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May reached behind herself to close the door to her room. “How in the hell do you expect her to? You up and disappeared on her before she could walk a straight line, and now you’ve come here with no warning, looking like you stepped right out of Imitation of Life.”
Betty’s shoulders went slack and her face turned down. “I just thought she’d know . . . somehow.” A sorrowful glint in her hazel eyes very nearly touched May’s heart.
Jilo’s hand slipped from May’s grip, and the child took a few furtive steps forward, stopping just beyond Betty’s reach. Betty knelt and set her shopping bag down beside her. Her shoulders pulled back, as if in preparation to open her arms wide for a hug, but instead she turned a little to grasp the bag and set it between herself and her daughter.
Jilo turned back toward May. “Is she really my mama?”
May struggled, but couldn’t prevent a tear from falling. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, so she answered with a few quick nods, her heart breaking as wonderment filled her grandbaby’s eyes.
“Why, yes,” Betty answered for her. “I sure am your mama.” She reached into the bag. “And I brought you a present, too. You want to see it?”
Jilo cast another glance at May, her wide-open eyes questioning whether it was safe to approach this woman. Again, May signaled with a nod, trying to force a smile to her lips. She wanted Jilo to feel good about who she was, which would be a lot easier if she felt good about her mother. May felt in her bones this was only a visit. Nothing permanent. This could very well be the only chance Jilo ever had to lay eyes on her mama, and May would not take that away from her.
Following her nana’s lead, Jilo responded with a nod of her head.
A bright smile formed on Betty’s face, but May could still make out the traces of remorse in her eyes. Well, maybe all wasn’t lost for the woman after all, May reflected. At least she knew she should feel guilt. “Brought this for you all the way from New York City.”
“That where you been all this time?” The question escaped May despite her resolve not to ruin this reunion. She forced her tone to soften. “It’s only I thought you were livin’ in Atlanta, with that man. Porkpie.”
“Porkpie?” Betty’s forehead creased in confusion, then a laugh bubbled up from her. “Oh, you mean Walter. Good heavens, no. I ain’t . . .” She paused to correct herself. “I haven’t seen old Walter in years. I went up north with the band. I met . . . well, I decided to stay on . . .” Her words faded away, but May surmised she’d met another man. The one who’d pa
id for the fur. And for the dress that barely covered the woman’s knees. Betty pulled a rectangular box from the bag, and took off its lid before turning it around. Inside there was a doll with auburn hair and the palest of skin, delicate freckles painted over the bridge of its nose. Its cupid lips stood out, painted a bright Venetian red like that carpet at the Pinnacle.
“See?” Betty said as she tilted the box back and forth. “Her eyes open and close. Asleep.” She tilted the box back and the doll’s green glass eyes shut. She tilted the doll back to an upright position. “Awake.”
She held the doll out to Jilo, but when Jilo approached, she didn’t take the box. Instead, she traced her fingers along Betty’s hand, seeming to test if it were real, before laying her own small hand over her mother’s. Betty’s smile froze as she jerked back from her daughter’s touch. “Here you are, sweetie,” Betty said and pressed the box into Jilo’s hands. “The clerk said she’s called Flora, but I reckon you can name her anything you’d like.”
Betty stood and smoothed her skirt, signaling, May felt, that she was done with Jilo. “Where’re my other girls? Where’s my Poppy? My Opal?”
Your girls. May struggled to force her spleen down. “Yo’ Opal, she’s gone. Took off with a soldier to California, she did.” May didn’t say that she’d encouraged the girl to leave. Opal’s Nate was a fine young man, and he’d see to it that Opal finished her schooling. “Reckon she had more of her mama in her than I figured.” May regretted the words as soon as she said them, but the urge to strike out at Betty had been festering for so very long.
May didn’t even have the chance to register if her words had struck home. “She’s gonna be a nurse,” Jilo said, both hands clutching the box that held her gift, her eyes fixed on the doll therein.
A small smile formed on Betty’s lips, and her eyes moistened. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
“I’m gonna be a doctor,” Jilo said as she carefully removed the doll from its wrapping. “That’s better than a nurse.”
Betty laughed, a warm laugh that showed she did hold some affection for the child, but the look of disbelief in her wide eyes told May she was about to say something foolish. “Well now, that can’t . . .” May nearly used magic to will the fool woman to stop talking, but it wasn’t necessary. For the first time in her selfish life, Betty seemed to think about someone other than herself. She flashed her daughter a smile nearly as superficial as the one lacquered on the doll’s lips. “And you’re going to be a wonderful doctor, sweet girl. You will.” As she turned to face Jilo, the stole she wore shifted, revealing a damp spot on her blouse. “Why don’t you go practice on your dolly there, so your nana and I can talk?”
“I don’t . . .” the girl began.
“Jilo,” May said, turning the name into both a command and a warning. Jilo lowered her eyes, and her lips pulled into a pout. For the first time, May was struck by how much Jilo resembled her mother—a warmer, darker copy of the original. “Jilo.” This time her tone was softer, a request rather than an order. “Take your pretty girl to your room.”
“Yes’m,” Jilo said, moving at a reticent pace, casting a lingering glance back at her mother, as if she, too, understood she should freeze this moment in her mind. Then she turned away and began jabbering childish nonsense to the doll, inquiring about her ailments.
May’s eyes drifted from the back of Jilo’s head to the damp spot on her daughter-in-law’s blouse.
Betty tugged the fur so that it was covered. “And Poppy?”
“Poppy?” May said, nearly having forgotten that Betty had asked about her middle child as well. “Poppy. She’s good, but I’m afraid our Poppy doesn’t have much of a head for learning. At least not the book kind.”
“She’s pretty, though?” Betty asked.
May could’ve gotten angry that Betty would see “pretty” as her daughter’s best hope. Poppy was no scholar, but she was honest and hardworking. And there was nothing she couldn’t do with a needle and thread. Truth of the matter was, though, Poppy was pretty. No, more than that.
“Poppy is a beautiful girl,” May said, then quickly added, “on the outside and the inside, too.” Betty’s fur-draped shoulders relaxed. “She’s got herself work as a seamstress. Up in Charlotte,” May added, both hating that her granddaughter was so far away and worrying that she wasn’t far enough away. She’d never really accepted Maguire’s claim that his grasp reached worldwide.
“But she’s so young.”
