I roll onto my side. A soft glow lights up her sleepy, doe-like eyes.
My door creaks open, and I see our ma standing there. I curse myself, hating that I woke her.
“Billie, honey,” she says. “Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight?”
It’s not a question, but Little Billie hesitates, as if she’s searching for an answer. I cup her chin, putting a fake smile on my face. “Thank you for checking on me.”
She takes a deep breath before her bare feet pound ’cross the room. Somehow, Little Billie is overtaking Ma in height, and quickly outgrowing her nickname. She scampers by Ma and out the door, our ma patting her butt as she goes.
In the dark, Ma takes careful steps. I scoot toward the wall, giving her room to sit on my bed.
“You’ve been going through a lot lately, haven’t you, dear?”
Like with Billie, this sounds more like a statement. I nod, my bottom lip starting to quiver.
“I reckon that’s part of growing up. Why don’t you start by telling me ’bout that speakeasy you work at?”
I shoot into a sitting position. “What?”
Ma smiles. “Now what kind of mama would I be if I didn’t know where my daughter slipped off to nearly every night?”
After the past few hours, I think my head may explode. “Are you mad?”
“I was. Had your daddy’s belt in my hand, ready to whop you good.”
I cringe. “But you ain’t mad anymore?”
Ma sighs. “Sometimes, Bonnelyn, being a mama is hard. Knowing what’s right and wrong can be even harder.”
“How did you find out?” I ask.
“It’s not as if you girls covered your tracks real well. When I was leaving for work one morning, I saw that napkin with the address on it, smack dab on the dash of Blanche’s car.”
“Blanche is a moron.”
Ma’s eyebrows rise. “So those tears are ’cause of her?”
Not all of ’em. But I can’t bear to tell my ma what I’ve done. “Blanche invited Roy to the speakeasy tonight without me knowing,” I say. “He got mad at me, and I don’t know what’s going to happen between us.”
“He’s a good boy. I’m sure he’ll come ’round.”
I rub my tired eyes, hoping the pressure keeps any tears from falling. “I’m not sure he will.” Not sure he’ll forgive me for kissing someone else, I finish in my head.
And damn it, Blanche is right. This is my fault, and I am plumb out of ideas ’bout how to fix it. “Did you and Daddy ever have rough patches?”
“Of course we did, sweet girl. No relationship is ever perfect, but you work at it. And in the end, you find each other again.”
“Like the first time Daddy found you?” Ma tilts her head, and I explain, “The first time you met.”
She chuckles. “Your father was a determined lad, that’s for sure.”
I laugh, too, already having heard this story a million times, and each time a sense of giddiness settles over me.
“There we were,” Ma continues, “at a school dance. Your daddy was the new boy in town, which already gave him an air of mystery. Well, he saw me from a ways away, dancing with another boy, no less. Our eyes met, and it’s like he spoke to me from ’cross the room. Of course, I did the proper thing and focused on my date.”
“But Daddy had other intentions.”
“Yes, he did. He marched right over to where I was dancing and tapped my date on the shoulder to cut in.” She smiles, a hint of sadness lurking in the way her chest rises. “Once your father had me, he refused to give me back. But”—she taps my nose—“it doesn’t mean I didn’t try to push him away now and then when he got my blood pumping. Didn’t stick though. It never stuck.…”
I frown. My parents were torn apart by death, not by choice. But Roy is choosing to push me away. Shoving, actually. Though, really, I may’ve been the one pushing him first, ever since he proposed, ever since that first fear of being nothin’ more than Mrs. Roy Thornton.
“Do you think Roy and I can find each other again?”
“If that’s what you want. He may just need a li’l prodding from you. Remind him that there’s something worth fighting for.”
I sigh, not knowing what to do.
“Come here, darling.” Ma stretches out her arm, and I slide closer to her, lay my head on her bony shoulder. I almost pick my head back up in surprise. She’s always been thin, but never like this. My stomach grows hot ’cause of what I’m ’bout to say, what I’m ’bout to face. I’m still not sure I’m ready to hear the truth, ’specially when my stomach is already raw from how things are with Roy. I count to three, working up courage, then I whisper, “I know you may have mammary ductal carcinoma.”
She stiffens.
“Ma?”
She hesitates further before stroking my hair. “You aren’t the only one with secrets lately.”
I lift my head to see her face, swearing she has more wrinkles than yesterday.
Ma sighs. “Dr. Peterson agreed not to tell you.”
“He didn’t. I saw your file by mistake.”
She nods, the simple action seeming to exhaust her. “Do you know what that fancy term means?”
When I shake my head, she continues in a somehow even voice, “Breast cancer.”
“No.” I repeat the word ’til Ma pulls me into her arms.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says into my hair. “I should really thank you. If you weren’t being a devious young adult, I wouldn’t have ever found out.”
“What do you mean?”
“After I copied the address, I went there. I made an appointment, when I saw it was a doctor’s office, to try to figure out what you were up to and if you girls were okay. Dr. Peterson did a physical on me. I should’ve had one long ago, but life was too busy to stop and think ’bout myself.”
“Maybe he’s wrong and you don’t have cancer,” I say desperately, once again leaning back so I can see her face in the darkness.
“Maybe. He found a lump. Look, honey, you don’t need to worry over the details. Dr. Peterson and I are trying to fix it.”
“How? What are you doing?”
She frowns at my persistence. “It’s taking a bit of time to save up for it, but I’m having surgery in a few weeks.”
“What?” My mind falters, triggering a memory of my daddy and his surgery and him dying. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“I guess you could say I was working up the courage.” She pauses, patting my hand. “But that’s not the only way I’ve been selfish.”
My ma and I never spoke like this before—like adults, like equals. I hate the why behind us doing so, but I like that she feels she finally can. If only I could be fully honest back.
“Right away,” Ma says, “Dr. Peterson asked me if you were my daughter. So much happened from there. He reluctantly explained to me his other business. Said he’d ask you to leave, if I didn’t want you working there.” Ma scratches her head, casting an eerie shadow on the wall while she formulates her next thought. “At first I was appalled, and he assured me he’d let you go, but then we started to discuss payment for my doctor visits and the surgery. The amount”—she blows out a long breath—“the amount is a lot. So Dr. Peterson agreed to keep a careful eye on you. He also agreed to skim a little from your tips to put toward my medical bills.”