A Choir of Ill Children Read Free Page B

town where nothing ever changes except the extent of desperation.
    Betty Lynn has never seen a home as huge as ours, and immediately she begins to imagine herself living here without her five screaming younger brothers and sisters always pinching at her legs. No chickens to feed and kill and pluck, no cows to milk, no tar-paper shack that collects heat in the summer and pours it over you like scalding water. She grins and shows off her tiny square teeth, eyes wide and starry, thinking about what she’ll buy first once she gets her fists on some cash. That’s natural enough, everyone in Potts County does the same thing.
    She takes in the empty space and wonderful silence for a minute, picturing the size of the closets and the depth of the bathtubs. All this room, it’s got to be put to use. She knows she’s going to be mother to a screaming brood, that’s her fate no matter what else happens to her, but it would be so much more endurable if she could wear lavish pleated dresses and drink Chablis. If she could finally afford disposable diapers and not have to washboard the cloth ones anymore. Mama is slowly suffocating her, the kids around her knees are crushing her, the chickens clucking in the kitchen driving her crazy, oh hell yes, everything is.
    Her pale blue eyes are swirling as the smile begins to creep from the corners of her mouth and broadens further. She cannot pronounce Chablis and has never tasted it, but she’ll learn to drink it. Nothing’s worse than Daddy’s mash whiskey, and he’s only got half a tongue left now because of it. Betty Lynn wants to be valued by those in high society, however they act. Wherever they are and whatever they do.
That’s
how it’s going to be, Mama said. And
that’s
exactly what she wants to tell them down at the Piggly Wiggly and Doover’s Five & Dime when they back up and turn away in awful seething jealousy.
    She speaks her mind, which is how it should be. “I think we ought to get married.”
    “You do.”
    “Uh-huh. I’d make a good wife and a fine mother. I’ve pretty much had to raise my brothers and sisters since Papa got too sick to work anymore. I handle them all right, and I’ll handle this child just the same.”
    “You seem to know what you want,” I say.
    “You did too, that night in the parking lot.”
    “Yes,” I admit. It’s true enough, or at least had been at the time. I used a condom though I don’t bother to press the point. Nothing I say to her is going to amount to anything much. I get off the love seat and offer her my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
    “You want me to go inside with you?”
    “Sure.”
    Perhaps she’s heard the rumors about my brothers but she can’t possibly believe they’re true. It’s a tale meant only to scare local kids. Something to be discarded alongside the bogeyman and the flat rock ghosts. Her eyes are bright as she glances at the mantel and the carved furniture. Fred and Sarah have taken Dodi with them to Leadbetter’s, and the house is silent and feels as if it hasn’t been lived in for fifty years. We walk past the stairway and the steps draw our attention like a siphon. The darkness pools.
    “What’s up there?”
    “My brothers.”
    That gets a nervous chuckle from her as she toes the floor. She touches her fancy hairdo to make sure it hasn’t started to unravel yet. “Naaaw.”
    “Yes.”
    “Aw, you’re just fooling me.”
    “No, it’s true.”
    She presses a finger to my chest, so shy here in this maze of hallways. My wrist flicks against the underside of her right breast and her perfume doesn’t smell so bad anymore. She looks up and down the stairs, smiling but drawing away, expecting some fun surprises. “I don’t think I believe you.”
    “Come see for yourself.”
    We head up the steps hand in hand. We’re going to visit the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. She can hardly contain herself and lets loose with a few giggles. It’s a sweet sound. We’re going to make love