The Dry Grass of August(81)

“I’ll be right there.” I walked back to my room, which felt enormous without furniture. The dusty rose carpet was pockmarked the same as Stell’s. A path of my footprints had worn the rug between the bed and dresser, the bureau and closet. I picked up a bobby pin from the floor by the side window and looked out. Carter was dribbling a basketball in his driveway. He threw the ball toward the hoop on his garage. Swish.

I picked up my bedroll and went downstairs. Mama called from her room, “Jubie, the paper bags in the kitchen need to go to the car.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I got the bulging sacks and went out the kitchen door, which was oddly quiet without the cowbell.

Carter held the basketball at his hip, sweat trickling down his freckled face. “Y’all leaving now?”

“Yeah.”

He twirled the ball on his index finger. “I’m glad your dad’s not going to jail.”

I put down my bedroll, shifted the bags. “He sold his business to pay the fine.”

“Stell told me.” He bounced the ball.

“See you at school.”

He nodded.

By late afternoon, everything was done. Mama was in the kitchen, moving her hand back and forth on the bar as if she were wiping it. She’d taken off her wedding band and there was a mark on her finger like the dents in the rugs. “A small kitchen will be a relief,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Stell stood by the Packard with Carter, who kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay?”

She put her head on his chest for a moment, then got in the front seat of the Packard. I sat in the back, next to piles of clothes. No one spoke as we pulled out of the driveway. When we turned onto Queens Road West, Mama said, “Rita’s bringing Puddin and Davie over after supper. We need to get their beds ready. The linens and pillows are on the floor by the beds, towels and washcloths in the bathrooms. Get used to living without a maid.”

“We already are,” Stell said.

“I mean permanently. And no yard man. There are leaves left over from the fall, a lot of work.” Mama drove with one hand while she rooted in her purse. I heard a familiar sound and Mama laughed. “The cowbell. I forgot it was in my bag.” She cracked the wing window and lit a cigarette. “I’ve got a job. I interviewed last Thursday and I’m going back Monday to meet the staff.”

“Mama, that’s great,” I said. “Where?” Cold air and cigarette smoke wafted into the backseat.

“The Center for Rehabilitation, off East Morehead, as a receptionist in the free clinic.”

“What’ll you do?” Stell asked.

“Answer the phone, open the mail, make appointments. The free clinic is for people who don’t have insurance.” Mama took a drag from her cigarette.

I thought about Leesum. Surely he didn’t have insurance. Who would pay if he got sick?

Mama flicked the cigarette out the window. “I have no illusions about the job, but at least someone hired me.”

From then on we called it the center for the disillusioned.

On Selwyn Avenue we drove into the sunset, passing the road to the house in the woods where we lived when Mary came to work for us. Right after we moved there, Mama had talked about getting a job. Daddy hit the roof and Mama never mentioned the idea again.

She set the brake in the steep driveway of the yellow house. “If we weren’t just renting, I’d paint it. The color is revolting.”

“I think it’s cheerful,” I said.

Mama sniffed. “Don’t go in without carrying something.”

The house was tall and narrow, on a skinny lot that sloped down to Sugar Creek. The neighbors had warned us not to plant anything in the backyard because the creek would rise in the spring.

Mama opened the front door, turning on the outside light over the tiny porch. I carried my clothes up to the room I’d be sharing with Davie. “Just until I get his ready,” Mama had promised.

I went back downstairs. Stell was standing by the front door, her hands on her hips. “Mama?” she called toward the kitchen. “Where are the dinner table and chairs?”

“I sold them.” Mama walked into the living room. “We’ll use the dinette from now on.”

“I can’t believe we don’t have a dinner table.”

I went through the kitchen and out onto the back stoop. The grass was hidden by leaves that had been rotting there since fall. I couldn’t imagine how we’d get rid of them. Mama opened the back door and hung the cowbell on it, then said, reading my thoughts, “We’ll rake them into the creek, no big deal.”

Lately Mama had answers for everything.