of hers, left me feeling certain that what she and Daddy had must have been a true, abiding love. But I still didn't believe that she was carrying his baby. Lord, what was Daddy planning to do, s.h.i.+p her down to Texas like they did the poor Hawkins' girl and just pretend that nothing ever happened? But when I opened my eyes, all I saw was a white puffy cloud hanging outside the window.

Flora and Gloria Jean said it was the Lord who called my daddy home. Now I knew it was not right to question the Lord's intentions, although, truth be told, questioning His master plan had become something of a habit of mine. And looking up at that cloud, I had to wonder if He had really thought this one through. There sure were a lot of mixed-up, hurt feelings down here, and I couldn't help but think that maybe my daddy's earthly departure had been prematurely miscalculated. Being nicknamed the Almighty would lead one to think that the Heavenly Father is incapable of such a scheduling error, but with so many lives to follow, I think a miscalculation is a reasonable conclusion. I mean, it sure would explain a lot of misfortunes in this world, like little babies dying of a high fever, or a daddy falling over at his desk, or a mama floating down a river.

The heavy, wooden door at the front of the church suddenly slammed shut again, bringing my attention back to the world around me. I expected to hear somebody walking down the aisle toward my daddy's office or back toward fellows.h.i.+p hall. But I never heard any footsteps. I didn't feel any s.h.i.+vers down my spine, either. No, it felt more like a real-live person was haunting me this time. I jumped up off the floor and was about to hightail it out of my daddy's office when I ran into a large, strong body.

"Good Lord, Ida Belle," I shrieked, "you practically scared the pee out of me."

"I'm sorry, darling. I was just getting a little worried about you. I heard the door, but when I didn't see n.o.body, I thought I better come check on you."

"You heard it, too?" I asked, sounding a little anxious.

"I heard the door, if that's what you mean. Lord, every time it slams shut it shakes the whole building from top to bottom."

"I know. But Gloria Jean shut the door behind her when she left. I heard it close."

"Oh, baby, I bet that florist sneaked in here with another arrangement and was too scared to show his face. He probably didn't get the door shut tight, and then a big old gust of wind come along and slammed it closed. That's all," she explained and then stared at me with a small, sweet smile on her face, checking to see if I had been calmed by her explanation. "Oh, baby, were you thinking that your-"

"No," I said before she could finish. I didn't want Gloria Jean or Ida Belle or anybody else believing I was seeing ghosts or even looking for them, for that matter, but I sure as heck didn't want to believe it was the florist, either.

"Your daddy will come along to you soon enough, maybe in your dreams tonight," she said, seeing the disappointment in my eyes. "The dearly departed always have a way of checking on us, especially when they have to leave so sudden like poor Brother Cline did. Sometimes we know it, and sometimes we don't. But I do know one thing for darn sure: Your daddy loved you very much, and he would not leave this world without making sure you was okay."

My eyes were filling with tears again. "Yeah, that's what Flora said."

"Well, you'd be wise to listen to Flora, 'cause I tell you any woman who can roll a biscuit as light and feathery as she can knows what she's talking about. That's right."

I desperately wanted to believe her, and standing there in that dirty white ap.r.o.n of hers, Ida Belle seemed almost official, like what she was saying had to be right. But I knew it didn't always happen that way. Mama never came to me. G.o.d knows I begged her to. But she just walked out of this world and never looked back, no good-byes, no nothing.

The clock on my daddy's desk told me that I had been lying on that floor for more than two hours. I imagined by now Flora was back home frying chicken and cooking a pot of green beans, and if I didn't get there soon, she'd have my sister sitting at that table and be feeding her like a little baby.

I hugged Ida Belle good-bye and realized that in all the years I had known this woman, we had never really talked about much more than Wednesday-night suppers. Dying has a funny way of making you see people, the living and the dead, a little differently. Maybe that's just part of the grieving, or maybe the dead stand there and open our eyes a bit wider. Either way, I left the church feeling like a young girl again, my daddy walking next to me, holding my hand, just like he used to do.

As I got closer to the house, I saw five or six cars parked in the driveway. People were already coming to pay their respects, again. I guess they figured that crowding into my house and making small talk and eating chocolate layer cake was going to make me and Martha Ann feel better. I'm sure Miss Mabie was enjoying hosting the party. After all, she was a professional socialite of sorts. But the thought of facing all those people was making my stomach ache.

I glanced over at Gloria Jean's house, hoping to see the LeSabre parked in the driveway. Nothing was there but a hungry, old squirrel tiptoeing over the gravel and nibbling on some sc.r.a.p of food that somebody must have dropped from another ham platter intended as a gift to the grieving family. Well, the Lord certainly giveth and taketh away, I thought to myself while watching that squirrel guarding his newly found treasure. Then I wondered why such odd thoughts kept popping about in my head at a time like this, leaving me to feel like a big pot of corn kernels sitting on a red-hot stove.

Lord, surely Gloria Jean would be back from Dalton any minute now. I'd never picked out a casket myself, but I couldn't imagine it was a real time-consuming purchase. Suddenly I was feeling kind of desperate to see her.

As I turned back toward my house, I heard a creaking noise coming from Gloria Jean's porch. I knew that sound. I'd heard it a hundred times before, that worn-out metal glider of hers moving back and forth, desperately screaming out for a shot of WD-40. Thing is, there wasn't enough wind blowing to cause that rusty old thing to move on its own. And even though it wasn't night yet, the sun had already found a place to hide, making it hard for me to see anything other than that d.a.m.ned squirrel feasting on a dirty old piece of meat.

I looked a little closer and saw something in the gray darkness that had been looming over my head since the day daddy died. It looked like a woman, a skinny little thing at that. But when I looked again, she was gone. I'd been spooked enough for one day, that's for sure. And there probably wasn't a jackrabbit in this county that could have hightailed it to my house any faster than I did.

Gloria Jean was walking through the front door up ahead of me, and I ran past all the men gathered on the porch, once again ignoring their attempts to tell me how much they had loved Brother Cline. And though I was certain Mrs. Huckstep would not approve of me running through a wake of any kind, homespun or not, I needed to tell Gloria Jean that she had company. I needed, truth be told, to be next to her.

"Hey there, hon," she said, pulling me into her arms and giving me a tight squeeze. "How ya doing?" she asked but never waited for an answer. "Lord child, you are going to be so pleased with your daddy's casket. It is downright beau-ti-ful. It's a shame we have to put something so good-looking six feet down in the ground where nothing but some old earth worms can admire it."

"Gloria Jean," I said with a slight, cautious smile, "only you would think of a casket as a fas.h.i.+on statement."

"Well, honey, you need to go out in style, that's for darn sure. I even picked one out for myself while I was there. Blue velvet interior. Thought it'd feel like home."

"Hey," I said, almost frantic to change the subject, "there's a woman on your front porch. She was sitting there real quiet just before you got home. Then she just up and disappeared."

Gloria Jean looked at me with that worried expression of motherly concern painted all over her face. "Honey, you feeling okay?" she asked, once again not waiting for an answer. "I talked to Ida Belle. She said you got a little spooked today down at the church. You know that's natural, sweetie, what with the kind of sadness you're feeling right now. I shouldn't have ever left you there alone."

Gloria Jean lifted her arm and wrapped it around my shoulders again. She was right about one thing. She shouldn't have left me. I needed her. But I wasn't imagining anything, either. I was right about that.

"This is different. I'm telling you the G.o.d's honest truth. There's a squirrel in your driveway and a woman on your porch!" My voice now sounded insistent and mad. She pushed me back a bit so she could look me straight in the eyes.

"Okay, okay, I believe you," she said, sounding honest and concerned. "I guess I better go check on my two guests then before they rob me blind, stealing all my nuts and fancy jewelry." She laughed softly at herself and then hugged me once more before heading back out the door. "Now don't run off. Wait for me right here."

I followed Gloria Jean toward the door and I would have run after her but I got caught in a small band of Euzelians who were starting to swarm in my living room again. Thankfully Mrs. Blankens.h.i.+p emerged from the middle of the hive and took my hands in hers and led me safely into the kitchen. I couldn't help but notice how soft and comforting her touch felt. She told me she was here for me, day or night, and to let her know if there was anything she could do to help in this trying time. She still looked so perfect with her blond hair rolled into its usual braided twist on the back of her head. I had always loved looking at Mrs. Blankens.h.i.+p. She said Hank would be stopping by later, and then she went to pour me a gla.s.s of iced tea.

Mr. and Mrs. Tucker were standing side by side just inside the kitchen door. He was holding his arm around her waist, or as much of it as he could. They actually looked like they belonged together even though she was at least twice his size. He offered to personally deliver anything from the store that we might need. All I had to do was call. Mrs. Tucker asked if I had tried her hash potato ca.s.serole. I'd be sure to, I told her.

Uncertain of where to be, I found myself wandering back into the living room. Martha Ann was sitting on the sofa talking to, of all people, Emma Sue Huckstep, who, I noticed, was still preening on her doughnut-shaped pillow. "Hey there, Emma Sue," I said, trying to hide the smile that I knew was growing on my face as I watched the little princess position herself more comfortably on her specially ordered throne. "Gee, I heard about your cheerleading accident, Emma Sue. Boy, I bet that hurt."

"Well, it did, to tell you the truth, but Doctor Bowden said I'll be back to cheering in a couple more weeks, in time for the basketball play-offs."

"Yeah, I'm sure the team misses that winning spirit of yours. And, hey, be sure and tell Walter to hang on to you the next time." And with that said, I realized I had nothing more to say to Emma Sue. I turned to Martha Ann to see if I could get a sense of how she was feeling. She actually looked as though she was enjoying her conversation, that in some way it was making this day a bit more normal for her.

"I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Don't let me get in the way," I said, unable to refrain from adding just a tinge of sarcasm to my voice, which Martha Ann clearly did not appreciate.

I was headed toward the kitchen when Gloria Jean came scurrying back through the front door, her face looking like she had seen a ghost of her own. And before I could ask what was wrong, she told me to come with her. I did as I was told, but on the way to her house, Gloria Jean suddenly turned and stared right at me. She looked so serious and somehow I knew that look was all about me.

"Honey, sometimes people do things that they wish they hadn't. And sometimes people do things that they wish they hadn't but the thing is so big they just don't know how to make it right. You know what I mean?"

No, I didn't, but I nodded like I did. For once, Gloria Jean really didn't seem to be making any sense at all, and that made me more uncomfortable than anything she was saying, or trying to say.

"Look, I know you've had a whole lot to deal with the last couple of days, more than any girl your age should have to face. But I've got some news for you that is either going to knock you flat down or is going to bring you some comfort, but only you are going to be able to decide that."

"Something bad has happened, Gloria Jean, I know it. It's that friend of yours, what's she done to you?"

Gloria Jean held my shoulders in her hands. "Sweetie, she didn't hurt me, or at least she didn't mean to. Now you have to be strong," and she paused for a moment to see if her words were making any difference, "for Martha Ann and for your daddy. Promise me?"

"s.h.i.+t, Gloria Jean, you're scaring me. And I've had enough of that today."

Gloria Jean grabbed my hand, squeezing it with her fingers till it almost hurt. She dragged me into the living room and in front of a woman who promptly jumped up from the blue velvet sofa. The stranger stood real still, almost seeming afraid to move any closer, like a lizard under a cat's watchful eye.

"Catherine Grace, my friend here came to town when she heard the news about your daddy."

"Oh, you knew my daddy?" I asked the woman. She nodded. "Are you here for the funeral?"

But again, the woman only nodded. Finally, Gloria Jean answered for her. "Yes, yes, she did know your daddy, many, many years ago. But, honey, it's actually you she's come to see."

I stared at the woman and speculated about the right thing to say to a stranger who seems to know more about you than you'd care for her to know.

"I'm very sorry, Catherine Grace, about your daddy, I mean," she stammered breathlessly. "I know this must be a hard time for you. It's just that, well, I've waited," and she stopped, as if searching for the right words was exhausting her.

"Hey, I don't mean to sound rude or nothing, but I'm feeling kind of funny here. I mean you knowing my name and all, and I don't know anything about you, not even what to call you. Gloria Jean?" I was looking for help, and yet Gloria Jean could only look at the woman as if asking for permission to make an introduction. She seemed so pale and sickly that I wondered if she was going to faint right in front of me.

"Gloria Jean, your friend don't look so well," I whispered to her. "And this is really creeping me out. I want to go home."

"Catherine Grace," Gloria Jean said, waiting no longer for a cue, "this is-" And then the woman interrupted her.

"No, Gloria Jean, let me do this," she said with some unexpected strength. Then she steadied herself by holding on to the arm of the sofa, took a deep breath, and finally said what she'd come to say.

"Catherine Grace, I'm your mother. I'm Lena Mae." She lowered her head, afraid to look me in the eyes.

I heard what this woman said. I mean, I heard the words, but I couldn't understand what was coming out of her mouth. "Lady, you are out of your mind, or incredibly mean, or both. I don't know who the h.e.l.l you are or what kind of sick joke you're pulling. d.a.m.n it, Gloria Jean! Why did you let this nutcase in your house?" I found myself shouting, my own voice echoing in my ears.

"Catherine Grace, I know this must be a terrible shock," Gloria Jean said, "but listen to me. You've waited years to see your mama, and here she is. I know the timing might be bad but Lena Mae thought now she might have a chance to see you, to explain, maybe even to help."

"What? Help?" I still couldn't make sense of what anybody was saying to me. I just heard words, words, more words but nothing was meaning anything. I tried to run out the door, but Gloria Jean stepped in my way and held me in her arms.

"Your daddy," the woman started talking again, "your daddy said that if I left town, I couldn't come back. He wouldn't have it. I didn't want to leave you like that. You have to believe me," she said, talking real fast now, like a little girl who has waited too long to tell the truth. "I just couldn't stay, Catherine Grace. But then I couldn't come back. I didn't know-"