Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(32)

“Well, if you do change your mind,” Benjamin said, “let me know.”

Delia pretended not to hear.

For nearly six months she went through her days acting as if Otis was there resting comfortably in his bed or napping on the sofa. She washed and ironed his clothes, then stacked them on the same shelf he always used. More often than not, she’d absent-mindedly set a fourth place at the dinner table and not bother to correct the mistake. Not once did she leave the house: not to go visiting, not to go into town, not to go to church, and definitely not to accompany Benjamin into Bakerstown.

“You ought to at least go to church,” Benjamin told her, but Delia claimed there was no need since God evidently wasn’t listening.

“I prayed every day,” she said, “and He still let Daddy Church die.”

A week before Christmas Benjamin cut down a small pine, carried it home, and stood it in the front room. It sat there without a single decoration until Isaac started making snowflake cutouts to hang from the branches.

Sitting there at the table and working alone, he said, “It don’t hardly feel like Christmas.”

Delia saw the tears welling in his eyes and felt a sense of shame creep over her.

“You’re right, Isaac,” she said, “and I’m real sorry about that.” She sat beside him, and for the rest of that afternoon they made snowflakes and a string of paper angels.

That night Delia told Benjamin while he was in Bakerstown to buy Isaac a brand new baseball mitt, some comic books, and a bag of candy.

“Brand new?” Benjamin exclaimed. “That’s gonna cost near ten dollars!”

“New,” Delia repeated. “It’s Christmas, and he’s our only boy.” She went on to say it wasn’t as if she was asking for something for herself.





On Christmas morning Delia rose early, and by the time Benjamin and Isaac came to breakfast she’d set out three places; in the center of the table was a plate piled high with biscuits sweetened with honey and raisins.

That afternoon Isaac opened his gifts and squealed with delight.

“I don’t know nobody who ever got a brand new mitt,” he said.

Delia saw the joy in his eyes and smiled. She said nothing to either of them but promised herself that she would no longer cast the burden of her sadness onto Isaac and Benjamin, no matter how heavy her heart felt.





She held true to the vow, and whenever one of them was nearby she forced herself to smile and move with a spritely step. But when she was alone Delia would sit in the rocker and creak back and forth, reliving memories just as Otis had done.

In the third week of June she was busy planting a row of tomatoes on the side of the house when she heard someone yoo-hooing from the front yard. After nearly an hour on her knees she was slow getting up, and before she could stand the holler came again.

“Hold your horses,” she grumbled, “I’m coming.”

When Delia rounded the house she saw Luella standing in the walkway. “Well, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes,” she said and hurried over to hug her.

“Where you been?” Luella asked. “Every day I been thinking you is gonna come today, but there ain’t been no you for God knows how long.”

“Since Daddy Church died I ain’t been up for visiting,” Delia said.

“Ain’t up for visiting?” Luella repeated. “So what you been doing, just feeling sorry for your poor ole self?”

Delia cracked a smile. “I suppose.”

Luella raised an eyebrow and gave a disapproving frown. “All this sorrowful you been hauling around, it make you feel better?”

“Unh-unh.” Delia shook her head.

“Well, then, maybe you ought to try visiting.”

Delia laughed, and it felt good. It was first time she’d laughed in a very long time.

“Get on in here,” she said. “Let’s sit a spell and catch ourselves up.”

As Luella laughingly told stories of the past months, Delia could see the self-imposed loneliness she’d settled into. It stuck to her skin like a hungry leech, draining away every bit of happiness she’d known. Little wonder she was miserable. She missed the friendships she’d made, and in the span of that single afternoon she came to see what Luella said was true: mourning Daddy Church neither brought him back nor made her less sad.

“I’ll come visiting real soon,” she promised. “When school gets out for the summer, me and Isaac is gonna be there two or three times every week.”

“When I sees you standing at the door, I’ll believe it,” Luella laughed.





Benjamin





Some folks ask why I didn’t shed no tears when Daddy died. Brother Albert claims a man crying ’cause he lost his daddy ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. Let it out, he said, and your burden will be lifted. ’Course, it’s real easy to dish out such advice when you ain’t the one hurting. I’m not arguing against Brother Albert, I’m just saying it’s easier said than done.

I loved Daddy much as I love Delia and Isaac and I’m missing him clear down to the soles of my feet, but bad as my hurting is Delia’s is worse. Hers is like an abscess that’s festered and ready to pop open. I see her eyes all red and swelled-up and know I got to be strong for her. When she’s real weepy I tell her give it a bit of time and sooner or later the hurting will stop. How could I say that if I was sitting there blubbering myself?