Have No Shame Page 11

  “By the time you get used to it, you’ll be over it. That’s how fast it happens. One day you wake up and you realize that you didn’t notice the switch, when you went from Alison Tillman to Alison Carlisle. Those few days you have to think before you sign your name pass faster than castor oil through a baby.” She patted my arm. “What are you here for today? A nice cake for that handsome husband of yours?”

  “A job.” The words slipped out before I could form a proper response.

  “A job?” She leaned in close and whispered. “Are you havin’ money troubles already?”

  “Oh, no.” Worry soared through me. Is that what people would think? I couldn’t embarrass Jimmy Lee like that. “I’m just bored, really. Jimmy Lee is at work all day and I’ve got nothin’ to do in that tiny little apartment.”

  She drew her eyebrows together. “Yes, that does happen, doesn’t it?” She looked around the diner. “With Marla gone, I am in need of a capable set of hands, and yours’ll do just fine. It’s only a few hours here and there.”

  “That would suit my needs perfectly. Thank you!” I bit back my enthusiasm and asked tentatively, “Do you think people will really think we’re havin’ money trouble? I don’t want people talkin’ like that.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “What do you care what others think? A young, pretty girl like you?” She put her arm around my neck and said, “Better to have a little sanity break every now and again than to lose your mind worryin’ about small town gossip, right?”

  There was a knock at the back door and I waited as Mrs. Tempe gathered the wrapped food that was spread across the counter, placed it in a paper bag, and headed for the door. I sat down next to a heavyset man on one of the orange stools at the counter. The stools spun if you pushed them hard enough. I had driven Mama crazy on those stools more times than I could count.

  I watched Mrs. Tempe at the back door. A small colored boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight years old, dug deep into his pockets. His spindly arms were all elbows and wrists. He handed her a fistful of money and stood on his tippy toes, peerin’ around her. His eyes caught mine, and I couldn’t read what they held—embarrassment? Curiosity? He looked away quickly, leavin’ me feelin’ embarrassed for bein’ inside the diner. Jackson sailed into my mind. The thought of him standin’ at the back door of any diner bothered me. I’d been pushin’ away the thoughts of him so effectively that the memory took me by surprise.

  The door thumped shut, joltin’ me out of my own mind and back to the present. Mrs. Tempe’s hips swayed from side to side with her hurried gait as she picked up dirty dishes from the booth where two women sat. They whispered among themselves, and Mrs. Tempe’s lips pressed into a firm line. She slapped a check down on the table, spun around with determination, and carried the dishes behind the counter, where she passed them wordlessly to Joe, the cook, who masterfully slid them out of sight.

  She punched numbers into the cash register, mumblin’ about hoity toity women and the nerve of them. “Those people have to eat, too,” she whispered to me with a speck of frustration.

  The coloreds in our town had always gone to the back door of the drugstore and the restaurants. I had known that my whole life, but until that moment, I hadn’t felt suffocated by the knowledge. I blinked several times, tryin’ to make my thoughts of Jackson go away, but they remained as present as the floor I stood upon. There was no denyin’ my growin’ discomfort. My eyes were opened to the segregation around me and I knew I had to do somethin’ to help those who where treated differently. Maggie would be proud.

  Mrs. Tempe must not have noticed my momentary lapse of focus. She gave my wrist a sweet squeeze and said, “Can you start tomorrow? Ten a.m.?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  All dolled up in my prettiest dress, with Jimmy Lee’s favorite meal in the oven, I was ready to break the news of my bein’ employed. Employed. A thrill rushed through me. I’d never held a job before, besides helpin’ out on our farm. Dinner was perfectly timed. At exactly five forty-five the table was set just so, candles were lit, and my speech was practiced. I tapped my foot as I watched the minutes tick by. I’ll save every penny toward our honeymoon, I rehearsed. Anticipation made me jumpy, and I paced our small kitchen.

  By six fifteen my back ached and I knew the biscuits were gonna be too soggy for Jimmy Lee to enjoy, so I quickly piled his meal into a bowl and set new biscuits in a separate dish. I’d lather the chicken, vegetables, and gravy on top when he walked through the door.

  By six thirty my frustration had stolen my pleasant mood and I felt too sick to eat. I blew out the candles, and wrapped Jimmy Lee’s dinner.

  The sun dropped from the sky and I closed the curtains against the darkness. I thought about walkin’ down to the furniture store, but I knew Jimmy Lee would worry if he came home and I wasn’t here. I curled up on the couch and read, until my eyes became too heavy to remain open.

  The key jigglin’ in the lock woke me from where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. I stood too fast and my head spun. I grabbed the side of the couch as Jimmy Lee stumbled in through the door and toward the livin’ room. The stench of alcohol was so thick I turned away.

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  Jimmy Lee staggered backward and sat down at the kitchen table. “Where’s dinner?” he slurred.

  I looked at the clock; it was one thirty in the mornin’. I could not tame my spiteful snark. “I put it away.”

  “I told you a man gets hungry.” He took his jacket off and tried to place it on the back of his chair. It missed, landin’ on the floor.

  I folded my arms across my chest, breathin’ hard. “Why didn’t you tell me you were goin’ out?”

  “Why should I?”

  Why should you? “Maybe because we’re married, and I made your favorite dinner.” Damned tears. I swiped at them with my hand. “I lit candles and everything.”

  “So light them again,” he slurred.

  I stomped into the kitchen and pulled his dinner from the oven, removed the foil wrap, and dropped it before him with a clank. He flinched.

  “Where were you?” I asked again.

  Jimmy Lee shoveled the food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten all day.

  “Jimmy Lee?”

  He stopped his hand in mid air and lifted his eyes, still hunched over his food like a protective animal.

  “I got a job,” I spat.

  He shoved the food into his mouth, his eyes locked on mine. He chewed slow and solid. I sat in a chair to stop my legs from tremblin’.

  “At the diner, part-time.”

  He dropped his eyes to his plate and ignored me.

  I stewed, too tired to argue. “I start tomorrow,” I said over my shoulder as I went to the bedroom. Tears streamed down my cheeks. It seemed that’s all I did lately. Cried. I paced the bedroom floor, wonderin’ why I ever wanted to get married in the first place.

  It wasn’t until the next mornin’, after Jimmy Lee had gone to work and I was separatin’ the laundry, that I noticed the bloodstains on his shirtsleeves and the thighs of his pants. Fear gripped me by the throat. Which colored boy paid the price of his drinkin’ this time?

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’d been workin’ at the diner for three weeks, much to Jimmy Lee’s chagrin. He’d taken to comin’ home late several nights each week, complainin’ about my needin’ to wash my uniform in the evenin’s, and yappin’ about me workin’ at all. Although I enjoyed my job, I was tired all the time. A knock came from the back door. Jean (Mrs. Tempe asked me to call her that, Makes me feel younger, she’d said) still wouldn’t allow me to bring food to the colored folks. She said the white folks could get feisty if their food had to wait, and she didn’t want any trouble for me. I watched with a longin’ to be involved each time she handed over the meals, wrapped tight and kept warm, into the waitin’ and thankful dark hands. The more I witnessed them callin’ at the back door, the more I wanted to help them get rights to the front. I calle
d into the kitchen for Jean, grippin’ my stomach. The smell of eggs was particularly strong, and I bit back my breakfast from makin’ a second showin’.

  “She ran to the market. We’re out of paprika.” Joe’s basketball-shaped, bald head poked through the food window, which hid his plump body.

  Another knock came from the rear of the diner. Joe handed me a big, brown bag and said, “Take this to them, will ya’?”

  I swallowed against the dizziness that seemed to plague my too-fast movements lately. The heavy door swung in and I stepped aside. Albert Johns’ mother stood before me. I remembered her gentle face from the furniture store. I must have looked surprised, because her eyes changed from smilin’ to concerned.

  “Sorry it took so long,” I said, and handed her the paper bag.

  She stood with her frownin’ lips pressed tightly together.

  I held my hand out to receive her money, and wondered what I’d done wrong when she didn’t offer payment. Great, my first time takin’ food to the coloreds, and already I messed it up. “Ma’am? You’re supposed to pay now,” I whispered, flush warmin’ my cheeks.

  She slipped a hand into her dress pocket, then pressed the money into my palm, grippin’ my hand. Hard.

  I looked down at my hand, then back at her.

  She whispered, “You hurt my boy.”

  My throat tightened. Jimmy Lee. I shook my head. “No, ma’am, I never touched Albert.”

  She stared at me with the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. “Jackson.”

  The world spun before me. I held tight to her hand as the world went black and cold. Everything moved in slow motion, my legs gave way. I saw the concrete step comin’ too close, too fast.

  “Pregnant?” Mama’s voice hung in the air. Dr. Davis stood beside me, his white hair and spectacles comin’ slowly into focus. I tried to sit up, but my head felt like it’d been run over by a truck.

  “Mama?” I whispered through the haze that clouded my mind.

  “Jean called me. She said you passed out,” Mama explained.

  “Lay back, Alison,” Dr. Davis said, gently pressin’ my shoulders back down on the couch. “You knocked your head pretty hard when you passed out.”

  “Passed out?” I asked. I realized that I was in the office of the diner.

  Mama leaned over me, her eyes wet with tears. She leaned in close to my ear and asked me when I’d had my last period.

  I blinked, not sure I’d heard her correctly. Understandin’ sent me bolt upright, ignorin’ my throbbin’ head. “You think I’m pregnant?” Oh no, Jimmy Lee will be so upset.

  “Well, when was your last menstrual cycle?” Dr. Davis asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to think. With all the stress of the weddin’ and all, I guess it was sometime before the weddin’.”

  “Why don’t you come by my office this afternoon and we’ll do a quick blood draw.”

  Mama lifted her eyebrows. “Have you been sick in the mornin’s? Tired?”

  Oh, God.

  Two days later Mama drove me to Dr. Davis’s office to discuss the results of the blood test. I prayed that I was just sick or tired, anything but pregnant. There we sat, on metal chairs in his claustrophobic office, the two of them speakin’ as if my pregnancy was a good thing. My mind spun in circles. I hadn’t slept in days, the sight of food sickened me, and the thought of tellin’ Jimmy Lee I was pregnant nearly sucked all the air from the room.

  “You can eat like you normally do, but try not to gain too much weight. The baby needs you to be healthy, so be sure to drink your milk and eat plenty of protein.”

  “Crackers will help with the nausea.” Mama squeezed my hand, a glint in her eye. “Oh, honey, wait until Jimmy Lee finds out.”

  “Are you sure, Dr. Davis?” I asked, pickin’ at my fingernails.

  “Sure as the day is long.”

  Mama rattled on the whole way home about how she’d make me maternity clothes, and we’d have a baby shower when it was time. I could use my old crib if I wanted. She had it stored in the attic. I lay my head back on the passenger seat headrest and wondered how on earth I was gonna tell Jimmy Lee.

  “I know you were fixin’ to see Maggie, but I think I’d wait a bit. You’re just three months pregnant, and it’s probably best to wait another month or two. Just to be sure everything is okay.”

  I wondered if Maggie would be disappointed in me.

  “But then I can take the train to New York?” I needed to hear her say it again. I needed to be sure. I didn’t want to miss seein’ Maggie.

  Mama laughed. “Of course. You can do anything when you’re pregnant, but it’s best to wait until you have some of your energy back. The first three months can be very tryin’.”

  “You’re tellin’ me? I just passed out and konked my head.”

  Mama squeezed my hand. “Will you quit your job now? So you can rest?”

  My job? I hadn’t thought about quittin’ my job to rest. I loved my job. “No, actually, it really helps keep me sane. I can’t stand bein’ alone all day in the apartment.”

  “Well, you won’t be alone much longer.”

  I knew she meant well, and I could feel the light radiatin’ from her with the thought of bein’ a grandmother. Mama loved babies. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but worry about bein’ a mother. I was barely able to hold my marriage together. How would I ever care for a baby?

  That evenin’, before Jimmy Lee came home, I drafted a letter to Maggie and walked it down to the post office.

  “We talked about this. How could you let this happen?” Jimmy Lee wasn’t drunk, but the smell of alcohol on his breath was becomin’ the norm.

  “This wasn’t all me, Jimmy Lee.” I sat on the couch, my feet curled under me, watchin’ him pace across our small livin’ room floor.

  “How? When? We’re careful.”

  He was right. Since we’d been married, we’d been more careful than ever.

  “I don’t know, okay? It just happened. We are havin’ a baby, Jimmy Lee, and we just have to deal with it.”

  Jimmy Lee lit a cigarette and sat down beside me. I pulled back. Even his cigarette smoke bothered my stomach lately. He took a long drag and turned his head to blow the smoke in the other direction.

  “Okay,” he said, and leaned back against the couch.

  “Okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, okay. You’re gonna have to deal with it. It’s not like we have a choice.”

  I’m gonna have to deal with it? “Maybe you can come home earlier some nights?”

  He turned angry eyes toward me. “And do what? Leave Corky to hang out alone? I’ll do what I see fit,” he snapped.

  The memories of the afternoon he’d forced himself upon me came rushin’ back, followed by a shiver of a memory of bein’ with Jackson, then a rush of fear from the confrontation with his mama. She was right. I’d hurt her son. I only wish she knew how much I’d also hurt myself. None of that mattered anymore. That part of my life was over. I was Mrs. James Carlisle, and a mother-to-be. I vowed to try to be the best mother ever.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m not sure what disappointed me more, the extra weight that went to my boobs and made them heavy instead of perky, or Jimmy Lee’s increased drinkin’. Several weeks had passed since I found out I was pregnant, and all of my clothes were too tight. Mama altered the larger waitress uniforms Jean gave me, but I still felt like a packed sausage as I waddled through the diner.

  There was a knock at the back door, and ever since I saw Jackson’s mother, I had steered clear of answerin’ it.

  “Can you get that, hun?” Jean hollered from the office. She’d been givin’ me more and more responsibility lately. You’re gonna be a mama. You can handle anything now.

  With not a single patron in the diner, I had no excuse not to answer it. I grabbed the paper bag from the counter and headed for the back door. What if it was Jackson’s mother again? The metal doorknob was cold beneath my sweaty palm. I peered slowly aro
und the edge of the door. To my relief, a small boy stood on the step with his hand outstretched and three dollars and fifty cents in his tiny palm.

  “Hi, sweetie. Here you go,” I said, and handed him the bag.

  A gap-toothed smile graced his lips. Before I could say anything more, he turned on his heels and ran away, his pencil legs movin’ as fast as they could down the alley, disappearin’ around the corner.

  A week later the same little boy showed up, and I realized that his father bought lunch from the diner every Friday. The third Friday, I was ready. When the little boy put the money in my palm, I pressed a cookie into his.

  Later that afternoon I was walkin’ through my parents’ house thinkin’ about the smile on that little boy’s face, when Daddy took me in his arms and squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe. “Pixie! Look at you, plump as a mother hen.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. I think.”

  “Are you sure you want to go to New York in your condition? It’s a lot of travelin’.”

  “Yes, Daddy. I haven’t seen Maggie in ages and I miss her.”

  Daddy kissed the top of my head. “I worry about you is all. Don’t let her put those crazy notions of hers into your sweet little head, ya’ hear?”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll come back just as I left, as your perfect, little, pregnant girl.” As I said those words I wondered, not for the first time, if bein’ Daddy’s perfect girl was the right kind of girl for me to be. I used to be filled with pride ‘bout bein’ his perfect, little girl, but now I realized that bein’ that girl meant not helpin’ the coloreds, and my heart battled that stance at every turn.

  “Woman,” Mama interrupted.

  I sure didn’t feel like a woman. Jake sidled up next to Mama.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” he said, and hugged me. “Look how fat you are.”