Roy nods and kisses the top of my head, his good-bye.
Blanche is already skipping away, having won. I follow, glaring at her back, but stopping for a second to watch Roy put the lid back on the paint can. Roy’s good to me—too good. And I won’t do anything to mess that up.
*
“I’m through with flirtin’,” I sing along softly, lyrics that are constantly ingrained in my head, and grab a rag to wipe down the bar at Doc’s. “It’s you that I’m thinkin’ of. Ain’t misbehavin’. I’m savin’ my love for you.”
I set my gaze longingly on the stage. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if I ever had the nerve to stand up there, letting words pour from my mouth. To me, singing is the purest form of feeling free. My daddy said it’s ’cause those words, those melodies, come from deep within.
Same with our hopes and dreams, he believed. Daddy talked big, always wanting the best. It’s why he simply had to have our ma. I scrunch the rag in my fist, hoping my daddy wouldn’t disapprove of where I’ve been spending my nights.
Blanche flits up beside me, bumping me with her hip. “Why the long face? You ain’t still mad ’bout earlier, are ya?”
“Don’t know why you had to open your big mouth with Roy.”
She shrugs. “He’s easy to get worked up. Couldn’t help myself. Besides, I’m sure he suspects nothin’.”
I scratch my hairline, not convinced. “He better not. Lying to him is making me all itchy.”
“Please. I’m the one suffering. Can’t get those cheese grits out of my head.” She laughs, clearly dismissing her earlier actions. “Listen, I’m staying here tonight.” Blanche points toward the ceiling, bouncing on her toes, barely able to contain her excitement. “Buck’s got one of the apartments upstairs.” I raise an eyebrow at her news. “So take Big Bertha to get home. I’ll get her in the morning.”
“Okay,” I say.
“That’s it?” Blanche fires back. “No condemning me to hell for staying overnight with a boy?”
“I’ve got enough on my mind without worrying ’bout the fate of your soul.” And, really, she’s been sleeping on my couch every night this week. A night off from Blanche duty would be nice.
“Fine by me.” She drops her car keys on the bar, slaps my butt. I yelp. She laughs. “Hey, if Roy won’t, I will.”
I sigh and get back to wiping down the bar.
Not long later, I fitfully drive away from Doc’s and pull the parking brake into place outside my ma’s house. The lights are off, the night is quiet, the promise of a new day is only a few hours away. A day I hope doesn’t include that tap from Mary. I wiggle out of my pantsuit, shove it under my seat, pull a more age-appropriate dress over my corselet, and take a long breath. The weight of keeping one foot in both worlds is exhausting.
Creeping into my house at two or three a.m. is part of the reason why. I slip inside, press the door closed, and step forward, then to the right, avoiding a noisy floorboard.
“Bonnelyn Elizabeth Parker.”
I jolt. A light flicks on behind me.
I turn slowly, knowing the expression that waits for me: disappointment.
But why is what’s important.
“Yes, Ma,” I say, surveying the glimpse of her face in the lamp’s glow. Dark circles hug her eyes. Eyes that are sad, as if she’s been crying. She puffs on a cigarette, a dirty habit she picked up after Daddy died, as a way to comfort herself.
I lower my head, wring my hands.
“Where have you been?”
“I was working—at the diner.”
“It’s nearly dawn, so I know that’s not true,” Ma says from her chair, blowing out a puff of smoke. I try to respond, but she cuts me off. “Were you with Blanche again?”
“Yeah.” I droop my head even lower. “We went to Victor’s after.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. More than usual. She’s been here nearly every night this week.” Ma narrows her eyes. “Are you girls staying out of trouble?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and hope to God her cigarette smoke covers up any lingering scent on me from Doc’s.
She presses her lips tightly together, like she knows I’m up to something but is trying to hold the words inside. “With school starting soon, that behavior can’t last much longer. You hear?”
I nod, my mind now spinning ’bout how I’m going to justify staying out late once summer is over. Ma knows the diner closes after the dinner rush, and we can’t give up the money from Doc’s, not with Buster in a cast up to his elbow.
“Is everything all right with Roy?”
That question rips Doc’s from my thoughts.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say again. “Blanche is just, um, having some problems with her daddy, so I’ve been with her a lot. Roy understands.” Ma purses her lips before her face softens, and I subtly release a breath before yawning to fill the void. “I’m sorry I kept you up.”
She waves her hand in dismissal, then grinds her cigarette into an ashtray. “I couldn’t sleep anyhow.” She meets my eyes again. “I suppose you’ll be fixing up your house all day tomorrow? ’Bout time someone cleans up the neighborhood.”
I nod, and Ma nods, her expression unreadable. Worry creeps in again, surfacing this time as paranoia, while I fiddle with a loose thread on my dress. I can’t help but think she knows. She knows I work with Roy on the house every day to escape, to feel better ’bout sneaking ’round at night while he’s slaving away at the plant.
I wonder if she’d accept my rationale: the world we live in today gives me little choice but to mix up right and wrong, doing what I got to do to get by.
I shift toward the hall, wanting to get away from the speculation I fabricate in my ma’s eyes. “Well, good night,” I whisper.
“He stopped by, Roy did,” my ma says, and I pause with my back to her, my hands clenching my dress.
“Why? I saw him earlier today. What’d he want?”
“He went by the diner, looking for you. You weren’t there, so he came here.”
I face my ma, hoping my expression doesn’t give away that I’m a big, fat liar. “Oh, he must’ve just missed me.”
Ma pushes up from her chair. Her arms quiver and I leap forward, reaching for her. She waves her hand again to dismiss me. “I’m fine. Just been sitting here awhile.”
I help her anyway, leading her to her room.
“Don’t forget to say your prayers,” she says, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ears. “And get some sleep. You look like you’ve been working yourself too hard.”
She kisses my forehead before slipping into her bedroom. I creep into my own, careful not to wake Little Billie. In bed, I pull the covers to my chin, despite the stuffiness of the room. I am working too hard, trying to stifle all this damn, relentless worry. It’s enough to make a girl do crazy things, so help me God.
8
“Forgiveness comes in all forms,” I sing at church in the morning, trying to make eye contact with no one and everyone in the boisterous congregation. Between verses, so many breathe in at once that it’s hard to believe any hot air is left in the chapel.