Whistling in the Dark

CHAPTER FOUR

Some nights, Troo and me could also hear crying coming out of Mother’s bedroom, which was so hard to believe. That sound almost seemed like a mirage in the desert. Because during the day you never would hear something like that. During the day Mother was tough like beef jerky and would tell you that crying was for people who felt sorry for themselves. Granny told me that Mother really wasn’t so tough, that she was just doing something called whistling in the dark. (Since I had not once ever heard Mother whistle, I knew right then that this granny was getting the hardening of the arteries the way the other gramma got.)

Troo was sitting on the soft stool in front of the dressing table that had a mirror and two drawers on each side. Another smaller mirror shaped like an ice skating rink sat on top of the table with her bottles of perfumes and lotions. I was holding the gold hairbrush with the swirls on the back that Daddy had given Mother for her birthday one year. We were watching Mother fold her blouses and put them into her round blue Samsonite bag between layers of tissue paper.

Mother snapped the luggage shut and brushed down the hem of her tan pleated skirt and said, “I have given Nell her instructions. She will do all the cooking and mind you during the day until Hall comes home from work at five thirty. You give either of them any guff and…” She took the hairbrush out of my hand, smacked it against her palm and then let it drop on the bed. “Hall took the car to Shuster’s this morning, so I’m walking over to the hospital.” She picked up her suitcase and slipped on her shiny black high heels with the bows. “I’ll be back in a week or so.”

“Can we come with you?” Troo said, which surprised me because she didn’t usually act like she’d miss you if you went anywhere.

Mother said, “Don’t be silly.” And then she gave us her powdery cheek to kiss and we could hear her heels smacking against the wooden steps that led down to the front porch and then finally the door slamming shut.

We sat there for a while not saying anything, but I was feeling bad because we weren’t ever supposed to be in Mother’s room without her. Troo said suddenly, “Let’s play dress-up.”

She slid open the jewelry drawer and fingered the green glass beads and a silver medallion on a long chain and Daddy’s old Timex, which I thought Mother’d given away to Goodwill Industries along with everything else. It made me so happy to see the watch that I slipped it on my wrist and held it up to my ear and it was still ticking. I wished I could wind it back so far that I would have a do-over of the day Daddy died. So I could say sorry. Troo lifted out the beads and put them around her neck. Then she pulled the cherry red lipstick out of the fancy golden tube and spread it on her pouty lips and rubbed them together like we’d seen Mother do. Troo was looking at herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side.

“You look just like her,” I said, staring at her reflection.

Troo smiled and got some of the lipstick on her teeth and said, “I know.”

I pulled out another drawer and saw a picture of Daddy laying on top of Mother’s white chiffon scarf. It was the picture from when he just got back from the Air Force and he had his uniform on and you could tell he was so happy to be home. Next to him, Mother was looking off into the distance like she hadn’t even realized he was there.

“Let’s go,” I said, because I was starting to feel worried about Mother, and maybe if we went to the front window we could see her walking over to the hospital and we could yell something out to her like get well soon!

I let Daddy’s watch slide off my wrist and set it back in the drawer. “You should wipe off that lipstick.”

“No,” Troo said, and plumped out her lips even more.

“Troo.”

“I ain’t takin’ it off.”

“Troo!” We weren’t ever supposed to say ain’t. That was something Mother told us the riffraff said.

Troo laughed and pulled on a pair of short white gloves she found in the drawer. So I walked to the living room by myself and stuck my head out the window. I could smell pink peonies mixed in with the chocolate chip cookie smell coming from the Feelin’ Good Cookie Factory. Mother was small up on the corner of North Avenue. I was sure that would be the last time I’d ever see her again because look what happened to Daddy when he was in the same hospital. So I started to yell to her to please come back! But then she turned the corner and was gone. And she didn’t come home in a week or so like she said.