“I’m heading into Nephi for a little refreshment and possibly a game of pool. That honky-tonk is still on Main, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. We don’t call it a honky-tonk though, Texas. That’s stretching it a little. We call it a bar. But there’s a pool table in the back, and if you’re lucky, someone to play with who can still stand,” Georgia said dryly.
“Did ya hear that, Moses? She’s already given me a nickname. Tag 1, Moses 0.” He cackled and let himself out the front door before I could respond.
Georgia laughed, but I wanted to follow him out and throw his ass to the ground. Tag didn’t always know when to shut his mouth.
But as soon as he was gone, I would have gladly welcomed him back.
The house was far too quiet without him, and Georgia and I were stuck in an empty room with everything and nothing to say. It felt oddly right and horribly wrong to be sitting beside her, our shoulders touching, our legs stretched out, side by side. With a deep breath and a shaking hand, Georgia opened the book and filled the silence with pictures.
There were pictures of a tired-looking Georgia with a messy braid and hollow eyes staring at the camera with a small smile, a black-eyed infant with a swollen face topped by a tiny blue hat in her arms. There were close-ups of wrinkly feet and miniature fists, of a naked behind and a mass of black hair. Everything documented down to the smallest detail, as if every detail had been noted and celebrated.
As we turned the pages, the time passed. The squalling infant with the bunched up face became a smiling baby with two teeth and drool on his chin. Two teeth became four, four teeth became six, and Eli celebrated his first birthday with a cake that was bigger than he was. In the next shot he had two fistfuls of icing and a bow on his head. In the next picture the bow was gone and there were globs of icing in its place.
“He was the messiest kid. I couldn’t keep him clean. I finally just gave up and let him enjoy himself,” Georgia whispered, looking down at the smiling child. “We gave him his first pair of boots that birthday. He wouldn’t take them off. He would scream when I tried to remove them.” She turned the page and pointed at a picture. Eli was asleep in his crib, his diapered rump in the air, his hands tucked beneath his chest. And he was wearing his boots. I laughed, but the laugh broke in my chest and I looked away quickly. I felt Georgia’s eyes glance off my face, but she turned the page and continued on.
Christmases, Easter-egg hunts, and the Fourth of July. Pictures of Halloween and Eli holding a sack of candy wearing only a cape and a pair of underwear made me think about his Batman pajamas—the pajamas he had on whenever I saw him. “Did he like Batman?”
She looked at me sharply.
“Did he have a pair of Batman pajamas?”
“Yes. He did.” She nodded. Her face was as white as the freshly painted walls behind us. But she turned the page without another word.
There were pictures of camp-outs and parades and the posed shots with slicked down hair and a clean shirt, which he rarely had in the candid shots. He was comfortable in front of the camera and his smile filled the pages.
“He looks happy, Georgia. It was a statement more than a question, but Georgia nodded, answering me.
“He was a happy kid. I don’t know how much I had to do with it. He was full of mischief, full of laughter, full of all the best things, even though I didn’t always appreciate it. Sometimes I just wanted him to hold still . . . you know?” Her voice rose plaintively, and she tried to smile but the smile wobbled and slipped and she shook her head, as if to underline her confession.
“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you Moses. And the truth is, I wasn’t the best mother in the world. I wished so many times that I could just have a second to breathe. I was tired a lot. I was trying to work and go to school and take care of Eli. And I just wished for silence. So many times I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to be alone. You know how they say, be careful what you wish for?”
“Georgia . . . stop.” I didn’t understand why she was insisting on making sure I knew the “truth.” It was like she felt unworthy of any credit at all. “It looks to me like you did just fine,” I said softly. She swallowed and closed the book abruptly, shoving it off her lap and scrambling to her feet.
“Georgia,” I protested, following her up.
“I can’t look anymore. I thought I could. You’ll have to finish alone.” She wouldn’t look at me, and I knew she was barely holding onto her composure. Her full mouth was taut and her hands were clenched as tightly as her jaw. So I nodded and didn’t chase her when she ran for the door. Then I sank back down to the floor and held the book in my arms, clutching it tightly, but unable to open it. I couldn’t look anymore either.
Moses
AN IMAGE OF GEORGIA glimmered and grew—a laughing mouth and brown eyes, blonde hair flying as if she rode a horse that I couldn’t see. But she wasn’t riding a horse. She was bouncing on the bed. It was a bed covered in a denim quilt trimmed in rope and dotted with lassos. I watched her through Eli’s eyes as she soared up and down once more, and then collapsed around him. Eli’s giggles made my chest ache as if I were the one laughing, as if I were the one who couldn’t catch my breath. Georgia smiled down at me as if to kiss me goodnight, as if I were staring up at her from the pillow that bunched up in my periphery. Then she was leaning in, kissing my face. Kissing Eli’s face.
“Goodnight, Stewy Stinker!” she said, nuzzling the curve between his shoulder and his neck.
“Goodnight, Buzzard Bates!” he responded gleefully.
“Goodnight Diehard Dan!” she immediately shot back.
“Goodnight, Butch Bones!” Eli chortled.