Chapter Thirty #4
Her car was still on the road. But the driver’s seat was empty, and no one else was in sight. The car windows wide-open. Where was everyone?
Mazelle clutched her bundle more tightly and ran in panic until she saw the top of Ricky’s head poke up from the back seat.
Ricky grinned when he saw her. “Mother!” he called through his open window.
She ran up to his window, angling her bundle away from his sight. Sadie was awake now, gnawing on graham crackers Grady must have fed them. She was on a blanket in her toddler’s car bed on the back seat. “Where’s Mr. Grady?”
“What’s that?” Ricky said, trying to peer out to see her bundle.
“Listen to me—where’s Mr. Grady?”
Ricky pointed back toward the woods. “Lookin’ for you.”
Dammit. Scout squirmed, maybe because she was clutching him too tightly.
Mazelle gestured toward the ignition. “Hand me those keys, Ricky. Hurry up.”
Ricky was delighted to have permission to touch the car keys, which fascinated him. He scooted over the seat to pull them from the ignition, and after a few tugs he tumbled back over. This boy’s constant motion gave Mazelle headaches, but she was glad he was quick.
“Just stay in the car,” she said.
She took the keys to the car’s large trunk and opened it.
She was relieved to set Scout down—he must have weighed at least fifteen pounds—but the wave of heat from the trunk told her she couldn’t leave him baking in there for more than a few minutes.
Scout wriggled, freeing his snout from the sweater’s folds. He snuffled, breathing in rasps.
“I know, boy…” Mazelle whispered. “I’m sorry.”
She spotted the large woven picnic basket that Brother’s wife, Pat, had stuffed with canned peaches and marmalades for the ride home.
She poured out the jars and emptied the basket.
She lifted Scout inside the sweater and nestled him inside the basket.
She wouldn’t let it out of her sight. She would keep it near her feet.
“Remember what I said—not a sound,” Mazelle said, and closed the basket lid.
She had the basket on her arm and had just closed the trunk when Grady appeared so suddenly behind her that she let out a small yelp. Scout rustled inside the basket.
“Grady!” Mazelle said. “You left my children alone?”
Grady was furious, but she was his boss, so he kept his profanities locked in his eyes.
“Ten minutes,” he said. “I said to come back in ten minutes. No way in the world you would stay away that long unless something was wrong in those woods. So I tried calling for you. Didn’t know what else to do.”
She had scared him. He looked ready to quit on the spot. Then what would she do?
“I’m sorry.” Mazelle stepped closer to him. Grady was in love with her and always had been, so she tried to soothe him with her eyes. “Please forgive me, Grady. I saw a rabbit caught in a snare… poor thing. And I brought him back with me. I didn’t think it through.”
Grady glanced down at her basket, but he was too angry to be curious.
“A rabbit,” he muttered. He turned to walk back to the driver’s-side door. “You gonna get me lynched out here over a goddamn rabbit…” He climbed in and slammed his door.
He had not forgiven her. But he also hadn’t quit. Not yet.
Mazelle had enough room in the front seat to set the picnic basket beside her rather than on the floor, where her legs would be cramped. She just had to keep the lid shut.
“That rabbit stinks,” Grady said as he started the car. “You sure it ain’t already dead?”
Ricky’s head popped up behind Mazelle. “Rabbit? You’ve got a rabbit, Mother?” He reached toward the picnic basket’s flap.
Mazelle’s hand lashed out on its own, before she could think. She heard the pop of her palm across Ricky’s pudgy hand. His mouth opened into a surprised O as he yanked his hand back. Then he started crying. His crying set off Sadie crying in her car bed. This racket!
“Sit back in your seat,” Mazelle said to Ricky, and her son scooted back with frightened eyes.
He was holding the hand she’d hit against his chest as if she’d whacked him with a tire iron.
Mazelle glanced at Grady and saw how tightly his jaw was locked, more disapproval.
He’d told her many times that she was too hard on Ricky. Too quick to spank him.
“The rabbit’s sick, okay?” she said, pouring sweetness into her voice. “No looking or touching. Just eat your snack and be still like a good boy.”
Such a momentous day, and she had to deal with these children!
She’d told Richard she didn’t want children, but Richard had gotten his way—and she’d told the judge about his violence to make sure he couldn’t keep the son he craved.
Her pregnancy with Ricky had cost her the role she had hoped would take her to the future.
Did she blame Ricky for that? Or the way he was marked by his father’s face, not just his name?
Or, as she’d confided once to Grady after too many drinks, maybe the mothering gene had skipped a generation in her.
Mazelle caressed the picnic basket beside her.
She had not truly felt like a mother until she lifted Scout into her arms.