Billie Standish Was Here by Nancy Crocker Page B

asked.
    â€œUh . . . uh-uh. Why?”
    â€œI dunno. You look like you just came across a fresh train wreck.”
    I could hardly leave then. I sat down in the chair that used to be mine when we all ate together.
    Everything was off balance. It felt like the table was going to tip and slide everything on it crashing down into Mama’s empty chair. I said, “No . . . I just remembered something.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat what?” It sounded like a smart remark. I wanted it back as soon as I said it.
    â€œWhat did you just remember?”
    â€œNothing.” My face was on fire. This was my father. And I was just as relaxed as I would be if somebody plunked me down to lunch with the president.
    He sat and chewed, trying to read me. “How’s your cheek?”
    â€œOh, the old ‘does your face hurt? It’s killing me’?” I listened to my nervous laugh like it was coming from some other stupid person.
    Daddy didn’t smile. In fact, he frowned a little. “No, I wanted to know. How’s your cheek?”
    I coughed and cleared my throat. “It’s okay. Miss Lydia gave me this plant stuff to put on it, and it started healing really fast.”
    â€œPlant stuff?”
    â€œYeah, hollow vera, I think she calls it. It’s this plant that has goop inside the leaves and it’s the best burn medicine there is, she says.”
    He nodded. “You really do enjoy spending time with that old woman, don’t you?”
    I was surprised. “Well, yeah,” I told him. “I mean, she’s interesting and funny . . . and she teaches me all kinds of stuff . . . and it’s way better than—.” My face heated up again.
    He let it go. But after a minute passed he said, “How you and your mother getting along these days?”
    I would have chosen a whipping over this conversation and it must have shown because, after a few seconds, he nodded as though he’d been answered. He reached for the latest Missouri Conservationist on the tea cart by the refrigerator.
    I wasn’t sure which of us he was letting off the hook, but I was grateful anyway. We finished eating in quiet.
    â€œBILLIE!” Mama yelled. The screen door slammed and I went running. I’d heard often enough that if I intended to eat any of that food I could sure as hell help carry it in and put it away. It took several trips that day just to get everything inside.
    â€œWell!” she said. “That ought to hold us a while!” She was standing with her hands on her hips, surveying the bounty with no little satisfaction. There was color in her cheeks beyond her suntan. She almost looked pretty.
    â€œWhat’s this?” I held up a can of something I didn’t recognize.
    â€œOh. Hearts of palm,” Mama said and then laughed. She laughed! “I haven’t had those since . . . oh, way before you were born when your father used to take me to the city for dinner and dancing.”
    He did? I could feel my jaw drop.
    â€œOn the way to town Lydia was talking about the old Savoy Grille and it reminded me.”
    I nodded and put it in the pantry, my head buzzing. Mama dancing? Daddy and Mama dancing? There was a picture I couldn’t bring into focus. And now Mama was humming!
    We finished the chore without talking, but the lack of tension in the room felt like the absence of a third person. Mama hadn’t been this lighthearted even when the river crested and she and Daddy were playing Smarter-Than-Thou with the neighbors.
    I was crying behind my bedroom door before I had any idea why, but it didn’t take long for the hurt to start taking shape. Mama had never had a real friend that I could remember, and now she was starting by taking mine.
    I knew deep inside that wanting to keep Miss Lydia all to myself was childish, but I couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t fair.
    Miss Lydia had said we