Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 35

"Well, yes," I said. "I'm the one with the busted lip."

"How is it?"

"Customers keep asking who beat me up."

"What do you say?"

"I tell them my mama did it because I said her fried chicken tasted like KFC."

She laughed in spite of herself.

"I would would hit you for that," she agreed. hit you for that," she agreed.

Noah was quiet now, his thumb in his mouth. Mama noticed it, frowned.

"Leave it," I said. "He does that when he's upset."

"But he's almost ten!"

"Leave it, Mama. Honest to Christ!"

"Fine," she said. "Maybe you know best."

I don't think I had ever heard her say such a thing.

"Kayla's being handled by Mortimer," she added quietly, referring to Mortimer Funeral Home in New Albany.

"You're coming with me?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"Her dad will be p.i.s.sed off."

"Let him," she said. "I wouldn't pick my nose for that man."

"I think Noah's going to sleep," I said.

I moved him so that he could stretch out on the sofa and sleep, his head on my mother's lap. His eyes looked especially dark from crying. I put the fan on rotate.

"I'll get a pillow," I said.

"I'll just sit here with him," she said, stroking his hair. "How did he take it?"

"He got really upset."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"It's not like he knows her."

"It didn't bother him until he started going to school and realized other kids had both mothers and fathers. I think it's the idea that bothers him, the concept of having a mom. He doesn't know how to talk about it yet."

"Whoever heard of a mother rejecting her own child?"

"You reject me," I pointed out.

"I do not!" she exclaimed.

"You don't accept me as I am. You love me because you have to, not because you like me."

"Is that what you think?"

"It's the truth."

"I want you to be happy."

"You want me to experience your version of happiness, or or what you think happiness is, or is supposed to be. To me, your kind of happiness is complete h.e.l.l. I'm not attracted to women. The thought of having s.e.x with them makes me a little sick, to be honest. You keep telling me that's what G.o.d wants from me, and I keep telling you that's a bunch of c.r.a.p because it is. That can't possibly be what G.o.d wants from me." what you think happiness is, or is supposed to be. To me, your kind of happiness is complete h.e.l.l. I'm not attracted to women. The thought of having s.e.x with them makes me a little sick, to be honest. You keep telling me that's what G.o.d wants from me, and I keep telling you that's a bunch of c.r.a.p because it is. That can't possibly be what G.o.d wants from me."

"You had s.e.x with Kayla," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and I thought about guys the whole time just so I could get it up."

"Wiley!"

"It's true."

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not, Mama. It was embarra.s.sing. I felt stupid. It just wasn't right, and I knew it wasn't right. My conscience told me it was wrong, and we stopped after a couple of months because I just couldn't do it any longer."

Her mouth fell open.

"Don't be surprised. I do do have a conscience." have a conscience."

"I often wonder," she said.

"My conscience tells me it's wrong to have casual s.e.x with anybody and everybody. And I never have. Well, at least not very often. I think you should love somebody before you get your w.i.l.l.y out."

"I would hope so."

"It's kind of weird talking about s.e.x with you," I said.

"Don't make a habit of it. I've got enough gray hair as it is. How is your friend?"

"Jackson?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't know. I don't talk to him anymore."

"Why on earth not?"

"He's a drug addict. I found a bunch of prescription medications in his bathroom. They didn't have labels so I'm a.s.suming he stole them from the pharmacy at the hospital."

"That's terrible."

"Yet more proof that I have a conscience," I said. "I would never in a million years let someone like that hang around Noah. He was a good kisser, though. Have to give him credit for that."

"You really broke up with him?"

"Of course."

"But you haven't dated anyone in so long."

"Like you care."

"Well, maybe I do, Wiley. He seemed like a nice enough fellow."

"Are you feeling all right?" I asked, surprised she would say something positive about one of my boyfriends.

"I'm not the wicked witch you make me out to be," she said primly. "I want you to be happy."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Don't fight with me, Wiley," she said earnestly. "I can't stand it when you fight with me."

"Stop judging me and hating me, and I'll stop fighting with you."

"I'm trying," she said simply.

I was at a loss for words, so I said nothing.

"I talked to Father Ginderbach about you and Noah," she said quietly. "I went to confession, actually."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like it's all my fault."

"What's your fault?"

"You," she said. "Noah. I always wanted the best for you. For both of you, you and Billy, and you and Noah. But I feel like I failed, like I did something wrong and I just don't know what it is."

"That's bullc.r.a.p." I said.

"That's what Father Ginderbach said."

"Really?"

"Really," she said. "He said you were an adult now and you had to make your own moral choices, that you seemed like a nice man, that Noah seemed like a really nice boy, and it was time for me to stop getting in your way and be supportive and help you as best I could."

"He said that that?"

"He's not like Father George, that's for sure."

"Thank G.o.d for small favors," I said. "I'm sure altar boys all over Union County will sigh with relief."

"He's a bit liberal," Mama admitted.

"Maybe G.o.d is too," I suggested.

"Maybe," Mama said.

49) Tyrone has a laugh

THERE ARE ARE days when I quite enjoy my job, when it's fun to take care of customers and make sure everyone is happy, when there's excitement and energy in the air as we collectively struggle to cope with steady streams of customers. days when I quite enjoy my job, when it's fun to take care of customers and make sure everyone is happy, when there's excitement and energy in the air as we collectively struggle to cope with steady streams of customers.

This was not one of those days.

This was one of those Sat.u.r.days that seemed to go on and on, as if my five-hour shift had suddenly become five hundred. Glancing at the clock only made it worse, only pointed out how the minutes crawled by like a bug in mola.s.ses. This was a day when every customer had a problem, or a bunch of coupons, or a complaint, or an item that needed a price check. Everyone was in a desperate hurry. Three of my customers "forgot" their debit cards and ran off, leaving my register stuck in the middle of a transaction with no way to bail out of it except to call over the duty manager. Every other customer, it seemed, had to end the transaction by laboriously writing out a check and taking their sweet time about it as if they were doing the world a favor by remaining true to checks and not simply getting a debit card like normal people.

It's hard work to run a countless stream of items through a scanner, especially when many of those items are heavy or bulky, like bags of dog food, or cases of soda and beer, or big fat watermelons, not to speak of those Christless boxes of cat litter that weigh a frikkin' ton.

I glanced down my line at just past noon, saw a big queue, and sighed.

Tyrone bagged my groceries, looking so mad I'm surprised none of the customers complained to Mr. Owen.

I turned to him and drew a smile on my lips.

He bared his teeth.

I grinned.

I thought I might actually die before two o'clock rolled around.

At five minutes to two, Jackson Ledbetter showed up in my line carrying a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates.

Oh h.e.l.l, I thought, my heart sinking.

"Hi," he said.

"How are ya?" I asked automatically.