The Dry Grass of August(71)

Maggie flew down the hall.

Mrs. Harold sat on the sofa next to the easy chair, pushing the dog over. She was so fat her arms were dimpled at the elbows. Her chest was flat from when she had cancer. She fished a handkerchief from her empty bodice and dabbed at the scratch on my stomach. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? We really should call your mum.”

“Where is she?”

“At your auntie’s.”

Maggie ran into the living room with her Ship’n Shore blouse, the one I’d helped her pick out.

“That’s a girl,” said Mrs. Harold. “Jubie, go into the dining room and change. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s something I can fix.” She headed down the hall. I went into the dim dining room and pulled my torn shirt over my head.

Mrs. Harold came back as I was buttoning the blouse. She handed me a plate filled with pot roast, corn on the cob, pineapple rings. “It’s cold, but it’s good.” She made room for the plate on the table next to Mr. Harold’s chair. Maggie came from the kitchen with a glass of milk, a napkin, utensils. I dug into the food.

Maggie sat near me on the sofa. “I thought y’all were on a trip to the beach.”

“Mary got killed,” I said, chewing corn.

“Dear Lord,” said Mrs. Harold. “Who’s Mary?”

“You mean your girl?” Maggie asked.

I nodded, putting down the cob, wiping my fingers. Maggie reached for my hand, her freckled skin pale against my deep tan.

“How did it happen?” asked Mrs. Harold.

“She was kidnapped by some men in Georgia while we were staying there. They beat her to death, and they . . . I took Mama’s car and came home for the funeral.”

Mrs. Harold said,“You drove home from the beach by yourself?”

“Yes.”The phone rang.

“What a remarkable thing to do.” I wanted to hug her.

Mr. Harold called out. “Jubie, it’s your mum.”

I walked into the hallway and sat on the stool tucked into the phone nook. “Hey, Mama.”

“Are you all right?”

She didn’t sound angry. I was so surprised I couldn’t speak.

“Jubie?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I was so worried about you.”

“You were?”

“I didn’t know you could drive on the highway.”

“I just learned.”

Silence, then Mama said, “Your father’s upset.”

The scratch on my belly stung beneath Maggie’s blouse. “I know.”

Her voice went sharp. “Have you seen him?”

“I was home, hiding in the basement. He and Uncle Stamos got there, so I left.”

“You’ve really done it this time, Jubie.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Music played in the background.

“It might be best if you don’t see Daddy just yet.”

I twisted the phone cord around my finger. “How’d you know where I was?”

“Just a guess.You went to the funeral?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wish I’d gone with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not saying what you did was right, but I’m glad somebody from our family was there. How was it?”

“Sad. Good. I saw Link and Young Mary. And Leesum.”

“Who?”

“The boy from Pensacola.”

“Oh, yes.” Her lighter clinked, she inhaled, exhaled. “Don’t worry about your father.”

“Okay.”

“Where’s the Packard? Bill says it’s not at home.”

“At Freedom Park, in the lot off Princeton.”

“I have the spare keys. We’ll get it.” She paused. “You can stay with Maggie tonight. Or here at Stamos and Rita’s.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay with Mrs. Harold if I stay here. I need clothes.”

“I’ll bring some early tomorrow. Everything’s going to be all right, Jubie. I promise.”

I sagged against the wall of the narrow hallway, so tired I thought I might fall asleep before I found a bed.





In the morning, Mrs. Harold said if I’d give her my dirty clothes, she’d put them in with a load of wash she was going to run. In the kitchen, the washing machine chugged as Mrs. Harold came down the hall to where I sat with Maggie on the living room sofa, wearing Maggie’s bathrobe, which was too small but adequate, like Mary’s had been for Leesum. Mrs. Harold handed me a wrinkled scrap of paper. “This was in the pocket of your jeans, Jubie. I read it. I’m sorry.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. I smoothed out the paper on my knee.



I aint coming back. I am telling what you did. Mary





Mrs. Harold sat down in the easy chair. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”





When Mama got to Maggie’s house, she put her arms around me and held me for a long time, then stood back and smoothed my hair from my forehead. “I still can’t believe you drove all the way home.”