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CHAPTER 3

‘I saw her.’

Tommy was already halfway up the stairs when Eli called to him from the kitchen. She should have worn a groove into the floor with the amount of pacing she’d done, waiting for him to get on home. Eli stood sweating in her cornflower dress, stinking of pickles, the Alabama spring already beginning to rise.

‘I think I saw her.’ Eli’s voice faltered a little.

‘Who?’ Tommy continued on up.

‘I think I saw her, Tommy. Today. At the store.’

Her husband poked his head over the banister at the top. He was dressed in his usual oil-stained blue overalls, black-greased fingers clutching on to the railing.

‘Who you talkin’ ’bout?

Eli felt her eyes glass over.

Tommy paused on the stairs and walked back down.

‘What’s goin’ on? Saw who?’

Eli stared at Tommy, her vision blurred.

‘I went to the store an’ …’ She lifted her bandaged hand.

‘What the hell? What you do?’

‘Nothin’. I slipped. Tommy, it were her; I’m sure of it.’

Tommy stood, a smear of grease or something on his stubbled chin, lost for words.

‘I know what ya’re thinking, but she were there. In front o’ me,’ Eli said.

Tommy shook his head, obviously trying to compute what the hell was going on. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed a tin of beer. Eli followed him.

‘Just listen.’ Eli placed her bandaged hand against his chest.

Tommy clicked open the tin and took a long slurp.

‘I was marinadin’ the chicken this morning, ’n’ I were just going through everythin’ for tonight, an’ I was cleanin’ and I remembered I didn’t have any pickles, an’ you know how Pa loves his pickles, so I drove over to the store –’

‘You drove all the way to the store for pickles?’

‘You ain’t listenin’, Tommy.’

‘I’m listenin’ all right. You’re tellin’ me you drove all that way for a jar of darn pickles. You know how much gas –’

‘Tommy, stop. I drove over – I don’t know what I were thinkin’ – somethin’ ’bout the marinade or such like and I were runnin’ late, my mind elsewhere. I slipped on somethin’ or other on the floor –’

‘Where?’ Tommy took another slurp of his beer.

‘At the store. The pickles, they just flew everywhere –’

‘Could sue them for that.’

Eli took a deep breath. ‘The next thing you know, I’m on the floor, lying in picklin’ vinegar, my hand all cut up on the glass an’ there she were. Right in front of me. She bandaged my hand, Tommy.’ She held out her arm, her last words pronounced.

Tommy stared at her, incredulous.

‘She were there, Tommy. I’m sure of it.’

‘Sure you didn’t hit your head?’

‘Tommy, I think it were her.’ Eli felt her eyes glass over again.

‘Honey, calm down; it’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.’

Eli shook her head and said nothing.

‘It’s been what …’ Tommy furrowed his brow, calculating the time ‘… thirty-two years, an’ you think ya saw her, jus’ like that.’

Eli raised her eyebrows towards him and looked away.

‘Look, I know.’ Tommy raised his hand to calm her. ‘But think about it, you’ve never seen her –’

‘That’s not true. I held her,’ Eli said. She snapped her jaws together.

‘I know. Not what I meant.’ Tommy wiped the sweat on his brow with his upper arm. ‘I’m just sayin’, think about it. You’ve not seen her … since … hell, since she were born. You don’t know what she look like and why in hell’s name would you go bumpin’ into her in the goddamn store? She don’t even live in this state no more.’

Eli looked towards the floor. A tear snaked its way down her cheek.

‘I was sure it was her,’ Eli said, almost to herself.

Tommy took the last swig of his beer, crushed the can, and threw it in the trash.

‘It looked like her.’

‘Jesus, Eli, you don’t know what she look like.’ Tommy laughed.

Eli’s eyes welled up. ‘She looked like me.’

Tommy stifled his laugh this time. ‘Honey, it weren’t her.’ He leaned back into the fridge and grabbed another tin of beer.

‘You think I just paddled up from crazy creek, don’t you?’

‘I think you just got yourself all worked up over nothin’.’ He rubbed his hand against her arm. He looked at the marinated chicken on the sideboard. ‘What time they say they’re comin’?’

‘Just after six.’ Eli’s mouth crumpled at the side.

Tommy walked towards the stairs and turned. ‘Sure you’re up to it?’

Eli frowned.

‘Mean, your hand. Don’t need it looked at?’

‘Tommy, they’re comin’. It’s Pa’s birthday. Go get yourself cleaned up.’

Tommy shrugged and lumbered up the stairs and stopped halfway. ‘Seein’ you bandaged up like that makes me think of ol’ stumpy.’

Eli couldn’t help but smile. She shook her head as Tommy headed up to his bath.

Stumpy had been a raccoon Eli had found one afternoon soon after they married. It was rattling around in a trashcan, thrashing about, unable to get out. She’d been out in the yard, pinning up some laundry, when she heard something scratching against the metal. Thinking it was some big ol’ rat, she tipped the can over with a stick and ran to the other side of the yard.

But instead, this raccoon limped out and stared at her. No running away, nothing. Eli stood, wet washing in her hands, and stared right back. Neither of them moved an inch. Eli tiptoed towards it and crouched down. Still it didn’t move. Eli had heard tales about how vicious raccoons could bite and tried to shoo it away with her stick, but it just stared up at her, its black eyes shining against the sunlight.

Eli peered closer. Its back leg was all bent up and out of shape. No wonder it hadn’t run anywhere. It must have broken its leg when it fell into the trashcan. She couldn’t bear to see it injured and so she went into the house, dug out some potted meat from the pantry, and left a plate of it out in the yard right next to the raccoon. It ate it all up and still didn’t move.

Eli spent the afternoon perched on a chair, just watching this miserable thing staring up at her, limping around in circles. There was no point taking it to a vet; they’d just laugh at her and tell her to shoot it. So instead, Eli found some kindling out back, some linen bandages in the kitchen, and made the raccoon a splint.

Tommy’s face was a picture when he got on home. She nursed that raccoon back to health every day. Months later, when she went into the yard to feed it, it was gone. Never to be seen again. Sometimes in the night, when they heard clattering outside, one of them would say: ‘There goes ol’ Stumpy.’ And laugh ’til their bellies hurt.

Eli stood in the kitchen, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration, trying to recall everything that had happened today. Her heart thumped against her chest. She glanced towards her bandaged hand and shook her head. Of course she was confused. Why after all this time would she think it was her daughter? Silly ol’ goat.