Tomato Girl by Jayne Pupek Page B

name him?”
    I nodded. “Jellybean.”
    â€œThat’s an interesting name …”
    â€œTess thought of it. She knows good names.”
    â€œTess?” My mother’s thin eyebrows rose, making small arrows across her forehead.
    â€œTess is Daddy’s tomato girl.” I smacked my hand over my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to tell.
    â€œIsn’t she Mason Reed’s girl, the one who has epilepsy?” she asked my father.
    â€œWell, yes, she has epilepsy, Julia,” Daddy said, shifting in his chair. “But she hasn’t had an episode in months. Doctor’s got her on some new medicine. She’ll be a big help to you, cleaning up around the house, cooking. The doctor said you’re not supposed to do any lifting or bending.”
    â€œI know that, Rupert, but I don’t think a teenage girl with her own infirmity is what the doctor had in mind.” The muscles along the edge of Mama’s jawline stiffened, making the veins in her neck rise. I watched Jellybean in her hands.
    â€œJulia, there’s no need to get upset. Just trust me on this. Tess will work out fine.”
    Mama didn’t answer. Her lips narrowed into a straight line.
    Jellybean peeped. Mama’s hands were too tight around him.
    I nudged my chick’s small body from Mama’s tight fingers and put him my back inside my purse.
    The rest of the visit with Mama felt as heavy and slow as a sermon. No one said another word about Tess, but her presence hung in the air like smoke you couldn’t fan away.
    Daddy worked the crossword puzzle from the newspaper and talked with Mama about the landscaping company opening up just outside of town. “They placed quite an order last week,” he said, and gave Mama details about the wheelbarrows, levels, spades, and spools of twine he’d sold.
    I stood by the bed and combed Mama’s long hair. Little flecks of blood had dried on her scalp and peppered her pillow.
    We stayed with Mama until her tray came, a bowl of pot roast, mashed potatoes, and oily green beans. We kissed her good-bye, first Daddy, then me. As much as I hated the hospital and wantedto leave, I would have done anything to stay with Mama. I wanted to sit by her side and spoon smooth mashed potatoes into her mouth. I wanted to hold the milk carton to her lips and urge her to drink it all. And then after her meal, I’d curl beside her and tell stories until we both fell asleep.
    Daddy placed his hands on my shoulders and made me step away from Mama’s bed. We promised to come back the next day and bring a few things from home.
    Mama smiled, then turned toward the window. The corners of her eyes were moist with tears.
    B ACK ON THE FIRST FLOOR , Daddy was quiet while we sat in the hospital lobby and waited for the cab. He looked out the door as cars slowed by the entrance. A woman in a wheelchair rolled across the floor, then an elderly man in a gray suit walked in and nodded to Daddy. I’d seen the man in the store, but couldn’t remember his name. If we sat there long enough, we’d run into customers who knew us. Daddy didn’t say anything, and I didn’t feel like talking either.
    Something about Tess troubled Mama. Daddy knew it. So did I. Still, neither of us said a word, as if by keeping quiet, we could ignore what we knew.
    Kissing Tess now seemed like a bad thing. Somehow, I felt I’d betrayed my mother.
    When I got home, I’d wash out my mouth with something awful like dish-washing liquid, and I would never, ever kiss her again.

SEVEN
LITTLE SEAMSTRESS
    I NSTEAD OF TAKING ME home or to the store, Daddy dropped me off at Mary Roberts’s house. Mary was in school, but her mother was home. When Daddy asked if she’d look after me, she smiled and said, “I’d be delighted, Rupert.” Mrs. Roberts is always delighted to do her Christian duty, which means helping when she can. “How is Julia?” she asked.