Tuesday (Chapter 2)

Here's the next chapter! Feel free to give constructive criticism where it is needed.

Chapter 2: Mrs. Fortworth

Mom and I were eating breakfast before church. Cereal. Apple Jacks. I love Apple Jacks.

After I finish, I put the dish in the sink and walk upstairs to get dressed.

I take out my favorite black and light blue dress. The black and blue swirl together into a whimsical and pretty pattern. It has no sleeves, so I wear a black cardigan over it.

And then I straighten my hair. I have long, curly red hair. Not fiery red hair, just a muted color. I think it’s the prettiest thing about me when it’s straight—when it’s curly, not so much.

“Mom, my straightening iron isn’t working right!” I call to her downstairs. “I need a new one!”

“Honey, I got that for you last Christmas!” she objects.

I sigh. “Mom, that was three Christmases ago.”

“Oh.”

She is so forgetful. Three years ago, she forgot that it was my birthday. So when I woke up, she didn’t even say happy birthday to me. She didn’t used to be before the divorce. But when dad left, she became scatterbrained and more distant.

Finally we left for church. Our church is tiny and I don’t even really know the name. Something with the word grace in it…

I help out with the nursery, because my Mom wants me to be with Hallie and Haley.

At least Mrs. Fortworth is in the nursery, and she’s probably the sweetest old lady in the

world, next to my Grammy.

“You know, ever since your mother adopted those two, you’ve been helping out in the nursery more,” says Mrs. Fortworth, in her heavy El Paso accent.

“That’s the reason.”

“Ah, I thought so.” She smiles and hugs me, kissing me on the forehead. And then she asks a question that is a little awkward, but mostly just very strange. “Do you ever think about Tom?”

“Huh?”

“Your daddy, do you ever think about him?” she wonders.

“Sometimes, like on Fathers’ Day, and Christmas…because he used to get me really great presents,” I say, swallowing.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she apologizes. “I know it’s very hard to think about.”

“No, no,” I say, swallowing again. “It really doesn’t matter to me all that much.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“No.”

“You know, if you keep things locked up like that, you’re never going to be able to let them go.” She sighs and shakes her head.

“Mrs. Fortworth?” I ask.

“I’m right here, dear,” she says, smiling. “And I’ll always be right here.”

“Yeah, I know, but why did you even ask me?”

“Because I know your mama misses him,” she admits.

“Yeah, she does,” I say, thinking about the way she clutches the ring all the time. “Mrs. Fortworth, can I ask you something? Something really personal.”

“Anything, sweetheart,” she responds. “I’ll answer any question you ask, even if I don’t know the answer.”

“Thanks,” I say, but move on. “Do you think that my dad’s…um, do you think that my dad’s ever going to…” My voice trailed off.

“I don’t know darlin’,” she admits. “I don’t know if he’s ever comin’ back.”

And then it hit me. My dad had left when I was six, and he hadn’t explained anything. He hadn’t told me that it wasn’t my fault, which had made me believe it was for nine years. But it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

“Was it…was it my fault?”

“No.”

“Then why do I feel that way?” I asked, looking at my feet. “I just feel like I led them to separate.”

“You didn’t,” she says, lifting my chin. “It was their decision.”

“Why did they…um, why did they split up?” My stuttering was a result of this being something I didn’t talk about

And then Haley starts crying before she can answer. “What, baby? What are you crying about?” she asks, and picks her up.

“I’ll bet she’s got a dirty diaper,” I say, dissatisfied with the short end to our serious and in-depth conversation.

“I’d say the same thing!” Mrs. Fortworth walks out of the nursery room and into the bathro-om to change her. “Baby girl, would you bring me her wipes? I forgot them!”

“Sure,” I say, running into the bathroom with them. I set them on the counter quickly and run out of the bathroom to escape the stench.

I sit down on the ground with my chin res-ting on my knees. Church will be out at any Moment.

“Alright, now that you’ve stunk up the place, you’re all finished.” Mrs. Fortworth walks out of the bathroom triumphantly.

“Good job,” I say, my mind still lingering on my unanswered questions.

“So, now, what were you saying about your daddy?”

“Nothing, it’s fine,” I lie. For some reason, I always do that sort of thing. I bring up something and then drop it just like that. It’s just one of my many gifts.

“I know you’re still troubled,” says Mrs. Fortworth. “It’s written all over your face.”

“No, really, I’m fine,” I say, brushing the hair out of my face. “It doesn’t matter.”

She shakes her head and walks away. “I don’t get why you keep things bottled up like that. It’s really not healthy.”

I start to hear people talking. That means church is over.

Mom comes over to the nursery to pick up the girls. She walks in. “Were they any trouble?” she asks Mrs. Fortworth.

“Haley got a dirty diaper, but that’s it.”

“Good,” she says. “Thank you so much, Delia.”

“I enjoy having them in here,” she says, looking at me. “And that older one of yours ain’t too bad either.”

“I agree,” she says, and hugs Mrs. Fortworth warmly. “Thank you! Bye!”

As we’re walking out, I see the crippled kid and his family going across the parking lot. Perhaps they’re just trying it out for today.

I strap the girls into their car seats and then I get in.

As we’re driving on, I keep thinking about officially meeting the new family. I really, really want to.

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