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Baby Blue
By Michelle D. Kwasney Henry Holt and Company
Copyright © 2004 Michelle D. Kwasney
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-2525-9
CHAPTER 1
The air conditioner was broken in Beau Silver's Silverspoon Diner. Even the red YOU ARE HERE dot on the Massachusetts map by the front door was sweating.
I followed Jinx to the old part, near the grill. The air was sticky, thick with the smell of bacon grease and sweat. The red, white, and blue crepe-paper streamers Beau'd hung for the Bicentennial Parade rippled below the ceiling fans.
Jinx picked a booth beside the jukebox. He dropped a quarter in the slot, and we sat down, him on one side, me on the other. I kept seeing that red YOU ARE HERE dot. Like the light that stays after a camera flash pops.
The grill hissed behind me. "Order up!" Beau Silver yelled.
Mama zipped past, four Tuesday specials balanced down the length of her arm. You would never catch me attempting such a feat! I was the klutz who always managed to kick over the orange cones during relay races on field day. "Ours are up next," she said, flashing us a smile.
I smiled back. Jinx didn't bother. He hummed along to the jukebox, staring at the rig parked outside the window. A rig like Pa used to drive.
Mama returned with our plates.
It was Tuesday, Meat Loaf Night. All you can eat for $1.79. Jinx ordered fries, so just to be different, I asked for mashed potatoes. Mama had her usual: a tossed salad with blue-cheese dressing and a Pepsi Light. Mama didn't eat meat. She claimed it was on account of my being born in the meat department of Frank's Hometown Market. There she was, smackdab in the middle of ordering a pound of cube steak when she went into labor. Frank himself brought me into the world, kicking and sliding on the cold gray tile in the back room, a leg of lamb swaying on a hook over our heads. That's the story I was told, anyway.
Mama undid her apron but left the HI! I'M CECILIA! pin on her uniform. She slid in beside me, her heavy pockets drooping to the sides like ears on a puppy dog. A lump of change pressed against my hip. "You're early," she said.
Jinx shot Mama a lopsided grin. "Afternoon foreman shut us down." He tapped a cigarette on the table and lit it, blowing smoke rings that floated straight up and didn't dissolve till the ceiling fan got ahold of them. "Moron's got wood chips for brains. I'll be glad when I'm on nights again, away from his sorry ..." His eyes wandered back outside.
I felt a string on the hem of the shorts I'd made in Home Ec. I pulled and pulled till it snapped loose. "So, Mama," I said, "was it busy today?"
I stared at Mama staring at Jinx staring at whatever he was staring at. I got a good look at her face. I was on the side with the eye that got hit. Mama'd gobbed skin-colored cream on the bruise, then powder over that, but the bump still showed.
Mama rubbed her neck. "That it was, Blue. That it was."
A man who looked something like our real pa hopped in the rig parked by the window. I watched him start it up. Its rhythm rumbled, deep in my ribs. The truck pulled out, slapping a square of sun on our table.
I dug a green bean loose from the sticky mashedpotato lump. I worked my food into three separate piles and stared at the center of the plate where nothing touched anymore.
I felt Mama watching. "Anybody hungry?"
I didn't get to answer. Jinx did. "Now that you mention it, Ceil, I'm really not all that hungry. But I sure am thirsty as the devil." He signaled Beau Silver, pointing toward the middle handle on the beer tap.
"Lyle," Mama said — Lyle is Jinx's real name —"I thought you were working on your truck tonight." His old Ford pickup needed a muffler bad.
Jinx snuffed out his cigarette in the silver spoon-shaped ashtray and gulped down half the mug of beer Beau brought him. The frost melted where his fingers had been. "Don't start on me, Ceil."
Mama looked away. She poured dressing on her salad, sliding the lettuce and tomato and cucumber round and round in the fake wood bowl.
I took a bite of my meat loaf.
Jinx sucked down the rest of his beer, then waved to Beau Silver for another. Beau wiped his hands on his greasy apron and the mug disappeared.
I kept wishing Star'd walk in. It didn't seem to matter that she'd been gone a month almost. 'Cause every time the door swung open, I watched for her, hair wet from swim practice, smelling of chlorine, sunglasses resting low on her nose.
Beau brought Jinx a second beer. This time the glass wasn't frosty. The top didn't have any foam. The beer looked like pee. I pictured Star and me in the girls' bathroom on the other end of the diner, hooting at the thought of Jinx gulping down somebody's pee. Beau Silver's pee, maybe.
Jinx raised the mug. The bump in his throat bobbed up and down while he swallowed. Four big gulps.
Mama plunged her fork through a thick pile of lettuce. "How was your class party?" she asked me. We'd had our end-of-the-year picnic at Riverside Park that day.
"It was fun," I answered. "Bonnie Price and me went on the roller coaster nine times. Eddie Cumberland threw up on the Scrambler."
Mama smiled. "Sounds exciting. Was five dollars enough?"
"Plenty. I even had money left for games. Bonnie and me won matching mood rings." I flashed the stone at her. Pure black.
"Hey, Blue"— Jinx stuck a giant wedge of meat loaf in his mouth, talking and chewing at the same time — "seventh grade's been quite a drain on the old economy, hasn't it?"
My stomach grabbed hard on the meat loaf. "What do you mean?"
He stuck a handful of French fries in his mouth, smashing them into a pocket on the side of his face. "Well, seems you just needed five bucks a few weeks ago for some book fair" — the lump in his cheek bounced to the other side — "and five more, right after, for some dumb present —"
"It wasn't dumb," I said. My voice was calm but tight.
Mama's hand was on my knee under the table. I knew the squeeze meant stop, but I didn't.
"It was for our English teacher, Mrs. Fitzhugh. She's retiring." A truck pulled in where the other one had been. A huge, cool shadow fell over Mama and me. "We got her an engraved watch. All of us did — I mean, we all chipped in."
Jinx's fork slammed the table. "Don't you mean your parents all chipped in?"
The people in the next booth turned to look.
Mama squeezed my knee again. Harder. See, she hadn't learned yet what Star and me figured out a long time ago — if Jinx was looking to start a fire, he'd start a fire. And he'd find kindling anywhere he could.
Mama reached to touch Jinx's arm. He pulled it back so hard the seat on his side reared up then fell forward.
The people in the next booth got up to leave.
"Lyle," Mama whispered. "Let's not argue here. Please. I've got to work with these people."
Jinx glared at her.
I heard the grill hiss behind me. I heard Beau Silver yell "Order up!" Then I felt the sudden cold splash of Mama's Pepsi Light as Jinx leapt up and the table tipped toward us.
Beau Silver darted through the small swinging door at the end of the counter.
Jinx tore down the aisle.
Mama's eyes got red. Then wet. Her cakey makeup started to run, and her bruise — a secret she thought she'd buried — floated into view.
Beau lifted the table off our legs. He used his rag to dab a blob of blue cheese off Mama's shoulder. Ketchup was smeared on her chest.
I watched out the window as Jinx jumped into his rusty black pickup, gunning the gas pedal hard. A cloud of thick, smelly smoke clung close on all sides.
Mama avoided the eyes staring her down. "Come on, Blue," she said. "Let's go wash up in the little girls' room."
Jinx's truck coughed exhaust as it roared across the parking lot.
I brushed his French fries off the vinyl seat and slid out, relishing the loud clanging noise his muffler made dropping loose in a giant pothole.
CHAPTER 2
The tail of the mermaid tattoo on Beau's arm scrunched up and stretched out while he mopped around our booth. I could hear his breath each time the mermaid stretched. A hard, scratchy breath like two fall leaves getting scraped together.
"You two go on home," he said. "I'll look after the rest."
Mama used her tip money to pay for dinner and however many mugs of beer Jinx had guzzled down. We counted what was left out front. "Forty-five cents in nickels," Mama said. "It's not even enough for the darn bus." That's about as close to cursing as Mama gets.
A man in a pale blue leisure suit squeezed in beside us, dropping change in the newspaper box. Mama didn't notice him staring. "Beau'll loan us the money," she said. "I'll just go back in and ask him for —"
I grabbed her arm. "Mama, don't!" The man looked straight at me. Our eyes locked. He flashed me a phony smile. I stared him down till he looked away. My voice came out gritty. "We'll walk."
Mama licked a finger and rubbed dried ketchup off my neck. "Oh, Blue, be serious. It's over five miles and hot as all get out."
I didn't fuss about the spit thing, like usual. And I didn't give her that look she doesn't care for, either. I just started to walk, and her hand fell away.
I turned when I got to the edge of the parking lot. "You coming along, Mama?"
"Jeez, Louise!" she grumbled, stomping to catch up to me.
The river was the halfway point.
Our heads were sweating in the late-day sun. I had blisters on both my heels. Mama'd started smelling like blue cheese gone bad.
I looked out at the water. The light danced across Big Rock.
Jinx is at it again, Pa. I try to look after Mama, just like I promised you, but it's getting harder all the ti — The water rushed sideways. It felt like the bridge was moving. I stumbled.
Mama stepped closer, catching my elbow. "You all right, Blue?"
I closed one eye so I couldn't see the water. "I'm fine," I said. A big, fat lie.
We came to the end of the bridge. A truck thundered by that looked like Jinx's, except without all the rust. "Hey, Mama," I asked, "you want to play the license plate game?" It was something Star'd made up.
I could tell she wasn't crazy about the idea. "Sure," she said anyway. "Go ahead, you pick first."
I searched for an out-of-state plate. (Massachusetts plates were skimpy, they only had one letter.) A tan station wagon from New York drove past. I called out the letters.
"E ... G ... P ...," Mama repeated, thinking.
"I know!" I tugged on her sleeve. "Eating Grape Popsicles makes your tongue turn purple."
"Fast, Miss Smarty Pants."
I smiled. I liked being called smart. Pa used to tease me when I'd bring home straight As. He'd sing, "Smarty, Smarty, had a party, and nobody showed up," but I knew he was proud.
I picked again, on account of being first. "BDN."
Mama's head shot up. "I've got one! Billy's Diapers Need changing bad."
It was obvious Mama'd forgotten Star's rule about not using proper names, but she was looking so pleased I let it go. "Okay," I said. "Your turn."
We stopped at the light by the crosswalk. Mama looked the cars over good. "OST," she announced.
The light turned. We crossed. The shade from a tree cooled my shoulders. "Here goes," I said, cutting up. "Our Scummy Toilet needs cleaning."
Mama's lip curled. "Ew w w w, gross."
I started laughing.
Mama did, too. Her eyes teared and she doubled forward. "Oh, Blue, stop! I — I've got to pee! Where's that —" She tried to stand upright. "Where's that scummy toilet?" She looked around, playing serious, like she might just find it in the street.
We laughed on and off the rest of the way back. I kept stealing glances at Mama's face. At how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, how her cheeks balled up, round and red like polished apples. I couldn't help thinking — even with her hair flattened down with sweat and her bruise shining like a full blue moon — she looked awful pretty.
Mama pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and rested her hand on my shoulder, picking at that ketchup blob again.
I didn't pull away this time. And not just 'cause Mama wasn't wielding one of those spit-on fingers, either. I didn't pull away 'cause Mama was being plain old Mama. And I'd missed her something fierce.
The next morning, I woke to the whistle of Mama's teakettle, a sound that put a smile on my face. If Jinx were home, the percolator would be popping. He claimed Mama's instant coffee made hamster piss look good.
Mama was sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing muscle balm on her shoulders. The water in the vase of flowers Jinx had given her that past week was starting to smell.
I bent to kiss her cheek. It was hot from a sunburn, like mine. I poured some apple juice, then slid my chair close. "Here," I said, reaching for the tube, squeezing it into my palm. "I'll do your neck."
Mama's head rocked forward. "Lyle didn't come home last night."
My fingers tingled as I rubbed. "I noticed."
"Your Pa did that once or twice," Mama said. "Darn gambling bug."
I hated when Mama compared Pa to Lyle. "Want to sit outside?" I asked. My thighs made a ripping noise on the vinyl cushion as I stood up.
"Why not? Can't be any muggier out there."
Mama followed me into the shade. The overgrown bushes pushed against Jinx's rusty metal shed. Through the mesh of the chain-link fence I could see two teenage boys walking the railroad tracks, passing a brown-bag bottle back and forth. I sat on the damp grass. Mama squatted on the stump of the dead dogwood, the one Jinx's landlord cut down after the ice storm last winter. I missed that tree; it was the only thing that flowered in that barren, bristly backyard.
In our old yard, behind the house we had with Pa, we had loads of flowers. Stock and hollyhocks and larkspur Mama'd started from seed. Lilac bushes so full they spilled across my bedroom window like purple curtains. I would wake mornings to their honeyed scent, the dull hum of bees on their plump blossoms.
Mama tried planting in Jinx's backyard. After we moved in he brought her potted flowers nearly every day. She'd dig holes in the dry, sandy soil, coaxing it along with peat moss and manure. But every last one of those pretty plants shriveled up and died.
"Whatcha thinking?" Mama asked.
"I was wondering why we had to move here. Why we couldn't have stayed in our old house."
"Blue, honey, we've been through this. Lyle didn't want us starting our life together in another man's shadow. Besides"— Mama picked the straggly clover sprouting around the dead trunk —"I like the house Lyle rents."
"You do?" I studied the green crust growing under the roof shingles. "What's so great about it?"
"Well, for one thing, the house we had with your pa didn't have a cellar. A family needs storage space." Mama rolled the clover stems back and forth. "And we had to drive forever to get to a store. Those back roads were terrible in the winter. This is lots more convenient. Downtown's close. The highway's close. The bus goes right by."
"Mama, you wouldn't need the bus if Lyle hadn't made you sell the car."
"He didn't make me sell it, Blue. It needed too much work. We couldn't afford to fix it."
I turned away, recalling our last ride in Mama's Nova. How the car smelled of Mama's perfume. How Star sat up front working the radio dial while I sat in back drawing in my sketchbook. A sadness filled me. I wanted that car back. I wanted Mama back. "Don't you miss driving?" I asked.
Mama squinted at me. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Just curious."
Mama studied Jinx's shed, like the answer was scratched in the rust. "I don't know, Blue. I'm really too busy to think about it."
"Oh, come on, Mama. Remember how it felt with the windows down and the breeze flapping through your hair?"
"All right, all right...." Mama smiled. "I suppose I do."
I shifted my weight on the prickly grass. A twig snapped below me. "Can I ask you another question?"
"Okay."
"Why'd you marry Lyle?"
"Because I loved him, of course."
I reached for a second stick. I snapped that, too. I liked the sound, the brittle, quick snip. "Why?"
"Why do I love Lyle?"
I nodded.
"That's a funny question."
"Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?"
"Funny peculiar...."
I used my toe to drag another twig close. Crack, snap.
"Well," Mama started, "from the moment I met Lyle, he made me feel" — she blushed — "special. Like there was something about me he couldn't get enough of. No one ever made me feel that way before."
"Not even Pa?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Baby Blue by Michelle D. Kwasney. Copyright © 2004 Michelle D. Kwasney. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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