a baby each time they . . ." He shook his head. "You'll have to ask Momma about it. I don't know all the details," he said quickly, but I knew he did.
"It's going to be hell to pay when Daddy gets home, Dawn," he said, shaking his head as we walked back inside. He spoke in a voice just above a whisper and gave me a fearful chill. My heart pounded in anticipation.
Most of the time when trouble came raining down over us, Daddy would decide we had to pack up and run, but we couldn't run from this. Because I always cooked dinner, I knew better than anyone that we didn't have anything to spare for a baby. Not a cent, not a crumb.
When Daddy arrived home from work that night, he looked a lot more tired than usual and his hands and arms were all greasy.
"I had to pull out a car transmission and rebuild it in one day," he explained, thinking the way he looked was why Jimmy and I were staring at him so strangely. "Somethin' wrong?"
"Ormand," Momma called. Daddy hurried into the bedroom. I busied myself with the dinner, but my heart started to pound so hard I could barely breathe. Jimmy went to the window that looked out on the north side of the street and stood staring as still as a statue. We heard Momma crying again. After a while it grew quiet and then Daddy emerged. Jimmy pivoted expectantly.
"Well, now, you two already know, I reckon." He shook his head and looked back at the closed door behind him.
"How we gonna manage?" Jimmy asked quickly.
"I don't know," Daddy said, his eyes darkening. His face began to take on that mad look, his lips curling in at the corners, some whiteness of his teeth flashing through. He ran his fingers through his hair and sucked in some breath.
Jimmy flopped down in a kitchen chair. "Other people plan kids," he muttered.
Daddy's face flared. I couldn't believe he had said it. He knew Daddy's temper, but I recalled what Momma said: Jimmy had the same temper. Sometimes they were like two bulls with a red flag between them.
"Don't get smart," Daddy said and headed for the door.
"Where're you going, Daddy?" I called.
"I need to think," he said. "Eat without me."
Jimmy and I listened to Daddy's feet pound the hallway floor, his steps announcing the anger and turmoil in his body.
"Eat without him, he says," Jimmy quipped. "Grits and black-eyed peas."
"He's going to Frankie's," I predicted. Jimmy nodded in agreement and sat back, staring glumly at his plate.
"Where's Ormand?" Momma asked, stepping out of her bedroom.
"He went off to think, Momma," Jimmy said. "He's probably just trying to come up with a plan and needs to be alone," he added, hoping to ease her burden.
"I don't like him going off like that," Momma complained. "It never comes to no good. You should go look for him, Jimmy."
"Go look for him? I don't think so, Momma. He don't like it when I do that. Let's just eat and wait for him to come back." Mommy wasn't happy about it, but she sat down and I served the grits and black-eyed peas. I had added some salt and a little bit of bacon grease I had saved.
"I'm sorry I didn't try to get us something else," Mommy said, apologizing again. "But Dawn, honey, you did real fine with this. It tastes good. Don't it, Jimmy?"
He looked up from his bowl. I saw he hadn't been listening. Jimmy could get lost in his own thoughts for hours and hours if no one pestered him, especially when he was unhappy.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, this is good."
After supper Momma sat up for a while listening to the radio and reading one of the used magazines she had brought back from the motel she worked in. The hours ticked by. Every time we heard a door slam or the sound of footsteps, we anticipated Daddy coming through the door, but it grew later and later and he didn't reappear.
Whenever I gazed at Momma, I saw that sadness draped her face like a wet flag, heavy and hard to shake off. Finally she stood up and announced she had to go to bed. She took a deep breath, holding her hands against her chest, and headed for
"It's going to be hell to pay when Daddy gets home, Dawn," he said, shaking his head as we walked back inside. He spoke in a voice just above a whisper and gave me a fearful chill. My heart pounded in anticipation.
Most of the time when trouble came raining down over us, Daddy would decide we had to pack up and run, but we couldn't run from this. Because I always cooked dinner, I knew better than anyone that we didn't have anything to spare for a baby. Not a cent, not a crumb.
When Daddy arrived home from work that night, he looked a lot more tired than usual and his hands and arms were all greasy.
"I had to pull out a car transmission and rebuild it in one day," he explained, thinking the way he looked was why Jimmy and I were staring at him so strangely. "Somethin' wrong?"
"Ormand," Momma called. Daddy hurried into the bedroom. I busied myself with the dinner, but my heart started to pound so hard I could barely breathe. Jimmy went to the window that looked out on the north side of the street and stood staring as still as a statue. We heard Momma crying again. After a while it grew quiet and then Daddy emerged. Jimmy pivoted expectantly.
"Well, now, you two already know, I reckon." He shook his head and looked back at the closed door behind him.
"How we gonna manage?" Jimmy asked quickly.
"I don't know," Daddy said, his eyes darkening. His face began to take on that mad look, his lips curling in at the corners, some whiteness of his teeth flashing through. He ran his fingers through his hair and sucked in some breath.
Jimmy flopped down in a kitchen chair. "Other people plan kids," he muttered.
Daddy's face flared. I couldn't believe he had said it. He knew Daddy's temper, but I recalled what Momma said: Jimmy had the same temper. Sometimes they were like two bulls with a red flag between them.
"Don't get smart," Daddy said and headed for the door.
"Where're you going, Daddy?" I called.
"I need to think," he said. "Eat without me."
Jimmy and I listened to Daddy's feet pound the hallway floor, his steps announcing the anger and turmoil in his body.
"Eat without him, he says," Jimmy quipped. "Grits and black-eyed peas."
"He's going to Frankie's," I predicted. Jimmy nodded in agreement and sat back, staring glumly at his plate.
"Where's Ormand?" Momma asked, stepping out of her bedroom.
"He went off to think, Momma," Jimmy said. "He's probably just trying to come up with a plan and needs to be alone," he added, hoping to ease her burden.
"I don't like him going off like that," Momma complained. "It never comes to no good. You should go look for him, Jimmy."
"Go look for him? I don't think so, Momma. He don't like it when I do that. Let's just eat and wait for him to come back." Mommy wasn't happy about it, but she sat down and I served the grits and black-eyed peas. I had added some salt and a little bit of bacon grease I had saved.
"I'm sorry I didn't try to get us something else," Mommy said, apologizing again. "But Dawn, honey, you did real fine with this. It tastes good. Don't it, Jimmy?"
He looked up from his bowl. I saw he hadn't been listening. Jimmy could get lost in his own thoughts for hours and hours if no one pestered him, especially when he was unhappy.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, this is good."
After supper Momma sat up for a while listening to the radio and reading one of the used magazines she had brought back from the motel she worked in. The hours ticked by. Every time we heard a door slam or the sound of footsteps, we anticipated Daddy coming through the door, but it grew later and later and he didn't reappear.
Whenever I gazed at Momma, I saw that sadness draped her face like a wet flag, heavy and hard to shake off. Finally she stood up and announced she had to go to bed. She took a deep breath, holding her hands against her chest, and headed for
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