Chapter Two
I shot Opal an I-told-you-so look. Mama was going to Nashville and never coming back.
Opal turned her ice-hard eyes on Mama. "Where's Daddy?"
But Mama wasn't ready to talk. Instead she started emptying our closet, dumping our jeans and dresses, sandals and tennies onto Opal's bed. When the closet was empty, she started in on the dresser drawers, taking out my underwear and socks, our swimsuits, and Opal's day-of-the-week panties. Finally she said, "Daddy left early to miss the traffic. He said to tell you bye, and he'll call soon."
I pictured my daddy on his ship in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, a long way from anywhere, and tears pushed at the back of my throat. Then Mama said, "Garnet, get the suitcase."
I pulled the green suitcase from under my bed, the one we got the year Daddy drove us clear to Dallas for the Texas State Fair. Mama piled our stuff in it, everything all jumbled together, not folded neatly like she's always after us to do, and then I realized she was taking us with her. Even though I was worried sick about Daddy, my insides felt a little bit lighter. Mama couldn't have meant what she'd said the night before. Not if we were going with her.
"Are we going to Nashville, Mama?"
"Eventually. You girls will stay in Willow Flats with your aunt Julia till I'm settled in Music City. Then I'll come back for you."
"What about Daddy?" Opal crossed her arms and glared at Mama.
"That's grown-up business, Opal. I don't believe I care to discuss it. Now hurry up. I want to get on the road before it gets any hotter."
"Aren't we ever coming back here?" I asked. Suddenly Mirabeau, Texas, seemed like the best place in the world.
"Oh, for the love of Pete!" Mama spat. "You're carrying on like Mirabeau is the garden spot of the Western world. But you just wait. Once you see Nashville, you'll never want to come back here."
Opal flopped onto her bed. "I'm not going."
"Of course you are!" Mama said. "Julia will be happy to have you."
"We don't even know her!" Opal yelled. "All my friends are here. And I don't want to miss the dance. You said I could go, Mama. It's for all the incoming freshmen. I've already picked out my dress and everything."
"There'll be plenty of dances later." Mama tapped the toe of her shoe on the hardwood floor. Click. Click. Click. "Don't make me drag you out of that bed, Opal."
"If Opal isn't going, then neither am I!" I folded my arms the way Daddy did when he had had enough foolishness. "You said I could go shopping for school clothes with Jean Ann. You promised!"
"Sometimes promises have to wait," Mama said. "And I am not in the mood for any more back talk." She sat on the suitcase lid and snapped it shut. "Both of you, get cleaned up and get going. I want you in the truck in twenty minutes or I'll make you wish you were. Understand me?"
I saw how eager she was to drop us off like a pair of stray kittens onto some musty old relative, and something inside me died. I pushed past her, ran down the hall to the bathroom, and slid the lock into place. I turned the water on and sat in the shower, crying until my skin wrinkled and I felt hollowed out inside. There was only one explanation for how fast everything had changed: Mama had gone crazy. I was desperate for Daddy to come back and straighten her out. But he was burning up the road between Mirabeau and New Orleans, headed for the World Explorer. I rubbed my hair dry, wrapped myself in the towel, and went back to our room. Opal was standing at the dresser in her pj's, raking her makeup into a paper bag. I put on the denim shorts and white T-shirt Mama had left out for me and waited while Opal got ready.
We went outside. Morning sun poured through the trees. Down the street a lawn mower started up. Mama was already sitting in the pickup, a map and her bucket purse on the seat beside her. The windows were down, and Elvis was singing on the radio. Our green suitcase and Mama's two white ones were in the back, along with some taped-up cardboard boxes and a spare tire. I climbed in next to Mama. Opal crowded in beside me and slammed the door.
"Okay!" Mama said in a voice that seemed desperate for a new start. "Nashville, here I come!"
"Aren't you going to lock up the house?" Opal didn't bother to hide her contempt, but Mama didn't even notice.
"I left the key with Mrs. Streeter," Mama said. "She'll look after things till moving day." Mama ground the gears and handed me the map. "Here, Garnet. You can navigate."
The maze of red and blue lines spreading like a cobweb over the page made my stomach hurt. Map reading was not one of my talents.
"Your aunt Julia's house is right about there." Mama stabbed with her finger at a tiny black dot somewhere in the vicinity of Oklahoma and gunned the engine. My back pressed into the seat as the truck roared out of the yard and onto the blacktop. I stared at the map. Willow Flats seemed like a foreign country, a nothing place a hundred miles from nowhere. I stole a glance at Opal, but her face was blank; she'd gone off by herself to someplace I couldn't follow.
We took the road that ran past my school. The building looked August-lonely, the windows shut tight, except for the ones in the principal's office. Mr. Gatewood's Ford was parked in the shade of the oaks out front. The teachers' parking lot was empty. The swings where the little kids play stirred in the breeze. Sunlight bounced off the school's tin roof and poured into the cab, so bright my eyes watered.
We passed the field where Daddy taught me to pitch a fastball and hit fly balls, and I realized I'd left behind my collection of baseball cards and my pitcher's glove. But there was no use asking Mama to go back for them. She was driving like the devil was chasing her. The truck rumbled across the wooden bridge straddling the river, where a couple of boys were fishing with bamboo poles. When they saw Mama barreling down on them, they plastered themselves against the railing and waved as we flew past. When we reached the road to Jean Ann's house, I couldn't stay quiet any longer.
"Wait, Mama!" I yelled above the rattle of the engine. "Can't we at least stop and say good-bye?"
"Oh, sugar, there's no time. But don't you worry. As soon as I get established, we'll throw a real party for Jean Ann and all your friends. Yours, too, Opal."
"Big whoopee," Opal said. "By then they'll be living out at Sunny Acres drooling into their oatmeal."
Opal's drama club had performed at the retirement home last spring, and the sight of all those sick old people had depressed her for weeks.
"Well, it's certainly nice to know you have so much confidence in my abilities, Opal Jane."
Five minutes later we were parked in front of Sadler's Music. Mama grabbed her purse. "I'll be right back."
Opal slid down in the seat and shook her head. "She has no idea how much I hate her."
"Daddy says we aren't supposed to say we hate anybody."
"Fine. I won't say it. But that doesn't mean it isn't true."
I chewed the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood. I wanted to hate Mama too, so it wouldn't hurt so much to let her go. But down deep I still had a soft spot in my heart for her, because of how bad she wanted her dream to come true.
A few minutes passed and then Mama came out of the store with a guitar case in one hand, her purse and a paper sack in the other. She handed the sack through the open window. "Those are my picks and extra strings. Don't lose them."
She set the guitar case in the back and braced it with the suitcases, then got behind the wheel. "Is everybody ready?"
When we just glared at her, she looked away. "Okay," she said under her breath. "Okay. Here we go."
She put on her white-framed sunglasses, turned up the volume on the radio, and started her concert. She knew every song by heart -- the words, the artist, the year it came out, its highest number on the Billboard chart.
"'Heartbreak Hotel,'" she shouted as we reached the highway, and the last of Mirabeau, and the last of my old life, slid away. "Elvis's first gold record. Nineteen fifty-six." Another song blared. At the hop, hop, hop. "Danny and the Juniors!" Mama informed us. Like we cared. "Now that was a great dancin' song."
It was after one o'clock when it finally dawned on Mama that her children hadn't eaten a bite all day. In a dusty town off the main highway, we stopped at a grocery store for a loaf of bread, some bologna, and Moon Pies. Mama gave Opal a handful of change and we went to the back of the store, dropped the money in, and slid three cold Coca-Colas out of the cooler.
There was no place to sit down to eat in the store, so we got back in the truck. Opal made sandwiches and passed them around. Mama hiked her skirt and drove with the cola bottle between her knees. "If I have to downshift, darlin', you grab this Co-Cola fast," she said to me.
For a while we were busy eating, and the only sound was the truck engine and the songs on the radio. Then the traffic slowed and we saw a detour sign. "Shoot!" Mama said. "Hold my Co-Cola, Garnet."
I grabbed the bottle and she popped the clutch and drove down a steep hill to a rutted track below. She sped past all the cars stopped on the roadway, until we came to a gravel road. There she made a hard turn that sent me crashing into Opal's shoulder.
"Ow!" Opal shoved me with her hip. "Get off me."
"I can't help it if she's driving like a maniac!"
"Hush up!" Mama said. "Look at the map, Garnet, and tell me where we are."
I unfolded the map and tried to get my bearings but it was impossible, with Mama whipping along the rough road, the truck sliding on the loose gravel, the radio blasting, and Mama asking me every ten seconds where we were. Plus, trying not to spill her Co-Cola.
Opal grabbed the map just as we flew past a road marker. She squinted at it for a minute and yelled to Mama, "We're on some farm road, about forty miles south of Mount Springs. You can get back on the highway there."
Mama nodded. "Where's my Coke?"
I handed her back the bottle and she drank it down, her eyes on the road. The radio station faded to static, and Mama worried the dial until she found another one. She kept singing and announcing the play list: Buddy Holly, Bobby Darin, Patsy Cline.
We rounded a curve and Mama hit the brakes. In front of us was a truck with a sprayer on the back, spewing fresh tar on the gravel. The stench rolled through the truck. My eyes watered. Moon Pie and bologna burned sour and hot at the back of my throat.
Mama leaned on the horn. The driver stuck his arm out the window and turned his palm up, like he was asking her what she expected him to do. The road was narrow and too curvy to pass, and we'd come too far to turn back. Mama backed off, and we inched along behind the tar truck, following it up one hill and down the other.
My stomach tingled. Cold sweat rolled down my back. "Stop, Mama!" I said. "I'm going to be sick."
"Oh, you are not. Mind over matter, Garnet. Think of something else."
But then I threw up all over my sandals, the sleeve of Opal's blouse, the map, and Mama's bucket purse. Mama pulled off the road and stopped. Opal jumped out, yelling something, but I was too sick to care. My stomach heaved and heaved. Heat shimmered on the road. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. Mama ran around the front of the truck and caught me before I fell. She said something to Opal, but her words sounded far away.
"Get your head down," Mama said. "That's right, down between your knees. Now breathe." It seemed like Mama kissed the top of my head then, but maybe I imagined it. When the world came back into focus, I saw that Opal had changed her shirt. She handed me a clean one too, and gave me the rest of her Co-Cola. Mama cleaned the map with a wadded-up tissue. "Looks like there's a town between here and Mount Springs," she said. "We'll stop there for tonight."
She rubbed my back the way she used to when I was little. Back then when I was sick, I'd lie in her bed that smelled like sunshine and lemons, eating strawberry Jell-O and chicken noodle soup, playing with books of paper dolls she'd bought at the five-and-ten. She gave me pink stuff when my stomach hurt, and cherry cough medicine when I caught a cold. Pretending to be a good mother. Pretending she cared. But now she ran her fingers through her hair, sighed deeply, and said, "How about it, Garnet? Can we go now?"
When I tried to talk, a loud burp came out instead.
"Oh, that's attractive," Opal said.
"Leave her alone." Mama wadded up our soiled shirts and tossed them into the back of the truck. She wiped off the dashboard and sprayed the cab with perfume to kill the smell. Then she noticed the gobs of black tar sticking to her good summer shoes. She shot me a hard look, toed them off, and threw them in the back too. She yanked open the door. "Well, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Let's get a move on."
We got back in the cab, which still stank of bologna and puke. Mama gunned the engine and we took off again. I must have slept, because the next thing I knew, it was getting dark and Mama was pulling into the Sunset Motel. There were nine cabins, an office with peeling paint on the door, and a flashing neon sign that said VACANCY. Opal and I waited in the truck while Mama went to the office. When she came back, we hauled our stuff into number six, a room that smelled of sweat and cigarettes. There were two sagging beds with dirt-brown spreads, a table and chair, and a speckled mirror. In the bathroom the faucet dripped rusty water into a cracked sink.
"Charming place, Mama," Opal said. "Who's the innkeeper, Norman Bates?"
Opal had seen that new movie about a psycho boy who ran a motel. I wasn't allowed to go, but I heard all about it from Opal. She said Tony Perkins was so cute, it was hard to believe he could be that creepy. But he scared her so bad that for a while she was afraid to take a shower unless I stood guard outside the door.
"I am much too tired for your sarcasm, Opal," Mama said. "If you don't like the accommodations, you're free to leave." She opened her suitcase. "You can pout all you want, but I am getting cleaned up, and then I am going to that drive-in we passed for a burger and a shake. You can come along or stay here. I don't care."
When the bathroom door closed behind her, Opal threw herself onto the bed. "Wow. She is really off her rocker. Wait till Daddy finds out."
"That's what I'm counting on," I said. "As soon as we get to Aunt Julia's, we'll call him. Maybe he'll come and get us in time for your dance."
"I just hope we're not stuck with this Julia person for the rest of our lives," Opal said.
"You reckon she's as crazy as Mama?"
Opal snorted. "Nobody's as crazy as Mama."
And then, right on cue, Mama's voice came sliding out of the shower. "Crazy they call me, sure I'm crazy..."
Opal snickered, and that set us both off. We laughed until our sides ached, until Mama twirled out of the bathroom in a cloud of Shalimar and blue satin, her face shiny clean, her hair done up in a halo of blond curls. "If you're going with me, girls, shake a leg. I'm starving."
She unpacked her makeup case and put on fresh powder and lipstick. Opal and I took turns in the bathroom, and an hour later we pulled into the drive-in. Mama found a space near the end of the row and gave our order to the carhop. Music poured from a dozen car radios all tuned to the same station. A couple of teenagers started dancing. Halfway through the song, others joined in. Under the flashing neon lights Opal's face was the very picture of sadness. I knew she was thinking about missing the howdy dance, and I got mad at Mama all over again.
The song ended and another one began.
"Be-Bop-a-Lula!" Mama opened the truck door and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Garnet. I'll teach you to dance." In her high-heeled sandals and tight blue dress, with the light shining on her golden hair, she looked so beautiful I could barely breathe. Looking at her was like looking at a painting you could never afford to buy. Part of me wanted to fall into her arms and hold on for dear life, but another part didn't want any more memories that would make it harder to let her go.
"I don't want to."
"Fine." She let go of my hand like it was a hot coal, but she kept swaying to the music. "Opal? Want to dance with your mama?"
Opal stared. "Do I want to dance with you, after you've ruined my entire life? No, Mama, I don't believe I do."
"Oh." For a moment her face fell, then our mother smiled like she was doing a commercial for toothpaste. "Suit yourself, but it's sure a waste of a good song. Gene Vincent. Nineteen fifty-six. Boy howdy, that was a great year for music."
The carhop brought our order and we ate without talking. On the way back to the motel Mama was quiet, and I could tell she was thinking hard on something. Sure enough, as soon as we were inside number six, she sat us down and said, "Listen, girls. I know you're mad at me and you think I'm not being fair. But in this life, if you want something real bad, you've got to pay the price."
Opal crossed her arms, Daddy-style. Mama went on. "You two have your whole lives ahead of you, but look at me. Past thirty, even if most people think I don't look a day over twenty-five. If I'm ever going to make a musical career, I've got to go now, before it's too late."
She took a clipping out of her bag and passed it to us. WIN A RECORDING CONTRACT it said in red letters. PRODUCERS LOOKING FOR NEW TALENT. IT COULD BE YOU!
"I almost threw this out with the trash," Mama said. "It was lying under a tuna fish can, but I saw it just in time. I'm telling you, girls, when fate sends you a present, you don't dare send it back unopened." She folded the clipping. "I'm going to get one of those contracts. You'll see. One day you'll thank me for getting you out of Mirabeau, Texas."
"What's wrong with Mirabeau?" Opal said. "It's a nice place. I like it there." Mama laughed. "That's just because you've never been anywhere else. You're just like your daddy. No imagination. Believe it or not, there's a whole wide world beyond the Lone Star State, and I intend to see it all."
She thought for a minute, tapping her shiny red nails on the tabletop. "I've been thinking about a new name."
"How about Judy S. Carriot?" Opal threw herself onto the bed.
"Very funny, Opal. Be as mean as you want, but I need a stage name. Nearly everybody in Nashville has one. You know what Conway's real name is? Harold Jenkins!"
"If I was stuck with a name like Harold Jenkins, I'd change it too," Opal said.
Mama ignored her. "I can't very well go to Nashville as Melanie Hubbard."
"Why not?" I asked. "It's your name. But I guess you're throwing it away too, along with me and Opal."
"I'm not throwing you away. I am sending you to visit family! It's not that I don't want you."
"That's not what you told Daddy," Opal said.
Mama's face turned red. "I'm sorry you heard that. But that's what you get for sticking your nose where it's got no business being. Besides, I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"How did you mean it?" Opal's voice cracked, and my own throat felt tight.
Mama's eyes filled up, and for a minute I felt sorry for her, but then I thought about having to leave my whole life behind, and how she was running away from Daddy, and my insides went hard.
"There's no sense in talking more about it," Mama said. "It's plain to see you're both determined to be mad at me."
Opal dug her pajamas out of our suitcase. "I'm going to bed."
"Me too," I said. "My stomach feels funny again."
I got ready for bed and climbed under the covers. Opal slid in and turned her face to the wall. After Mama switched off the lamp, I lay wide-eyed in the dark, bone tired and achy, but too keyed up to sleep. I kept wishing I was back home in my own bed. And I couldn't stop thinking about Daddy, wondering if he'd called home yet. I turned over and punched the musty-smelling pillow, trying to sort out all the feelings churning inside me, flipping like a coin from one side to the other.
Mama was brave for going after her dream; she was the world's biggest coward for leaving Daddy and sending us away. One thing I knew for sure: A longing for the extraordinary had grabbed ahold of her and was burning her up inside, so hot and fierce that her heart had gone stone cold toward everything and everybody standing in her way. That was Mama.
Fire and ice.
Copyright © 2006 by D. Anne Love
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