Читать книгу Before You Were Mine: the breathtaking USA Today Bestseller - Em Muslin - Страница 16

CHAPTER 10

‘You burnt somethin’, dear?’ Eli’s mother, Trudy had barely got through the door before needling her daughter. She wore a navy blue velour dress that had a small tie just below her breasts, making her ample bust seem even larger. She had never, as far as Eli knew, been a slight woman, which was ironic considering how much she showed her disappointment when Eli hadn’t turned out slim and lithe and thin.

‘No, Ma.’ Eli took a deep breath.

Eli’s Pa glanced across as he shuffled in. He raised his eyebrows to say hello, wandered over to the front living room window, and stood looking out, uncomfortable as ever.

‘Happy Birthday, Pa.’ Eli approached him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Charlie just sort of nodded and turned to look back out of the window. Eli noticed in the light how old he had gotten. His build appeared scrawnier than usual. Perhaps it was because he didn’t have his overalls on, but his neck seemed baggier, like an oversized coat, and the skin around his eyes sagged so much you had to look at him face on to see them clearly.

He had just turned eighty-three and, despite his age, he had refused to give up the garage. Every day he’d be up and at ’em, making sure it all ran smoothly. There was no way he was going to be staying at home. Retirement was a dirty word. Retire to what? To stay at home, sitting on the porch with Trudy? Eli couldn’t recall the last time she saw them spend some quality time together, just the two of them. No, he would stay at the garage ’til his last breath had left him. Bert ran the day-to-day, but if Charlie said something, boy did they listen.

Trudy bustled straight towards the kitchen area and opened up the stove door, sniffing the warm air.

‘Smells a little like burnin’ to me.’

‘It’s nothin’, just summat caught on the bottom of the oven, Ma.’

‘You sure? Smells like the onions.’ Her mother had a nose for this sort of thing. ‘You didn’t put them in the potatoes, did you? It’ll play hell with Pa’s heartburn.’

‘No, Ma. The onions didn’t burn. Was jus’ summat on the stove.’

‘He won’t touch it if they’re burnt.’

‘They’re not, Ma. Everythin’s fine. Why don’t you just sit yourself down?’

Her mother didn’t move but loitered in the kitchen, eyeing everything with suspicion.

Tommy lumbered down the stairs, the smell of soap drifting with him.

‘Not got a beer?’ He looked at the boys and opened the fridge, took out a six-pack, and offered them around. They each took one and after they clicked the tins open, they stood around supping. Her brothers, all six foot or more, took their looks from their Pa. Large, cumbersome, masculine bodies, filling the space in her tiny house with the smell of oil and beer.

‘Just a sherry for me, dear.’ Trudy placed her arm on Tommy’s and gave him a thin-lipped smile.

‘Sure you don’t want one?’ Tommy offered Trudy a tin. He raised his eyebrows at Eli and winked at her.

‘Sherry will be just fine.’ Trudy held her chin up in the air. She didn’t like being teased.

‘You not got any of those pickles your Pa likes?’ Trudy said.

Eli took a breath.

‘No, Ma.’

‘Oh that’s a shame. I’d have brought some over, if I’d known you’d forget. I could go back and –’

‘I didn’t forget, Ma.’

Tommy shot Eli a glance.

‘I jus’ thought, with his indigestion an’ all, it might be better not to have them.’

‘Really,’ Trudy said.

After a moment, her mother edged her way back towards the stove, sherry in one hand, her clutch purse in the other.

‘What you do this time?’ her mother finally asked, pointing at her bandaged hand with her glass.

‘Oh nothin’. Just a small cut. Slipped at the store, caught my hand on somethin’.’

‘You were always so clumsy. It must be because you’re so disproportionate. I don’t know where you get it from. It’s not from your father and it certainly ain’t from me.’

Eli turned back towards the kitchen counter and spooned the onion mash into a large serving bowl.

‘Did you season the potatoes? I always like to put a drop of sour cream in mine.’

‘Tommy doesn’t like sour cream, Ma.’

‘Yes he does. He seems to like my potatoes just fine. Don’t you, Tommy?’ She jolted back around to the living area, where the boys were playing cards.

‘Don’t you, Tommy? You like my potatoes?’

Tommy looked up startled. ‘Sure, Ma. Course I do.’ He slammed his hand of cards onto the deck. ‘The nuts!’

‘Oh Jeeeeeez.’ The boys jeered and threw their cards onto the table.

Trudy cocked her eyebrow and smirked at Eli.

Eli tipped the greens into a dusty-pink chipped ceramic bowl and placed it on the table.

Eli’s Pa turned from the window. ‘Come on now, boys. Toys away.’

The boy’s slumped back in their seats and gathered the cards into the deck.

Eli removed the fried chicken from the oven and placed it on the centre mat.

‘Smells good,’ Tommy offered.

Payton, Eli’s youngest brother, served himself, piling up his plate with mash – no please or thank you.

‘Ain’t ya’ll forgettin’ somethin’?’ Trudy placed down her clutch purse at her side.

Payton dropped his fork with a loud clatter. The boys sat up on cue and clasped their hands.

Eli stared at her Ma, who had pressed hers together and bowed her head. She glanced towards Tommy, who shook his head and rolled his eyes.

‘Let us thank God for food when others are hungry, for drink when others are thirsty, for friends when others are lonely,’ Trudy said.

Eli noticed a smile resting on her mother’s lips.

‘And, Heavenly Father, please look after Charlie’s stomach, so he and I can sleep peacefully at night. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ the boys rumbled.

‘Happy Birthday, Pa,’ Bert said.

Eli took her mother’s plate and served up the chicken and mash with okra.

‘Just a small bit for me, dear. And don’t serve your Pa too much.’ Her mother placed her purse back on her lap.

Her Pa still didn’t know what to say to her after all these years. To be fair he hardly spoke to women at all. How he had ended up with her mother was still a mystery. Eli always imagined she had taken him by his arm and just forced him down the aisle. ‘Now don’t say a word, Charlie. This is the best thing for you. You’ll see’. He’d probably gone straight back to the garage after his own wedding too.

Eli’s Ma picked at the food. She prodded the mash with her fork, flicked the onions to the side, and took bird-like mouthfuls. She certainly didn’t get a figure like that by taking small bites. She glanced up and eyed up the boys’ plates, watching them shovel down the food. Trudy’s back arched. Eli’s father leaned forward and served himself up another helping, bigger than the first. Eli couldn’t help a tiny smirk in her mother’s direction.

‘Now you just watch what you eat there, Charlie. I don’t want you keepin’ me up all night, bellyaching. There’s only so much the Lord can do.’ Her lips tightened.

Eli’s Pa just piled up the mash and didn’t even glance at her.

Trudy ground her teeth and barely said another word throughout the rest of dinner.

Eli served up simple poached peaches and ice cream for dessert. The moment everyone sat back, their bellies full and the beer cans emptied, Eli’s mother rose from her seat. ‘I’m a little tired now, Charlie. Think we should be headin’ home.’

‘Home? We’ve only just finished and ya wanna go? Thought you were worried about my heartburn.’ He scraped the remnants of the melted cream from his bowl. ‘Let the old man digest his food, won’t ya?’ He put his fist up to his mouth and let out a loud belch.

Trudy shot him a look. She finally sat again, her arms folded against her sagging breasts, the clutch purse resting by her plate.

Tommy ran his finger around his bowl, licked the melted ice cream, and stood up. He walked to the drinks cabinet and poured the men a large whisky. The evening wasn’t over yet. Samuel shuffled the deck of cards and dealt.

There was never ever any mention of her brothers’ failed relationships. Payton’s two-month marriage to some woman he’d met at a late-night bar had unsurprisingly fallen apart when he continued to haunt the dive most nights. Samuel’s estranged on-off blonde girlfriend had depression and when her mood was low, she would claim her two children weren’t Samuel’s after all. She’d moved to the East Coast soon after her second was born and had barely made a visit since then. Bert still lived at home, no sign of a woman since he had returned from the War, and maybe he had brought the War back with him, as years would pass without a hint of interest. Trudy would never mention this, and if questioned would respond ‘Boys will be boys’ in the shrill tone she used when under pressure.

Eli glanced across at her Ma. Her jaw still so tightly clenched, it was a wonder she hadn’t ground her teeth to dust. She sat racked with tension, her arms clasped across her body.

She stared directly at Eli.

‘Did I tell you, Daisy and I took the little ’uns to the zoo the other day? They’re growing up so fast now. John Junior’s nearly as tall as me, I’m sure of it. They’re just so cute. Harley did not stop askin’ for the toy lion – in the end I had to give in. ‘“Nanna, please, Nanna, Nanna, Nanna!” Oh they’re just too adorable.’

So this was her mother’s ammunition. Eli smiled politely and with her hands underneath the table, she pressed hard on her bandage. Trudy’s incessant chatter reverberated around the room. Eli never forgot her Ma’s face the last time Johnny broke off his engagement to Daisy. All hopes of a so-called ‘grandchild’ she could coo over near dashed. They’d been engaged on and off for going on eight years. There was always some excuse or other why he couldn’t make it down the aisle.

Daisy would run on into Ma Bell’s arms, bawling her eyes out, screaming down the house, until Eli’s Ma settled her down and the tantrum would stop. Soon enough they’d be back on again and the engagement ring she had torn off her finger would be shining brightly on her left hand like nothing had happened. It took another two years after the last breakup until she got him down the aisle. From the look of relief on her and Ma Bell’s faces when he said ‘I do’, they could have fainted right there and then.

Eli, distracted, tried to retrace every little detail of today. Was the purse alligator or snake? She really couldn’t remember. It was one of the large purses she’d seen in fancy magazines. Eli stood up, collected up the plates with a clatter, and carried them over to the sink.

‘They look so like her. John Junior has such curly blonde hair. He’s goin’ t’grow up to be a right little heartbreaker. Such piercin’ blue eyes too, haven’t you noticed?’ Her Ma’s voice rose a level, sensing Eli wasn’t listening.

Eli turned from the sink and took a breath.

‘Oh yes, just adorable, Ma.’

The woman’s eyes were blue, she was sure of it. Bright blue. And the perfume – was it honeysuckle? No jasmine, definitely jasmine.

No one offered to help Eli clear the dishes. Instead, realizing women’s work was to be done, the men soon gave in their hands of cards and staggered from their chairs ready to leave, the remnants of beer and whisky on their breath.

At the first opportunity, Trudy stood again and walked straight to the door.

‘Well thank you, dear; that was …’ she paused ‘… just fine.’

The boys each slapped Eli on the back, their familiar way of acknowledging full stomachs.

As they tumbled through the door, the rumble of her brothers’ slurred voices disappeared into the night.

Eli collected together the last of the crockery and glasses and stacked up the plates.

Tommy poured himself another whisky and sat back down at the table.

‘Oh, Ma, yer potatoes are lovely, Ma,’ Eli teased.

‘What?’ Tommy said, guilt written all over his face.

‘Go on up to bed. I’ll just tidy up down here. Be right up.’ She looked back over her shoulder towards Tommy.

He swayed a little on his feet. He collected the empty beer cans from the table, tipped them into the trash can and stumbled up the stairs.

Eli followed soon after and closed the bathroom door. Staring hard into the mirror, she inspected her reflection. Her jawline had begun to sag; shadows had developed under her eyes. She peered closer. Lines had formed below her hairline. When did she get to be so darn old? She slipped off her dress and glanced at herself. She was in OK shape she guessed. Her hips a little chunky (like her mother’s!), her breasts now sagging, but that was to be expected.

She turned face on and caught sight of the creamy scar above her pubic bone. She stepped forward and traced it with her fingertips. Raised a little from the rest of the skin, the silky mark the only trace of what had happened. Eli opened up the fingers of her right hand and held her warm belly. Naked in the moonlight, Eli closed her eyes and took a moment to remember, to remember how she had felt.

The bedsprings creaked. Eli opened her eyes, unhooked the cotton nightie from the bathroom door, flung it on, and stepped into the bedroom. The curtains were still open, and the ajar window let in the tiniest of breezes, making little difference to the stagnant air. She tugged at the wooden frame and lifted it higher, noticing the moon, full and heaving in the sky.

She pulled back the sheet and slipped underneath it.

‘Y’OK?’ Tommy asked, whisky on his breath.

‘Sure.’

Eli heard the gentle thud of Mississippi’s paws as he wandered up the stairs and into their room.

Eli smiled at Tommy, leaned over, and kissed his forehead.

Tommy closed his eyes and within minutes, his chest expanded and retracted, his breath deep and thick from booze. The moonlight caught his face. He wasn’t so bad-looking. His ginger hair had greyed a little at the sides, and he’d put on weight since they had married, but who hadn’t? She’d made sure he was well fed. His hands were chunky, his nails blackened from motor grease. Even if he washed a thousand times, it was impossible to remove. Eli edged closer towards him, hesitated a little, and placed her hand on his arm. Outside, the cicadas hummed their evening melody.

Eli too closed her eyes. She recalled how cold the pickling vinegar had felt against her skin. The tender way the woman had bandaged her hand. Her soft cool fingers; snow melting against her skin. Eli turned over. A desperate sickness clutched at her stomach. She rehearsed each detail over again. An overwhelming sense of panic gripped her. What if it was her? Why hadn’t she stayed in the parking lot and followed her home? She had been so overwhelmed by the way she sat holding her hand until the manager came, barely two words had passed her lips. What must she think of her in her tatty, coffee-stained dress, soaked in a puddle of pickling vinegar?

Perhaps she was crazy, but there was only one way she was going to find out.