him as he talked until Papa started calling me to come inside.
M’Dear was alone in the kitchen, kneading dough for our breakfast biscuits. I sat down and told her everything Tuck said.
“Tuck never told anyone—not even Uncle Tucker and Miz Lizbeth—because he was afraid that it would cause trouble and his father would hurt his mother.”
M’Dear was quiet. She kept on working the biscuit dough.
“Calla,” she said, and put down the dough like it was all of a sudden too heavy. “Let’s you and me go sit out on the porch.” So we went out and sat together on the glider.
M’Dear stroked my hair. She said, “Calla, baby, some people are just born with more evil locked up inside them. And then there are some people who get bent that way. I suspect that Tuck’s father is a little bit of both.”
“Well, M’Dear, what about his mother?”
“Oh. I don’t know, Calla. I don’t pretend to know all what happened to Charlotte LeBlanc. But alcohol, I do think that’s something that runs in the blood. Still, it’s hard for me to understand how she could let her precious son get hurt by it.
“But you don’t have to understand somebody, Calla, in order to stop from judging them.”
That night, for the first time since I was a little girl, M’Dear slept with me in the big old four-poster bed that had been in our family for decades.
“Let’s dream of the Moon Lady, Calla,” M’Dear said. She held my hand across the bed, and I could smell her light lavender scent. I looked over to see her long, thick hair as it fell over the clean cotton sheets.
“All right, M’Dear,” I said.
“Picture this bed as a boat, Calla, that can carry us anywhere, that can carry us through time, through sadness, and through joy.
“What do you see?” she asked.
I closed my eyes and felt my head heavy against the pillow, my body clean.
“I see us with you at the helm, M’Dear.”
“And are you paddling?” she asked.
“No.”
“You must paddle. I cannot move this boat without your help, Calla Lily.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m paddling, M’Dear.”
“Good,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “The Moon Lady will shine, and I will do as much as I can, but you must paddle. Because we are in a small boat, sweet one,” she said, and threaded her fingers through my hair.
“Now, we’re safe. We’re clean, we’re sleepy,” she said, and squeezed my hand. We fell asleep that way.
And I dreamed of screaming and blood on blue floors, and my mother’s nightgown cleaning it all up. She was naked as she leaned over the river, washing her gown. Her arms had grown heavy. Her arms were so heavy.
Chapter 9
1968
T hey told us it was stage-four cancer. It was why she’d been so tired lately. The doctors operated on M’Dear right away. She went across the river to Claiborne Parish Hospital, and they cut my mother’s breasts off. After that, I felt dizzy, I couldn’t get my balance. But M’Dear is the one who helped me understand that this was what she chose—this was what she decided to do to try to stop the cancer. If M’Dear decided something, then it was right by me. The surgery, though, was so much more serious than we thought it would be, and M’Dear was in the hospital for three weeks.
She had to go back for radiation every two months, and after that, her skin looked more and more like it had been burned in a bad fire. Thank goodness the radiation burns didn’t affect her whole body. Her face still looked beautiful, but the burns began on the right side of her neck, where the skin had little bubbles of red on it. Sonny Boy got sick the first time he saw it. Will just sat and held her right hand. I had to fight to keep my eyes open to the full reality of my mother, body and soul.
When she got home, she was in and out of a wheelchair. When she could stand, it was only for short periods, and with great care from the person who was helping her. But she was so happy and excited about
M’Dear was alone in the kitchen, kneading dough for our breakfast biscuits. I sat down and told her everything Tuck said.
“Tuck never told anyone—not even Uncle Tucker and Miz Lizbeth—because he was afraid that it would cause trouble and his father would hurt his mother.”
M’Dear was quiet. She kept on working the biscuit dough.
“Calla,” she said, and put down the dough like it was all of a sudden too heavy. “Let’s you and me go sit out on the porch.” So we went out and sat together on the glider.
M’Dear stroked my hair. She said, “Calla, baby, some people are just born with more evil locked up inside them. And then there are some people who get bent that way. I suspect that Tuck’s father is a little bit of both.”
“Well, M’Dear, what about his mother?”
“Oh. I don’t know, Calla. I don’t pretend to know all what happened to Charlotte LeBlanc. But alcohol, I do think that’s something that runs in the blood. Still, it’s hard for me to understand how she could let her precious son get hurt by it.
“But you don’t have to understand somebody, Calla, in order to stop from judging them.”
That night, for the first time since I was a little girl, M’Dear slept with me in the big old four-poster bed that had been in our family for decades.
“Let’s dream of the Moon Lady, Calla,” M’Dear said. She held my hand across the bed, and I could smell her light lavender scent. I looked over to see her long, thick hair as it fell over the clean cotton sheets.
“All right, M’Dear,” I said.
“Picture this bed as a boat, Calla, that can carry us anywhere, that can carry us through time, through sadness, and through joy.
“What do you see?” she asked.
I closed my eyes and felt my head heavy against the pillow, my body clean.
“I see us with you at the helm, M’Dear.”
“And are you paddling?” she asked.
“No.”
“You must paddle. I cannot move this boat without your help, Calla Lily.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m paddling, M’Dear.”
“Good,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “The Moon Lady will shine, and I will do as much as I can, but you must paddle. Because we are in a small boat, sweet one,” she said, and threaded her fingers through my hair.
“Now, we’re safe. We’re clean, we’re sleepy,” she said, and squeezed my hand. We fell asleep that way.
And I dreamed of screaming and blood on blue floors, and my mother’s nightgown cleaning it all up. She was naked as she leaned over the river, washing her gown. Her arms had grown heavy. Her arms were so heavy.
Chapter 9
1968
T hey told us it was stage-four cancer. It was why she’d been so tired lately. The doctors operated on M’Dear right away. She went across the river to Claiborne Parish Hospital, and they cut my mother’s breasts off. After that, I felt dizzy, I couldn’t get my balance. But M’Dear is the one who helped me understand that this was what she chose—this was what she decided to do to try to stop the cancer. If M’Dear decided something, then it was right by me. The surgery, though, was so much more serious than we thought it would be, and M’Dear was in the hospital for three weeks.
She had to go back for radiation every two months, and after that, her skin looked more and more like it had been burned in a bad fire. Thank goodness the radiation burns didn’t affect her whole body. Her face still looked beautiful, but the burns began on the right side of her neck, where the skin had little bubbles of red on it. Sonny Boy got sick the first time he saw it. Will just sat and held her right hand. I had to fight to keep my eyes open to the full reality of my mother, body and soul.
When she got home, she was in and out of a wheelchair. When she could stand, it was only for short periods, and with great care from the person who was helping her. But she was so happy and excited about
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