Beaming Sonny Home by Cathie Pelletier Page A

don’t believe they looked to see if there was more than one line. But just in case, I probably won’t be calling you again. And, Mama?”
    â€œYes, Sonny?”
    â€œI don’t want you to come driving down here thinking you can help me. I want you to promise me that. You can’t do a single thing down here. You stay right where you are, with a nice big puzzle and a hot cup of tea. Will you promise me, Mama?”
    â€œI promise,” Mattie said. The line crackled and she felt as if lightning might come out in a ball of fire. She looked toward the window and saw Rita flick her cigarette butt out into the flowers around the St. Francis birdbath.
    â€œBaby,” said Mattie to her only boy. “Sweetie pie, you gotta straighten this out while there’s still time.” She knew Rita would fill up the front door at any minute. Rita would roll into the scene like an unwanted snowball. Then what would those big awful daughters have to say? That Sonny had called his mama for help? That Sonny was nothing but a no-good mama’s boy? But he wasn’t calling for any help at all. He was calling to tell Mattie that he was all right, that he was in the middle of the pond but he was swimming like hell for shore. Sonny Gifford seemed prepared to get out of this one by himself. Sonny and the girls . They’d be on his side by now, no doubt about that. That scrawny little poodle was probably fetching Sonny his slippers and a rolled-up newspaper.
    â€œMama?” said Sonny. Mattie saw Rita’s shape move past the front windows on the porch, headed directly for the door.
    â€œWhat is it, Sonny? What is it, sweetheart?”
    â€œI don’t want you to worry a nickel over this. You hear me? You worried enough in your life. And I bet them sisters of mine, them three Pac Monsters, are going at you tooth and nail. You keep your door locked, Mama, you hear me? You know darn well they’re gonna come down on you like cops on a doughnut if you let them.”
    â€œSonny,” Mattie said. But no other words rose up in her throat. There was nothing she could say. A sense of motherly helplessness overtook her. She felt tears forming.
    â€œNow, it’s just a matter of time until they find this other line,” said Sonny, “so I won’t be phoning you no more. But I want you to give your best dress to the dry cleaner’s truck and then put your teeth to soak. The minute I get to Mattagash, I’m taking my favorite girlfriend dancing.” Mattie smiled. Sonny knew darn well how proud she was that her teeth were all still her own, especially since that awful dentist down in Bixley had plucked out most of the teeth belonging to Mattie’s generation. Some people would do anything for a buck. Sonny wasn’t like that, though, and this was what Mattie wished the whole world knew about her son. He was good and kind, the sort of kid who steered his bicycle around snakes crossing the road when other boys rode right over the bodies. If there had been a traffic light in Mattagash, Sonny would’ve spent each afternoon down there helping old ladies cross the street. If there had been an animal shelter, he’d have passed his idle hours finding homes for cats and dogs. He dragged home every stray animal he ever saw as it was. And all during his three bumpy years of high school, Sonny sent valentines to every single homely girl in Mattagash, girls who didn’t have a prayer of getting one otherwise. And he always signed them “A Secret Admirer” so that no one would know. Mattie even helped him lick the stamps one year. This was her boy. She saw the front doorknob turning, imagined Rita’s chubby fingers on the other side of the knob.
    â€œI love you, Sonny Gifford,” Mattie whispered, and she hoped Sonny heard her, hoped the words were loud enough. “I’m putting my teeth to soak.”
    â€œI love you, too, Mama,” Sonny was saying as