Leota's Garden (40 page)

She was firing all her guns at him, and he didn’t like it. A coldness seeped into him. How had he ever gotten involved with this girl? Her eyes flickered. Could she see what he was feeling? Was it written on his face? She looked away again and bit her lip. It was a little late to hold her tongue. She looked at him again, troubled. “We always agreed, Cory. First things first. Graduate from college, then . . .”

Then what? He wondered now. Had they ever really discussed the after part? He felt sick inside. He knew he couldn’t make any promises about financing her education, especially at Stanford.

A baby. His baby. He thought about the choices before them.

“Look,” he said cautiously, “I haven’t decided to go to Stanford. There’s nothing wrong with staying here in Berkeley.”

“You
want
to go to Stanford and you know it. Don’t tell me you don’t. If you stayed here, you’d resent having to change your plans.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Get real.” Her face was rigid and pale. “I’ve missed two classes this week because I was too sick to go. I think they call it morning sickness. Only I’m sick until past noon. How many classes do you think I can miss and still keep my grades up enough to hold on to my scholarship?”

He knew what she was thinking. He had listened to all the arguments for abortion and agreed with every one of them. Up until this moment, he had been pro-choice. Now he wasn’t so sure. This was
his
child she was talking about. Something on the elemental level had shifted inside him. All the rhetoric didn’t seem to matter. All the rationale, the justifications, the excuses.

Plain and simple, he felt sick at the thought of her having an abortion.

“I know it’s not the best time—” he chose his words carefully—“but we can figure things out. If you don’t want to keep the baby, we can give it up for adoption.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re really suggesting I have it!” She sprang up and paced again. “This isn’t a trophy we’re talking about, Cory. This is
my
life!”

“I know, Ruth, but it’s
my
child.”

She stopped and glared at him. “I can’t believe you said that. It’s not a child yet. Don’t call it a child.”

“Spare me the feminist manure, Ruth. We’ve both had physiology and anatomy. I swear I’ll take care of you. I’ll pay for everything. I’ll take responsibility. I’ll even marry you, if you want.”

“Thanks for the romantic proposal.” She turned away, hugging herself.

Shame gripped him. Crossing the room, he put his hands on her arms. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” He caressed her arms. “Ruth, I’m sorry. If I could undo things, I would. I know this wasn’t planned. I know how much your education matters to you. I wouldn’t ask you to give up on it. Just sit tight for a few days, all right? Let’s think things over. Let’s weigh all the options. Isn’t that what choice is all about? Knowing there are options.”

He felt her muscles relaxing. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared. I’m so scared, Cory.”

Corban leaned down and kissed the curve of her neck. “So am I.”

He wondered if they were afraid for the same reasons.

“You there!” Leota shouted from her front door. “Leave those children alone or I’m calling the police.”

The two teenagers bullying Arba Wilson’s children shouted obscenities at her and took off down the street. She came out onto her porch. “Come on inside, you three. You’re sitting ducks for any little hoodlums out there on the sidewalk. Didn’t your mother tell you to play in the backyard?” She held the door wide open for them. “Go on into the bathroom and clean yourself up, Vermont.”

“My name ain’t Vermont.”

“It is when you’re in my house. Now, get going.” The two little girls were crying. She closed the screen door, latched it, closed the front door, and double locked it. “You two come into the kitchen with me.” She took two dish towels from a drawer and wet them with tap water. She gave one to each and told them to wipe their faces. “What did those two boys want, anyway?”

“They wanted Nile to let ’em in the house.”

Nile stood in the doorway, a wet cloth pressed over his eye.

“You’re a brave boy.”

“Don’t call me
boy
.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Fine. You’re a brave young man. Do you like that better? Now plant your tailbone in that chair and cool off.”

“Why should I?”

“Keep standing in the doorway, and I’ll give your cookies and milk to the girls.”

Nile sat.

“Mama’ll wonder where we are.” Kenya wiped tears from her cheeks.

Leota patted her shoulder. “She’ll know, honey. I told her you three were welcome here. You can consider this a safe house. Carolina, you sit there. Indiana, you can have my chair. What time does your mama get home?”

“Six,” Indiana said. “She’s picking up Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight.”

“It’s her favorite,” Nile said with a jerk of his head toward Kenya-Carolina. “She gets it ’cause it’s her birthday today.”

“Your birthday, is it? How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Well, I’m twelve times seven. So what does that make me?”

“Eighty-four,” Nile said in a split second, adding, “Old.”

“Brave and good at math. Looks like you have a fine future ahead of you, unless you let your lips start moving before your brain’s in gear.”

Indiana giggled. “You talk funny.”

“It’s called English, honey. I don’t know ebonics.” Leota put the icing-covered animal crackers on a pretty porcelain plate. By the time she poured three glasses of milk and set them down, the cookies were almost gone. Tunisha-Indiana had saved three for her. The Wilson children were polite. They said thank you. Even Nile-Vermont, who had put the wet rag aside. His eye was going to be swollen shut by the time his mama arrived.

She took the three cookies from Tunisha’s hand and gave one to each of the children. One bag of cookies cost three dollars and eighty-nine cents. On sale. No wonder Arba Wilson had to work such long hours. Leota couldn’t help wondering how many buckets of chicken the poor woman would have to buy in order to fill up these growing children.

Six o’clock was still two and a half hours away. Resigned, Leota went to her pantry.

The three children ate two cans of fruit cocktail, six slices of bread, and three slices of American cheese before they were full. Leota stopped counting up the cost. The truth was, she enjoyed having them in her kitchen. They relaxed and chattered like little magpies. She had the feeling that now that they were refueled, they’d be running like Energizer bunnies.

“Would you like to watch television?” Anything to keep them calm and quiet. And inside where they were safe.

The children followed her into the living room. Unfortunately, talk shows and soap operas seemed to dominate the schedule. “Too bad I don’t have any children’s books. I could read to you.”

“I have a book,” Tunisha said. “I got it from the school library. It’s in my backpack.” She was out the front door and gone before Leota could call her back. Concerned those bullies might still be around, she went out on the front porch and waited. Tunisha ran up the driveway and around to the back of their house. Leota heard the screen door slam. A minute later it slammed again, and the girl came running back down the driveway with a book in her hand.

Leota watched her come up the steps. “Did you lock the back door?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Panting, she handed Leota the book she had checked out.

“
The Wind in the Willows
.” Leota smiled. “Well, we’ll see how far we get before your mama comes home.”

A few minutes after six, the doorbell rang. Leota couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Before their mother was even in the door, the girls were recounting the trouble on the sidewalk, the snack of animal crackers, fruit cocktail, bread, and cheese, and the adventures of Mole. Arba tried to shush them, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. Worse, she looked scared. She tipped Nile’s face up and inspected his eye. Then she looked at Leota. “Thank you for stepping in, Mrs. Reinhardt. I hope they haven’t been too much of a bother.”

“You can call me Leota, and they’ve been perfect ladies and gentleman.” As soon as she had started reading, they had gone quiet as little mice. A pity she wouldn’t get to finish reading the story. She’d been enjoying it. Resigned, she took a piece of junk mail from her side table, tucked it into the book, and closed it. “Don’t forget your book, Indiana.”

Tunisha took it and held it against her chest. “Would you read some more tomorrow?”

Arba Wilson winced. “No, Tuny.” She ran her hand tenderly over her daughter’s neat cornrows. “Mrs. Reinhardt has more important things to do.”

“Like what?” Leota said bluntly.

Arba’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’d like to hear the end of the story.”

Indiana grinned broadly at Leota and then up at her mother. “Can we, Mama? Please?”

Carolina snuggled against her mother. “Please? Can we? Can we?”

“A smart woman knows when she’s defeated.” Leota managed to restrain her smile. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Corban Solsek would be coming over to take her shopping again. She had better write up a new grocery list. She needed to lay in supplies.

Chapter 14

Annie flew up the stairs, unlocked the apartment door, and tossed her backpack onto the sofa. Grinning, she picked up the telephone and punched in her grandmother’s phone number. She paced as she waited for her to answer. “Hello,” came the mellow greeting.

“Grandma! I’ve got the greatest news!”

“You won the lottery, and you’re going on an around-the-world cruise.”

Annie laughed. “Something better than that. My art professor has a friend with a gallery here in San Francisco. One of my paintings is going to be hung.”

“Hung?”

“In his gallery. On a wall. For sale. My picture, I mean. Oh, Grandma, I didn’t expect something like this to happen in a million years!”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why not? Anyone with half a brain can see you have talent.”

How she adored her grandmother. “You’ve never even seen my paintings, Grandma. You have no idea whether I have talent or not.”

“Of course, I know. I don’t have to see anything to know. It’s in the genes. Your great-aunt did those wonderful renderings. Great-Grandma
Reinhardt was an artist with her embroidery needles. And your mother was a master seamstress by the time she was sixteen.”

“Mother? You’re kidding, aren’t you?” She had never known her mother to pick up a needle.

“No, I’m not.”

“I didn’t even know she sewed.” Any mending that needed doing went to the French laundry.

“Oh, my, yes. She started sewing her own clothes when she was thirteen. She made the most beautiful things. She’d go down to the most expensive stores and see what was popular. Then she’d buy remnants at one of the big fabric stores downtown and make copies with her own ideas added. She even finished the edges on all the seams, just like those exclusive shops do. She had a real knack for it. She got so good at it she was making her own patterns from tissue paper she bought at the five-and-dime.” Grandma Leota didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then added quietly, “I wonder why she stopped sewing.”

Annie wondered as well. “I’ve never seen Mother make anything.”

“If that isn’t the strangest thing. Why would she quit doing something she enjoyed so much?”

“She probably didn’t enjoy it, Grandma.” Truth to tell, Annie couldn’t think of one thing her mother had ever enjoyed. According to her mother, even shopping was a chore. Everything in life seemed to be just another burden. Why did she feel that way?

“Eleanor spent hours on that old treadle machine in the bedroom,” Grandma Leota said. “It belonged to Grandma Reinhardt. She used it for mending. She showed your mother how it worked. In fact, I think that’s how your mother started, by doing the family mending. When she was sixteen, she said she wanted a brand-new sewing machine. I would’ve given anything to get her one, but there wasn’t money at the time. . . .”

Grandma Leota was rambling again, but Annie liked it when her grandmother remembered the past aloud. Annie had learned more about her mother in the past few months than she had in her entire life of living with her. It was hard to picture Nora as an eager teenager designing her own clothes.