Semiprecious Read online

  “I brought roses,” Daddy said, a hurt expression in his eyes. “I think that’s pretty romantic.”

  “Mama had her heart set on that guitar.”

  “Giving her that guitar would be the same as saying it’s okay to run off to Nashville chasing some foolish notion that doesn’t have a prayer of coming true.”

  Daddy rubbed his chin. “I love your mama a whole lot, but let’s face it. She can’t sing worth a flip. Getting turned down by those music people would break her heart.”

  I thought about the summer when I was nine and read Black Beauty for the first time, and how I dreamed of having a horse of my own. Mama said we couldn’t afford one, and anyway we had no place to keep a horse. She said that holding on to a dream was almost as good as having it come true, but it didn’t seem like holding on to her dream was enough for Mama.

  Daddy went out to the front porch, and me and Opal washed the dishes. When we finished, we poured some more tea and took our glasses out to the back steps. It was still hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk. Lightning bugs flashed in Mama’s Queen Elizabeth rosebushes. The last of the sunlight glittered in the trees.

  I dug my toes into the silky dust, fighting the choked feeling in my throat. It was hard to take, how fast Mama’s special day had gone wrong. But lately it seemed like everything was more complicated. Last year everything was easier. Opal and I spent whole days hunting arrowheads on the riverbank, making Christmas ornaments out of tinfoil, or wandering around downtown. We’d start at one end of Central Avenue, passing by the dentist’s office and Mirabeau Hardware, then we’d thumb through the new magazines at the drugstore and stop in at the Purple Cow for chocolate ice cream with sprinkles. Sometimes we’d wear swimsuits under our clothes and take the long way home, down the highway and across the wooden bridge to the river where the younger kids played water tag, and the teenagers who had cars played backseat Bingo after the sun went down.

  But Opal had turned fourteen in February and didn’t have time for me anymore. Now all she wanted to do was talk on the phone, listen to her forty-fives, and write secrets in her diary, which she kept under lock and key. As if I didn’t know what she was writing about.

  I took a gulp of iced tea. Far off, lightning flashed.

  “Looks like rain.” Opal stretched out her legs, fished an ice cube out of her glass, and crunched it with her teeth. In the soft light, with the summer sun still glowing on her skin, my sister was the spitting image of Mama—blond and blue-eyed, so fragile-looking people fell all over themselves taking care of her. Mama said I took after Daddy’s people—brown-haired, plain, and sturdy enough to take care of myself. But I didn’t feel sturdy at all. Not with Mama holed up in her room crying, and Daddy sitting alone on the front porch with nothing but his hurt feelings for company.

  In the morning he’d be gone again, and I was afraid for him to go away mad, afraid he might decide not to come back. I watched the clouds roll in, trying to think of some way to fix everything that had gone wrong, but I couldn’t think of anything. As much as Daddy loved baseball, I didn’t think watching me practice my fastball would be enough to cheer him up. And it was no use talking to Mama. When she got mad, she stayed mad for quite a while.

  “Can you believe he gave her a vacuum cleaner?” Opal sighed and crunched another piece of ice. “I swear, Garnet, men are thick as fence posts. That’s why I’m never getting married.”

  “You will if Waymon Harris asks you.”

  Opal shot me a look. “What do you know about it?”

  “You’re hoping he’ll be at the howdy dance next week. Plus, you’re dying to sit beside him in home-room next year.”

  The mention of school made us both grin. We loved getting ready for a new year. I liked the starchy feel of new clothes, and the way my shoes hugged tight to my feet after a whole summer of going barefoot. I loved the smells of chalk and lemon floor polish, and the yeasty smell of rolls baking in the cafeteria. Most of all, I liked sitting in the dark auditorium watching films about archaeologists searching for the lost tribes of Africa, or scientists discovering the atom. Subjects that made you think you could do anything you wanted in life, even if you came from a small town like Mirabeau, Texas.

  Opal lifted her hair off her neck and let it fall. “Waymon might not even be in my homeroom,” she said, taking up her favorite subject again. “There’s a good chance he will be, though.” She pretended not to care one way or the other, but the way she mooned over Waymon’s name told a different story. “Harris comes right before Hubbard, and I don’t think they’d break up the Hs. Would they?”

  Before I could answer, Opal grabbed my shirt. “Wait a minute. How did you know about the howdy dance? If you’ve been reading my diary, Garnet Hubbard, say your prayers and prepare to die.”

  “If you kill me, you’ll never find out.”

  She grabbed an ice cube from her glass and stuffed it down my shirt. I rubbed one of mine into her hair, then took off running. She caught me from behind and we rolled on the grass like TV wrestlers, until we were both weak with laughter. My sister pinned me to the ground. “Well?”

  “Opal and Waymon, sitting in a tree,” I panted. “K-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

  “You have been reading my stuff, you little snoop!” She let go of my arms and jumped up. “Let’s go in,” she said, slapping at her legs. “I’ll kill you later. The mosquitoes are eating me alive.”

  She hauled me to my feet and peered into my face, her eyes clear as rain. “Listen. Don’t tell Mama I like Waymon, okay? You know she goes crazy every time I mention boys. Just because she eloped with Daddy she acts like I’m going to run off with the first boy who asks me.”

  “I won’t tell. And I didn’t read your diary. All I have to do is listen when you’re on the phone with Linda.” I slapped a mosquito off my arm. “Besides, Mama’s so mad she probably won’t talk to us for a week.”

  “As if the whole vacuum cleaner mess is our fault.” Opal held the screen door open for me and we went in. “Poor Daddy.”

  We left our glasses on the counter in the kitchen and went down the hall, past our parents’ room. A sliver of light, and Mama’s voice, raw with tears, spilled out.

  “Nobody in this family cares what I want!” Mama was shouting. The sound of breaking glass brought me and Opal to a dead stop outside their door. I wondered what Mama had smashed to smithereens this time. Last time it was a red and yellow vase Daddy had brought her from Mexico. Later, when she got over her mad spell, Mama glued the vase back together, but it was never the same. You could see cracks running all through it.

  Daddy answered Mama, his voice too low to hear. More glass broke. Then Daddy’s voice rose. “You want to run off chasing some dream that’s only going to break your heart. What about me? What about the girls?”

  “Yes, what about the girls? I have spent every day of the past fourteen years taking care of them and I am sick of it. It’s your turn!”

  A roaring started deep inside my chest and rose to my ears, so I couldn’t hear what Daddy said back to her. They’d fought plenty of times, but this felt different. It felt like the end of everything. I wanted to run, but it was like I was glued to the floor, listening to the sounds of my family coming apart.

  Then we heard Daddy’s footsteps coming toward the hallway. Opal dragged me down the hall to our room and slammed the door. I was crying by then, my heart stumbling on the thought that Mama didn’t want us anymore. But Opal’s expression was hard and flat.

  “What if she really does it this time?” I asked. “What if she picks up and goes to Nashville and never comes back?”

  “Who cares? If she wants to go, let her go.” Opal dragged a brush through her hair. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and when she saw how scared I was, her voice got softer. “Don’t worry about it. Nashville’s just a dream, to get her through the hard times.” She jumped onto her bed and strummed her hairbrush like it was a guitar. “It’s o-nly make be-lie-ee-ve.”

  That was Mama’s fa
vorite Conway Twitty song, the one she played over and over again. I thought of how she made us stop talking every time it came over the radio. I could be in the middle of asking an important question about my homework, or trying to figure out which dress to wear for picture day; it didn’t matter. Mama just had to hear every word of that song. It was amazing, how she could be standing in the kitchen, shelling peas or slicing tomatoes, and yet seem to be somewhere else altogether. Even more amazing: I had got all the way to twelve years old before realizing Mama wished I’d never been born.

  We heard the TV come on in the living room, but neither of us wanted to face Daddy right then; we didn’t know what to say. The rain had started, so we stayed in our room and listened to Opal’s records for a while. I tried to get a head start on my summer reading, but the problems facing Huck Finn seemed tame compared to mine, and I gave up. After the ten o’clock news, Daddy turned the TV off. Opal stripped off her shorts and T-shirt and pulled on her baby doll pj’s. She tossed my faded orange Texas Longhorns night-shirt onto my bed and switched on the fan. “Okay if I read for a while?”

  “I don’t care.”

  She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then flopped onto her bed and opened her copy of A Thousand Hints for Teens. She’d bought it by mistake, thinking it was a fan magazine, but now it was her Bible. Sometimes she read aloud from chapters like “Beauties Aren’t Born, But Made” and “How to Talk to Boys.” But that night she just flipped the pages back and forth, then snapped off the light.

  I lay in the dark for a while, listening to the rain dancing on the roof and the quiet hum of the fan, hoping Opal was right and that everything would be normal when I woke up. The next thing I knew, it was morning and Mama was bending over me, calling my name.

  I played possum. I didn’t want to open my eyes and see her face for fear I’d start bawling again. But she switched off the fan and the August heat pressed down on me. Then it was either wake up or suffocate. I opened one eye. Across the room Opal was still asleep, her mouth open, one arm thrown across her forehead.

  I sat up. Our room looked the same: The water-color picture I’d painted in sixth grade and the blue ribbon I’d won for it at the county fair were still hanging on the wall next to my horse posters. Opal’s portable phonograph sat in the corner, her collection of forty-fives stacked up like pancakes. Her lipstick collection and an unopened bottle of My Sin perfume she was saving to wear for You-Know-Who spilled across the dresser. But now everything felt as foreign as Timbuktu, because Mama looked at us and saw everything that was wrong with her life.

  “Wake up,” Mama said again, despite the fact that I was already sitting straight up, watching her. She wore a white dress with tiny red dots all over it, a red belt pulled tight at her waist, and her good summer shoes—white high-heeled pumps with gold butterflies on the toes. On her wrist was the charm bracelet Daddy had given her a long time ago, before the yelling started. She reminded me of an expensive present, all wrapped up and tied with a bow.

  She shook Opal’s shoulder. “Come on, baby. Rise and shine.”

  “Go away,” my sister mumbled, but then the heat got to her, too. She sat up, shoved her hair from her eyes, looked Mama over, and said, “Who died?”

  “That’s not nice.” Mama’s voice sounded raw. “If there’s anything I hate, it’s a kid with a smart mouth.”

  “If there’s anything I hate, it’s a mother who tells lies!” I yelled. The words formed themselves, escaped my mouth before I could stop them. I expected Mama to get mad, to ask me what I meant. But she didn’t say a word. Instead she pulled her truck keys from her pocket.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ishot Opal an I-told-you-so look. Mama was going to Nashville and never coming back.

  Opal turned her ice-hard eyes on Mama. “Where’s Daddy?”

  But Mama wasn’t ready to talk. Instead she started emptying our closet, dumping our jeans and dresses, sandals and tennies onto Opal’s bed. When the closet was empty, she started in on the dresser drawers, taking out my underwear and socks, our swimsuits, and Opal’s day-of-the-week panties. Finally she said, “Daddy left early to miss the traffic. He said to tell you bye, and he’ll call soon.”

  I pictured my daddy on his ship in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, a long way from anywhere, and tears pushed at the back of my throat. Then Mama said, “Garnet, get the suitcase.”

  I pulled the green suitcase from under my bed, the one we got the year Daddy drove us clear to Dallas for the Texas State Fair. Mama piled our stuff in it, everything all jumbled together, not folded neatly like she’s always after us to do, and then I realized she was taking us with her. Even though I was worried sick about Daddy, my insides felt a little bit lighter. Mama couldn’t have meant what she’d said the night before. Not if we were going with her.

  “Are we going to Nashville, Mama?”

  “Eventually. You girls will stay in Willow Flats with your aunt Julia till I’m settled in Music City. Then I’ll come back for you.”

  “What about Daddy?” Opal crossed her arms and glared at Mama.

  “That’s grown-up business, Opal. I don’t believe I care to discuss it. Now hurry up. I want to get on the road before it gets any hotter.”

  “Aren’t we ever coming back here?” I asked. Suddenly Mirabeau, Texas, seemed like the best place in the world.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete!” Mama spat. “You’re carrying on like Mirabeau is the garden spot of the Western world. But you just wait. Once you see Nashville, you’ll never want to come back here.”

  Opal flopped onto her bed. “I’m not going.”

  “Of course you are!” Mama said. “Julia will be happy to have you.”

  “We don’t even know her!” Opal yelled. “All my friends are here. And I don’t want to miss the dance. You said I could go, Mama. It’s for all the incoming freshmen. I’ve already picked out my dress and everything.”

  “There’ll be plenty of dances later.” Mama tapped the toe of her shoe on the hardwood floor. Click. Click. Click. “Don’t make me drag you out of that bed, Opal.”

  “If Opal isn’t going, then neither am I!” I folded my arms the way Daddy did when he had had enough foolishness. “You said I could go shopping for school clothes with Jean Ann. You promised!”

  “Sometimes promises have to wait,” Mama said. “And I am not in the mood for any more back talk.” She sat on the suitcase lid and snapped it shut. “Both of you, get cleaned up and get going. I want you in the truck in twenty minutes or I’ll make you wish you were. Understand me?”

  I saw how eager she was to drop us off like a pair of stray kittens onto some musty old relative, and something inside me died. I pushed past her, ran down the hall to the bathroom, and slid the lock into place. I turned the water on and sat in the shower, crying until my skin wrinkled and I felt hollowed out inside. There was only one explanation for how fast everything had changed: Mama had gone crazy. I was desperate for Daddy to come back and straighten her out. But he was burning up the road between Mirabeau and New Orleans, headed for the World Explorer. I rubbed my hair dry, wrapped myself in the towel, and went back to our room. Opal was standing at the dresser in her pj’s, raking her makeup into a paper bag. I put on the denim shorts and white T-shirt Mama had left out for me and waited while Opal got ready.

  We went outside. Morning sun poured through the trees. Down the street a lawn mower started up. Mama was already sitting in the pickup, a map and her bucket purse on the seat beside her. The windows were down, and Elvis was singing on the radio. Our green suitcase and Mama’s two white ones were in the back, along with some taped-up cardboard boxes and a spare tire. I climbed in next to Mama. Opal crowded in beside me and slammed the door.

  “Okay!” Mama said in a voice that seemed desperate for a new start. “Nashville, here I come!”

  “Aren’t you going to lock up the house?” Opal didn’t bother to hide her contempt, but Mama didn’t even notice.

  “I left the key wi
th Mrs. Streeter,” Mama said. “She’ll look after things till moving day.” Mama ground the gears and handed me the map. “Here, Garnet. You can navigate.”

  The maze of red and blue lines spreading like a cobweb over the page made my stomach hurt. Map reading was not one of my talents.

  “Your aunt Julia’s house is right about there.” Mama stabbed with her finger at a tiny black dot somewhere in the vicinity of Oklahoma and gunned the engine. My back pressed into the seat as the truck roared out of the yard and onto the blacktop. I stared at the map. Willow Flats seemed like a foreign country, a nothing place a hundred miles from nowhere. I stole a glance at Opal, but her face was blank; she’d gone off by herself to someplace I couldn’t follow.

  We took the road that ran past my school. The building looked August-lonely, the windows shut tight, except for the ones in the principal’s office. Mr. Gatewood’s Ford was parked in the shade of the oaks out front. The teachers’ parking lot was empty. The swings where the little kids play stirred in the breeze. Sunlight bounced off the school’s tin roof and poured into the cab, so bright my eyes watered.

  We passed the field where Daddy taught me to pitch a fastball and hit fly balls, and I realized I’d left behind my collection of baseball cards and my pitcher’s glove. But there was no use asking Mama to go back for them. She was driving like the devil was chasing her. The truck rumbled across the wooden bridge straddling the river, where a couple of boys were fishing with bamboo poles. When they saw Mama barreling down on them, they plastered themselves against the railing and waved as we flew past. When we reached the road to Jean Ann’s house, I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

  “Wait, Mama!” I yelled above the rattle of the engine. “Can’t we at least stop and say good-bye?”

  “Oh, sugar, there’s no time. But don’t you worry. As soon as I get established, we’ll throw a real party for Jean Ann and all your friends. Yours, too, Opal.”

  “Big whoopee,” Opal said. “By then they’ll be living out at Sunny Acres drooling into their oatmeal.”