Red. Erica Spindler

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      Becky Lynn stopped at the front door. Feeling like a prisoner who had gotten caught a moment before she’d made her escape, she turned to her mother. The other woman stood just outside the kitchen; she wore the floral print housecoat Becky Lynn had bought her two Christmases ago. The rose pattern which had been so vibrant and pretty when she’d purchased it, looked tired and gray. Like her mother. And everything else in this house.

      Becky Lynn gazed at her mother’s gaunt face and shadowed eyes, pity moving over her. And fear. Fear that by age thirty-six she, too, would look beaten and without hope.

      She pushed the thought away, and forced a smile. “What is it, Mama?”

      Her mother’s lips curved into a wispy smile. “I thought I might brush your hair.”

      Becky Lynn hesitated. She’d planned to hike to the river before it got too hot, and spend her day off from Opal’s sunning and reading. She had several magazines, a soft drink and a sandwich packed in her knapsack. It would be her last opportunity before school started; she’d been on her way out the door.

      She darted a glance over her shoulder, to the bright day, and bit back a sigh. Her mother derived too much pleasure from it to deny her this ritual. The river would wait.

      “That sounds nice, Mama,” she said, smiling again. She set down her knapsack and crossed to one of the chairs around the kitchen table, choosing one that faced the window.

      Her mother positioned herself behind Becky Lynn and began, with long, smooth strokes, to pull the brush through her daughter’s hair. Familiar with the ritual, Becky Lynn wasn’t surprised when her mother began to tell a story about her own childhood. The only talks they’d ever had, the only moments of mother-daughter comradeship, had been while her mother ran the brush through her hair.

      Becky Lynn had often suspected that she was her mother’s favorite, although she never understood why. Perhaps because her father hated her, perhaps because she looked so much like her mother’s father or because she reminded Glenna Lee of someone else she’d once known, someone who had been kind to her. Whatever the reason, she held that suspicion to her as if it were the most prized possession on earth.

      “It’s the color of strawberry soda pop,” her mother murmured after a moment. “You get it from your Granddaddy Perkins. You never met him, he died just after you were born.”

      About the time Daddy lost the farm, Becky Lynn thought. Because of his drinking. And laziness. But she didn’t say that. “What was he like?” she asked instead, even though she already knew. Her mother had talked about Granddaddy Perkins many times before. He had adored his only child. And Randall Lee had despised him.

      She sensed her mother’s smile. “He was a nice man. A good husband, a good daddy.” She laughed lightly, the sound faraway and youthful. “He called me his little princess.”

      A lump formed in Becky Lynn’s throat. How, after being someone’s princess, had she ended up with a man as base and cruel as Randall Lee? Why had she married him?

      And why did she allow him to treat her and her children so badly?

      Becky Lynn wanted to ask her mother, the questions teased the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it. She couldn’t ask; her mother had been hurt enough. “He sounds nice, Mama.”

      “Mmm. He was nice.” Her mother continued brushing, but Becky Lynn knew her thoughts were far away.

      After a moment, the older woman murmured, “Did I ever tell you about the dress I wore to the prom? It was white and dotted with these pretty little pink flowers. The most delicate pink you ever saw. I felt like a princess in it.” She laughed softly. “And my date looked like a prince. He wore a tuxedo and brought me a rose corsage. It was pink, too.”

      A rose corsage. Becky Lynn imagined her mother, a blushing teenager, wearing that frilly white dress, the cluster of roses pinned to her chest, and tears flooded her eyes. She fought the tears back, fought the emotion from clogging her throat. “Your date, who was he, Mama?”

      Her mother hesitated, then shook her head. “Nobody, baby. I forget.”

      She’d asked the question before; she’d gotten the same answer. But her mother hadn’t forgotten, Becky Lynn knew. The boy had been someone special. So special, her mother feared saying his name.

      Becky Lynn fisted her fingers in her lap. Her father wasn’t even in the house and her mother was afraid. “I thought you and Daddy were high school sweethearts?”

      The brush stilled for a moment, then Glenna Lee began stroking again. “After your Granddaddy Lee’s heart attack, your daddy had to quit school to work on the farm. He didn’t go to the prom.”

      And he never forgave you for going, did he? Becky Lynn drew her eyebrows together. What else did he not forgive her mother for? “But where did you meet him?” she asked. “The boy you went to the prom with, I mean.”

      Glenna hesitated again, then murmured, “He was from the high school over in Greenwood. My daddy knew his. He arranged it.”

      “Granddaddy Perkins didn’t like Daddy much, did he?”

      Her mother tugged the brush through her hair, and Becky Lynn winced. “No, not much.”

      “But you married him, anyway.” She heard the accusation in her own voice and for once, didn’t try to hide it. “Why did you, Mama?”

      Her mother paused, then dropped her hand to her side. The brush slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table. “Your daddy wasn’t always…the way he is now. Having to quit school changed him. He got bitter. He started to drink. Try to understand, baby, he was the star of the football team his junior year and had dreams of playing ball for a college, of being a professional player someday. He dreamed of getting away from Bend.”

      Try to understand? Becky Lynn froze, disbelief and fury warring inside her. Did her mother want her to feel bad about what Randall Lee had given up? Two weeks had passed since he’d knocked her around and the bruises he’d given her had finally faded to faint green blurs. It had been a full seven days before she’d been able to shampoo a customer without wincing. Everyone at Opal’s had noticed and whispered about her behind their hands.

      She laced her fingers in her lap, trying to control the anger surging through her. She didn’t care what Randall Lee had given up; she would never forgive or excuse him his cruelty. Never.

      “What about your dreams?” Becky Lynn asked, her voice shaking. “You had dreams, too, Mama.” She twisted to look up at her mother. “And what about mine?”

      The other woman met her gaze; in that instant, her mother’s eyes were clear, full of life and hope. “You’re smart, Becky Lynn,” Glenna said, a tremor of urgency in her voice. “You could go to college, make something of yourself. You’re special, baby. I’ve always known it.”

      Dry-mouthed and stunned, Becky Lynn gazed at her mother. “You really…think so? You think I’m…” She couldn’t say the words; they felt wrong, foreign, on her tongue. They felt impossible.

      “I do, baby. That’s why your daddy…why he… You’re special. You’re strong.” Glenna cupped Becky Lynn’s face in her hands. She shook her lightly. “Listen to me. You can make something of yourself. Have a career. A life away from Bend. You could СКАЧАТЬ