My heart swells with gratitude, and her words bury themselves in my brain.
Suddenly I know what I have to do.
‘Thanks, Juanita,’ I say.
‘Just promise me one thing,’ she says. ‘If you need us, you’ll get us. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘No, you have to promise,’ she says. ‘Cross your heart and hope to die.’
I roll my eyes, but I find myself dragging a finger over my chest in an X.
‘Say it,’ orders Juanita, her mouth curling up into a grin.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘If I need you, I’ll get you. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘Good,’ says Juanita, nodding with satisfaction. Just then Celia races around from the backyard.
‘Tía, I wet myself,’ she cries. And sure enough, the little white socks she’s wearing under her jumper look soaked.
Juanita grimaces. ‘Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up,’ she says, tugging Celia toward the front door. When she gets there, she tosses her hair back over her shoulder and eyes me one more time.
‘Remember, Evie. Cross your heart and hope to die!’
‘I know!’ I shout back. And then, just after Juanita’s gone inside, I notice the hair on my arms is standing at attention. I’ve got goose bumps even though it’s not all that cold. Something about those words makes me feel funny inside. Cross your heart and hope to die. I remember that night at Winkler’s before I left for the bathroom. The sense that something wasn’t right. Woman’s intuition, like my mother says. I peer out onto my street, but there’s no one. I think back to Diane at the park, her plan and all that’s to come tonight, and I wrap my arms tight around my body, squeezing myself in a hug. Then I head for my front door.
I set the last of the dinner dishes on the dish rack, dry my hands on the red-and-white-checked dish towel, and check the kitchen clock one more time. It ticks along much more slowly than my heartbeat, which is racing. 7:40 p.m.
If I don’t do it at this moment, I may never do it. I might lose my chance, or lose the guts to pull it off.
So I have to do it now.
I can hear The Jackie Gleason Show playing in the den, and Grandma laughing so hard she starts coughing. That program has been on since I was a little girl, and even though I think it’s silly, with its tired chorus girl acts and all of Jackie’s ridiculous characters, Grandma never misses an episode. Normally I’d find the whole thing sort of charming, but tonight the shouts from the television and even Grandma’s laughter make me cringe.
I leave the kitchen and find Mama in the den, too, curled up on the other end of the couch, dressed in her cream-colored nightgown, her feet tucked under her. She has a paperback novel in her lap, but her eyes are focused on the television.
My heart is pounding, and now my mouth is dry as dirt.
‘Mama, how can you stand this?’ my mother asks my grandmother, and then she gives me a knowing look. I remember this morning and the bacon and her push for closeness and how I didn’t give her what she wanted. How I never do. All of a sudden I feel guilty and angry and sad all at once, afraid I’ll never be the girl she wants. Or maybe afraid that one day I’ll have to be.
My heart starts to beat even faster, and my breathing grows shallow. It’s time.
‘I’m going to Diane’s,’ I say, and I’m irritated at my own voice. At the way I practically shout it out, determined.
‘Oh, Evelyn, now?’ Mama says, shutting the book she’s not reading and sighing.
‘Evelyn, listen to your mother,’ Grandma says, not peeling her eyes away from Jackie Gleason. ‘It’s too late.’
Tension between us arrives like a match has been struck. Its presence can’t be ignored.
‘I told you I’m going to Diane’s,’ I say, and I head for my bedroom, my cheeks heating up. My heart now not just thumping but cracking.
There’s something I’ve got to do, and my mother doesn’t know I’m going to do it.
Not even Diane knows I’m going to do it.
But I’m going to.
Juanita’s voice from this morning runs through my mind.
You’d never leave a friend in a fix.
My shoes are heavy on the hardwood floor. I throw my door open so loud it bangs up against the wall of my bedroom, but I don’t even jump. I just know I have to move. Now.
‘Evelyn, no!’ my mother shouts from the den, already knowing she’s lost. ‘I want you to stay in tonight. Please!’
In my bedroom, I shove my mother’s voice out of my head and tug on a cardigan, slipping the little babysitting money I have left into one of its pockets. I glance around my bedroom, still a mess, just as it was on the day Diane came over. I take a shaky breath and remember being tiny in this bedroom, cutting out paper dolls with Cheryl and telling secrets to Raggedy Ann. Not knowing I was poor yet. Not knowing I was destined to be bad. Not knowing I was sure to break my mother’s heart.
I try to sear this bedroom into my mind.
Suddenly a firm hand is on my elbow, the fingers cutting into the skin.
‘Evelyn, listen to me, you’re staying in tonight. That’s an order.’
I pull away and turn around to face my mother. My mother, who deserves someone better than me. Who deserves to start over with a new daughter. A daughter who would never be so dumb as to head to the bathroom at Winkler’s alone or get mixed up in anything like what I’m mixed up in now. A daughter who just wants to settle down and be good. Whatever that means.
But that isn’t me.
‘I’m not Cheryl,’ I yell, upset. ‘I won’t just do what you say!’ I break free from her grip and head for my bedroom door, but she blocks me.
‘Evelyn, I am demanding that you tell me what is happening with you!’ my mother shouts, anticipating my movements so I can’t get past. ‘What on God’s earth is happening?’ Her voice is thick with anger and sadness. It climbs up the walls and covers me. I want to wrestle free from it and pretend it never existed.
My throat constricts. My stomach churns.
‘Let me go, damn it!’ I stamp my foot like a child. I’ve never cursed in front of my mother before.
Her slap is hard and sharp, slicing into my face like a cold wind. It’s so hard it knocks the breath out of me. As soon as she slaps me, my mother brings her hand up to her face as if she’s just smacked herself.
‘Evelyn,’ my mother whispers. ‘Oh my God, I’m so … Evelyn, I didn’t mean …’
My grandmother switched me a few times when I was small, but my mother has never hit me once in her life. Not ever.
All I can think to do is scream, long and loud.
My grandmother appears around the corner, shouting for answers. Screaming for Jesus to help us.
My mother turns her head to look at her own mother, and I take my chance. I push past her and make a break for it, but I must push too hard, because suddenly my mother is on the floor. I’ve knocked her down. She stares at me from where she’s fallen near my feet, her face crumpling. Her eyes wounded. She’s never looked at me like this in all her life. Not ever.
No one says anything. No one does anything. I stand there, in between my mom and my grandmother. The only noise is studio audience laughter from the Jackie Gleason program hunting us down here in the hallway, mocking us.