He turns and his smile is thin, starved for reason.

“This medicine they got her on...” He studies his seeds. “I think it’s working. She keeps saying she feels better.”

I shake my head in disbelief. He can’t really believe this.

“She’s gone two days and only gotten sick once...”

“Oh, Daddy. No... it’s just a... Daddy, she still has it.”

But there’s an empty look in Daddy’s eyes and I wonder if he even heard me.

“I know you’ve got better places to be, Skeeter.” There are tears in his eyes. “But not a day passes that I don’t thank God you’re here with her.”

I nod, feel guilty that he thinks it’s a choice I actually made. I hug him, tell him, “I’m glad I’m here too, Daddy.”

WHEN THE CLUB REOPENS the first week of January, I put my skirt on and grab my racquet. I walk through the snack bar, ignoring Patsy Joiner, my old tennis partner who dumped me, and three other girls, all smoking at the black iron tables. They lean down and whisper to each other when I pass. I’ll be skipping the League meeting tonight, and forever, for that matter. I gave in and sent a letter three days ago with my resignation.

I slam the tennis ball into the backboard, trying my best not to think about anything. Lately I’ve found myself praying, when I’ve never been a very religious person. I find myself whispering long, never-ending sentences to God, begging for Mother to feel some relief, pleading for good news about the book, sometimes even asking for some hint of what to do about Stuart. Often I catch myself praying when I didn’t even know I was doing it.

When I get home from the club, Doctor Neal pulls up behind me in his car. I take him back to Mother’s room, where Daddy’s waiting, and they close the door behind them. I stand there, fidgeting in the hall like a kid. I can see why Daddy is hanging on to his thread of hope. Mother’s gone four days now without vomiting the green bile. She’s eating her oatmeal every day, even asked for more.

When Doctor Neal comes out, Daddy stays in the chair by the bed and I follow Doctor Neal out to the porch.

“She told you?” I ask. “About how she’s feeling better?”

He nods, but then shakes his head.“There’s no point in bringing her in for an X-ray. It would just be too hard on her.”

“But... is she? Could she be improving?”

“I’ve seen this before, Eugenia. Sometimes people get a burst of strength. It’s a gift from God, I guess. So they can go on and finish their business. But that’s all it is, honey. Don’t expect anything more.”

“But did you see her color? She looks so much better and she’s keeping the food—”

He shakes his head.“Just try and keep her comfortable.”

ON THE FIRST FRIDAY OF 1964, I can’t wait any longer. I stretch the phone into the pantry. Mother is asleep, after having eaten a second bowl of oatmeal. Her door is open so I can hear her, in case she calls.

“Elaine Stein’s office.”

“Hello, it’s Eugenia Phelan, calling long-distance. Is she available?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Phelan, but Missus Stein isn’t taking any calls regarding her manuscript selection.”

“Oh. But... can you at least tell me if she received it? I mailed it just before the deadline and—”

“One moment please.”

The phone goes silent, and a minute or so later she comes back.

“I can confirm that we did receive your package at some point during the holidays. Someone from our office will notify you after Missus Stein has made her decision. Thank you for calling.”

Дата добавления: 2015-10-31