The Pecan Man(28)

“No, ma’am,” Patrice groaned.

“Do you think she would approve?”

“No, ma’am.” She was near tears now. “Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t like to lie to your mother.” The irony of my phrasing was not lost on me.

“She’ll kill me for lettin’ him in the house when she isn’t there.”

“Patrice,” I sighed, “You’re a bright girl. Exceptionally bright from all I know. Do you realize the chances you’re taking with your life?”

“We were just hanging out together, Miz Beckworth! Honest, we weren’t doing anything wrong!”

“If your mama doesn’t know about it, it’s wrong. What I’m worried about is what you don’t know.”

“I know he likes me,” she said defensively. “He thinks I’m smart and mature…” She paused and then added, “and pretty, too.”

“Lot of people think those things about you,” I agreed. “But not all of them want the same thing from you as he does.”

“How do you know what he wants?” she asked, suddenly sullen, as if she knew very well what I was going to say.

“Because I know, that’s how.”

Patrice sighed and slumped into the corner of the back seat.

“Patrice, you have promise. Do you understand that? You have the talent and intelligence to break free of your situation and make something of yourself.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her head toward the window.

“Something much more than just a young single mother, or a wife if you’re lucky.”

“Bible says being a wife is a good thing,” Patrice countered with the only argument she could find.

“It is a good thing - at the right time and under the right circumstances. Otherwise, it can wind up being a life sentence.”

“You didn’t have it so bad, did you?”

“I wasn’t having sex at sixteen.”

That got her attention. Patrice sat up straight and looked me right in the eye.

“I never did, Miz Beckworth! Never!”

“Good!” I beamed. “And I’m going to help you keep it that way!”

She sat completely still, staring now at the back of the driver’s seat.

“Are you gonna tell Mama?” A single tear escaped the eyes that had long been full and threatening to overflow.

“No, I’m not,” I replied.

“What are you going to do, then?”

“I’m not sure just yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Just then, the taxi pulled up in front of the two-story J.C. Penney building three blocks from my house. I could see the twins and Gracie getting off the bus and racing toward my front porch. They never looked in our direction as I paid the cab driver.

“Let’s go, Patrice,” I said jovially as I took her arm and guided her into the square beige building. “We’ve got a lot of shopping to do and only a little time to do it.”

We climbed the marble stairs to the children’s department and found plenty of clothes from which to choose. Patrice knew all the new styles and the sizes the younger girls wore. We chose a dress for each of them, with matching lace socks and patent leather shoes. I thought the socks might be a bit too childish for the twins, but Patrice assured me they would be good for church functions.

We bought smock tops and two pairs of jeans for each of them, and completed our shopping with fancy new underwear from the children’s department.

Then we headed back down the wide staircase to the Misses’ section. I knew Blanche’s size from purchasing uniforms over the years. Patrice and I found a bright blue suit and a matching wide-brimmed hat for Blanche to wear to church. Afterwards, I chose two house dresses and a pair of soft white slippers that I thought Blanche would enjoy.

Once that was done, I ushered Patrice to the Junior Department and told her to start trying on clothes.

“For me?” she asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Of course, for you!” I laughed. “What? Did you think you weren’t included in Christmas?”

“I thought maybe you were mad at me,” Patrice said shyly.

“Don’t mistake concern for anger, child. I care about you and I care about your mother and I can’t stand the thought of her bearing anymore heartbreak.”

With that, the tears spilled over in her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hands.

“Okay, no crying allowed,” I said, and pushed her toward the clothes. “Let’s see how some of these things look on you.”

I took my initial purchases back to the service department to be gift-wrapped. When I returned, I found a chair near the dressing rooms and let Patrice model every outfit she liked, which turned out to be a considerable few. I paid careful attention to sizes and favorites and, when we were done, sent Patrice to the back to collect our wrapped goods. I chose three pairs of slacks, two shirts and a dress that Patrice had adored, even though I thought it a bit too short for my standards. After paying the clerk for them, I asked her to have them wrapped and told her I would pick them up later.

I didn’t want Patrice to see what I had purchased, so I had the clerk take the other items away from the register, thinking Patrice would return any moment. When she didn’t, I headed for the service department. She wasn’t there, either, and the clerk I had originally seen had been replaced by a middle-aged woman whose thin lips were flanked by the lines of a perpetual scowl.