The Dry Grass of August(14)

Sarah came down to the beach and walked right past where Puddin and I were sitting on our towels. She shook out a beach blanket, put her sandals and glasses on it, and went into the water up to her waist. Her somber silence was ominous. I ran down to the water and waded in. “Hey,” I hollered over the noise of the waves, “you okay?”

She jumped. “I was till you scared me.” She started for the beach.

“Huh-uh, you weren’t.” I followed her.

“Just leave me alone.”

“I will if you’ll tell me what’s wrong.”

“You want to know what’s wrong? Ask your daddy!” She snatched up her glasses and ran.

I was still standing there when Mama and Uncle Taylor came over the dunes, Stell Ann behind them. Mama was in her black latex one-piece and she looked happy. Cheeks pink, red-gold hair on fire in the late afternoon sun, hand in hand with Uncle Taylor. She stopped where Mary was sitting and said something. Mary got up and headed back toward the house.

“You been in the water yet, Jubie?” I could see Uncle Taylor looking at the welts on my legs.

I nodded. “Sarah was with me. She went for a walk.” I pointed. She was way up the beach.

“Is the water cold?” Mama asked.

“No, it’s great. Where’s Mary going?”

“To fix supper.”

Uncle Taylor spread a beach towel, and Mama dropped her sunglasses on it.

I said, “Mrs. Willingham was here—the next-door lady? She said she’d be back.”

“Oh, Lord,” Uncle Taylor said to Mama. “Lula’s the one I was telling you about. Everybody’s business is Lula’s business.” He grabbed Mama’s hand and pulled her toward the gulf. “Last one in’s a sand crab.” I hadn’t heard Mama laugh so hard in a long time.

I walked over to where Stell was spreading out her towel.

“Mama’s having fun.”

“Uncle Taylor’s good for her. Isn’t this a sublime beach?”

“Uh-huh.” I looked around while Stell settled herself. “You talked to Sarah yet?”

“Just hello. Why?”

“She’s acting weird. She said I should ask Daddy if I wanted to know what was wrong with her.”

“Daddy? Our daddy?”

“That’s what she said.”

“How on earth could Daddy know what’s wrong with Sarah?”

“She said it like it was his fault she’s unhappy.”

Stell looked at Mama and Uncle Taylor playing in the water. “I don’t know how I would feel if Mama and Daddy got a divorce.”

“Do you know why Aunt Lily left?”

“I think she had a boyfriend.” Stell opened her beach bag and took out her homemade suntan lotion—baby oil mixed with iodine.

“You mean adultery?”

She rubbed her shins with the lotion. “Maybe. I’m guessing, because of what Mama says about Aunt Lily.”

“I can’t imagine Mama leaving us.”

“Me, either. Or us living with just Daddy.”





CHAPTER 6

I was not yet seven the first time I heard Daddy fire his handgun. The war had ended, we’d moved from the mountains into a new house in Charlotte, and Mary had come to work for us. Mama and Daddy began to bicker a lot, but they were nice to each other when Mary was around. I was alarmed if she didn’t show up when she was supposed to, on days when the Number 3 bus was late.

Meemaw visited us for weeks at a time, and Mary had a way with her, fixing her coffee or helping her tune the radio to her stories or getting aspirin if Meemaw complained of a headache. When Mama heard them talking, she told Mary, in a voice loud enough for Meemaw to hear, “Don’t let Cordelia keep you from your work.” She and Meemaw didn’t get along, even with Mary as a go-between, disagreeing about little things such as the cowbell Mama hung on the kitchen door to remind her of Shumont. It clanked whenever anyone came or went. When she heard it, Meemaw frowned and said, “Dang cowbell.” But Mama was adamant and the cowbell stayed. I paid attention to Mary about such things, like when Mama said to Aunt Rita, “Life is good, except for Cordelia,” and Mary shook her head as if to say I shouldn’t notice.

Meemaw sat on the sofa all day with the radio on, listening to her programs and crocheting. Mama told Daddy she felt like a prisoner in her own home. “Cordelia sits there like a Buddha, with fuzzy things growing in her lap, watching me. She’s so suspicious.”

“How do you know she’s suspicious?”

“By the look on her face. A suspicious look.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“I heard what she said to Rita. ‘Paula thinks she’s too good for us.’ ”

“That was two sentences. She really said, ‘Paula thinks. She’s too good for us.’ ”

Mama tried not to smile, but Daddy always got around her.





Aunt Rita and Uncle Stamos came over to visit Meemaw and play bridge. The two men sat in the living room, shuffling papers and talking about Watts Concrete Fabrications, which they’d started with ten thousand dollars of Mama’s inheritance. They worked hard but didn’t agree about the need for putting in long hours. “Rita’s not happy with all the work I bring home,” Uncle Stamos said.