We Are All Welcome Here Part 12

"Someday I like you to know all I done give up, take care you and your mother. I could have left here long time ago, me and LaRue both, but I stay on account of y'all. And this what I get in return, some Jesus-size argument for ever' single thing I say. You 'bout wore me out, Diana."

"I'll go to the store," I said. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

"You think you-"

The phone rang and Peacie leapt up for it. LaRue hadn't called in three days; I hoped this was him now. But the call was for my mother. "Yes, this the right number, but she be napping right now," Peacie said. She pulled a man's-sized handkerchief from her ap.r.o.n pocket and pressed it against her nose, sniffing. She listened intently, then straightened and said, "Hold on." She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "Did your mother enter a contest?"

I nodded, then whispered back, "I entered for her. She doesn't know."

Peacie looked at me for a long moment. Then she said, "She done won second prize."

I stood, my heart pounding. Peacie pressed her hand to her mouth, and from behind it came a high-pitched squeal. She closed her eyes and took in a breath, smoothed down the front of her ap.r.o.n. Then, into the phone, she said, "Could you please wait just one minute? I'm gon' wake her up."

Peacie held the phone out to me and in an overly controlled voice said, "I'm gon' go tell her."

I held the phone pressed to my breast in a mix of impatience and fear. What if the call got disconnected? What if you lost the prize if you didn't accept it soon enough after they called? What if there was a giant ticking clock on a wall, moving closer to them calling the next person on the list? Then my insides sagged. This was a joke. I put the phone up to my ear to listen. I heard nothing. "Suralee?" I said.

"Yes, h.e.l.lo?" an unfamiliar voice said. "Is this Paige Dunn?" I said no, but she was coming, just one second, she'd be right there, could they hold on just one more second? Then, after Peacie pushed my mother up to the phone, I pressed the receiver to her ear.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said. "Yes, this is Paige Dunn." Then she looked up at me while she said, "You...you're kidding. You're kidding, right?" She listened some more, the color rising in her face, gave out our address, listened some more, and then said good-bye. "We won twenty-five hundred dollars," she said. "We won twenty-five hundred dollars twenty-five hundred dollars!"

"Lord have mercy!" Peacie shrieked, and I pounded on the kitchen table so hard I hurt my hand.

"They want to come and take my picture tomorrow," my mother said. "All I have to do is sign some papers and they'll give me the check." Something occurred to her. "Won't they they be surprised!" she said. be surprised!" she said.

I got up before Peacie arrived, and crept downstairs to my mother's bedroom. She was awake, and she smiled at me. "Come here," she said. "I'm so excited I hardly slept. You know what I'm going to buy you? I'm going to buy you a canopied bed. And a whole new wardrobe. And any game you want. And I'm going to buy myself a Royal electric typewriter. I'll press the keys with a pencil." got up before Peacie arrived, and crept downstairs to my mother's bedroom. She was awake, and she smiled at me. "Come here," she said. "I'm so excited I hardly slept. You know what I'm going to buy you? I'm going to buy you a canopied bed. And a whole new wardrobe. And any game you want. And I'm going to buy myself a Royal electric typewriter. I'll press the keys with a pencil."

I climbed into her bed and lay beside her. She kissed the top of my head. Her breath was terrible-we'd had garlic bread with last night's dinner. "Peacie needs to brush your teeth really good this morning," I said.

She opened her mouth wide and blew down on me. "Yours isn't much better," she said.

I blew back into her face and we laughed.

"And we're going to hire a nighttime caretaker," she said. we're going to hire a nighttime caretaker," she said.

"Can we get Lay's potato chips now?" I asked, and my mother said, "Nothing but."

"What are you going to wear for the picture?" I asked.

"I don't know, what do you think?"

"Something blue," I said.

"Okay. Maybe my blue blouse. And if they can take the picture from above the vent hose up, I could look normal. What are you going to wear?"

"Me? I don't know. They're not taking my picture."

"They might. They ought to. You're the one who really won."

"Yeah, but don't tell them," I said.

"Believe me!"

I reached over and picked up one of my mother's plaster sh.e.l.ls. She had two, so that one could air out when she wore the other. I laid it over myself. "I think I'll wear this," I said. "I'll put flowers in the vent hole."

"Take that off," my mother said.

I smiled. "Not my style?"

"Take it off!" she said, with a ferocity that stunned me.

I laid the sh.e.l.l aside, then said, "I'm not going to get polio, you know."

"That's right," my mother said. "And you won't ever put that sh.e.l.l on again, either." She looked over at the bedside clock. "Wonder where Peacie is? She's never late. And especially today, she needs to be on time."

"I'll get you started," I said.

My mother hesitated, then said, "I need the bedpan."

"Okay."

"Put it under me and then go out of the room," she said, and I said I knew. "Give Peacie a call," my mother said. "Maybe she overslept."

I went into the kitchen and dialed Peacie's number. There was no answer. "She's on the way," I called.

I felt bad for Peacie. It would hurt her pride to arrive late. I'd pretend I didn't notice. I opened the cupboard to survey the breakfast cereals. Soon we'd be able to buy any kind we wanted. I felt a rush of excitement close to a convulsion, and then my mother called, "Diana? Done."

I only smiled.

An hour later there was still no sign of Peacie. My mother told me to call Mrs. Gruder, but I said I could take care of things. I could bathe my mother; I could feed her; I could dress her. When it came time to transfer her to the wheelchair, I could even do that if I had to. "Go over and see if Riley could help," my mother said. "Tell him I'll be ready to be moved in an hour."

When I knocked on Riley's door, I heard him moving about inside. Then the door opened a crack and he peered out. I held up my hand. "Hey."

"You got an emergency?" He was wearing his underwear, and his hair was sticking straight up.

"No, sir," I said. "But we were wondering if you could just help get my mother up into the wheelchair in about an hour."

"She going to the hospital again?"

"No, sir. It's just that Peacie hasn't come yet this morning, and I need a little help transferring her."

"What happened to Peacie?"

"Nothing. She just had a doctor's appointment." I wasn't sure why I was lying. But I trusted the impulse.

I went back home and got my mother and myself ready. I did a pretty good job on her makeup; she said it was as good as Peacie did, though both of us knew it wasn't. She let me wear some of her pink lipstick, and I tied one of her scarves in my hair. We looked as good as we could, but beneath this veneer, our worry was beginning to show.

When the doorbell rang, I ushered in two middle-aged men dressed in suits: Jack Peterson, the photographer, and Bill Hartman, the representative a.s.signed to deliver to my mother a check for that astonis.h.i.+ng amount. I could tell that they were affected by the surroundings-their soft, nervous smiles, their inability to maintain eye contact. I was always reminded of our poverty whenever someone from outside our element first came into our house, was always newly ashamed. When the men came into the dining room to meet my mother, the photographer nearly dropped his camera; it quite literally slid down in his hand. But then my mother smiled.

At three in the afternoon, Peacie finally showed up. My mother was back in bed, though awake, and I was sitting beside her, the check in my hand. "I'm sorry," Peacie began, and my mother said, "It's all right. It's fine. What happened?"

Peacie sat in the chair by my mother's bed and stared into her lap for a long while. Then she looked up and said, "LaRue in jail. He beat up pretty bad. Somebody in there with him got out, and LaRue ax him come tell me. They wouldn't let LaRue call n.o.body. They accuse him hiding a concealed weapon. He ain't had no weapon! They just round up the marchers they can catch and use them teach the ones get away a lesson. LaRue hurt bad in the stomach and the back, and he can't see out one eye, but he just sitting there, ain't no doctor come to see him. He ain't hardly eating. He peeing blood. I got to go there, I just hope he ain't died, time I get there. I got some things I got to say. I just want to see him." She swallowed hugely. "Now, I called my sister, she can't take care of you. I called some other folks, too. I'm sorry, Paige, I can't find n.o.body. But I got to go."

"Of course you do," my mother said. "But Peacie, there must be bail set. We can get him out."

"Bail set at five hundred dollars," Peacie said. "Might as well be the moon."

"What a coincidence, the moon came today," my mother said. "Moon walked right up the steps and handed me a check."

"I can't do that," Peacie said. "I can't take your prize money."

"It's not mine," my mother said. "It's ours."

I saw new clothes rising up in the sky as though they were going to heaven. I saw my beautiful canopied bed, a new washer and refrigerator, fancy shampoos, all fading away. But also I saw LaRue's warm brown eyes. I saw him sitting in jail, erect and proud, but hurting. Waiting with his hat on; I so hoped he had his hat on.

"Diana," my mother said. "I want you to go and ask Riley to come stay with me. Get me a pen and I'll sign that check. Then go to the bank with Peacie and get it cashed."

Cashed! I'd be like Scrooge McDuck; I'd need a wheelbarrow for all that money-a vault!

"Give a thousand of it to Peacie; bring me the rest."

Peacie gasped. "No, Paige! I ain't taking it!"

That's right, I thought. It was too much! I thought. It was too much!

"Peacie," my mother said. "Please come here and sit by me." Peacie moved reluctantly to my mother's bedside and sat down. My mother looked over at me. "You go on now, Diana. Tell Riley I'm going to need him in a few minutes for about an hour, then take a walk around the block."

I stood still. "Go," she said. "Once around the block."

Still I did not move. "Go!" "Go!" my mother said, and I went, letting the screen door slam behind me. On the porch I saw Peacie's small suitcase, and I kicked it over. my mother said, and I went, letting the screen door slam behind me. On the porch I saw Peacie's small suitcase, and I kicked it over.

I went back to Riley's house and told him what my mother had said. Then I walked around our crummy neighborhood, full of crummy houses and crummy yards, crummy laundry on crummy lines, and I was angry. Why would my mother give away nearly half of what we had just gotten? Why? We needed that money! Peacie knew that! Peacie saw that it was wrong to take it! Why didn't my mother?

By the time I got back, Peacie was waiting at the door. "Let's go," she said. I looked up into her face. Nothing in her expression told me anything I needed to know. Reluctantly, I set out alongside her.

Halfway to the bank, I asked Peacie, "What's wrong with LaRue's eye?"

"I don't know."

"Will he go blind?" She didn't answer. I looked out across a field we were pa.s.sing, closed one eye. "Nah," I said, answering my own question. "He isn't going to go blind. He's going to be fine."

"I just need to get there," Peacie said. "I hope that bus run on time, I got to get there."

"Peacie?"

She kept walking.

"Peacie?"

She turned to look at me, weariness in her eyes.

"I just want you to know you don't have to worry at all about my mother. I'll take care of her. I really will. I know how, and I'll get help when I need it. It won't be as good as you, but she'll be all right. You just worry about you and LaRue, and don't even think about us. We'll be fine."

Peacie smiled, a halfhearted thing, but exceptional under the circ.u.mstances. "Well, looky here. Look who done growed up overnight." I reached over to hug her, but she stepped away and looked sideways at me. "Keep those grabbers to yourself. You want me cry a river like you?"

Outside the bank, I handed Peacie ten one-hundred-dollar bills. Her bottom lip trembled as she put the money in her purse; she would not look at me. Then she walked off toward the bus stop, turning around only once to say, "Tell your mama I call her."

The rest of the money I clenched in my fist, and I stuck that fist in the waistband of my shorts as I set out toward home. Every few steps I took, I looked behind me, just in case. It wasn't a fine feeling, having so much money, after all. It made your stomach hurt. It made you worried and suspicious. It made you feel captured.

My mother asked Mrs. Gruder to change her hours so that she would be with us from nine to five. Her husband, Otto, strenuously objected to this, saying it was too many hours, so she offered us eleven to four, but just for two weeks. We took it, hoping that Peacie would be back by then. I began helping my mother both in the mornings and at night, and I began making dinner.

I knew how to make a lot of things; creating easy suppers posed no particular challenge. The challenge was, my mother felt that in Peacie's absence she needed to supervise me. She would have me unplug her and push her into the kitchen, where she watched every move I made. The way she used to do things and the way I did them were at odds, and she was constantly correcting me. My hamburger patties were too fat. I didn't let the water boil hard enough before I put the noodles in. Greens needed to be washed more thoroughly than I did it; tomatoes for salad needed to be cut into eighths, not fourths. It got so that I dreaded this time of day more than anything. "You don't cut onions that way," she said one night when I was making a meat loaf.

I continued chopping.

"Diana."

"What." I didn't look up.

"You don't chop onions that way!"

"What difference difference does it make!" I shouted. "Who cares how you do it as long as they get cut into little pieces! Why don't you just leave me alone! I know how to do this; I don't need your help!" does it make!" I shouted. "Who cares how you do it as long as they get cut into little pieces! Why don't you just leave me alone! I know how to do this; I don't need your help!"

She gulped down some air. "I'm trying to teach you something," she said. "My way is better. And it's safer. If you keep your fingers-"

"I'm fine fine!"

"Diana, put that G.o.dd.a.m.n knife down and listen to me. You listen to me. I am your mother and you will do as I tell you. The way you are doing it is wrong!"

I flung the knife down on the counter. "You do it, then. Come and get me when dinner is ready. I'll be down the block. Just come and get me."

I fled the house, crossed the yard, and stood still on the sidewalk, trying to remember how long she had been in the kitchen, how long she had been breathing on her own. I figured she had a good half hour left.

I walked a few doors down and sat cross-legged on someone's lawn, breathed in, breathed out. A woman down the street pulled into her driveway and began unloading bags of groceries. She would carry the bags in. She would make dinner. She would probably clean up afterward, too. She would tuck her children in at night.

Up in the sky above me, a flock of ducks appeared, flying in formation. They pa.s.sed directly over my head, and I could see their feet tucked up under them. They veered sharply right, then continued straight on. I watched them grow smaller, then disappear.

Peacie was gone-we hadn't heard from her in days. The ducks were gone. I wanted to be gone, too, but I sat right there, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, aware of the giant pulling force that was my mother. I hung my head, closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life wished her dead. The thought came in and out of me like a needle stick, quick but painful. It terrified me. I raced back to the house and fell to my knees beside my mother's wheelchair. I was sobbing, and I saw that she, too, had been crying. "Give me your finger," she said, her voice bitter. She bit hard, and my finger bled. I went to the bathroom and washed the wound, rinsed it with peroxide, and put a Band-Aid on it. We had only one Band-Aid left; tomorrow I would need to buy more.

I returned to the chopping block, and I cut the onions the way my mother had suggested. She was right. It was better.

We spoke little while I prepared the rest of our meal: baked potatoes, along with stewed tomatoes from the bag that someone had left on our porch. When everything was in the oven, I hooked my mother back up to her respirator. "Let me rest now," she said. "And then after we eat, I want to talk to you about something."

I went to my room while the meat loaf cooked. I didn't like turning on the oven because of how hot it made the house, but I loved the smells it created. Anyway, it was my mother's opinion that if dinner wasn't hot, it wasn't dinner.