A Sunny Moment
by Emily Sue Harvey

Daniel was sitting on our front porch steps when we got to the house, waiting for me. He arose and reached for my hand as Daddy moved like a sleepwalker past him, across the porch and through the front door.

Other than raising his eyebrows at me, Daniel showed none of the tension I felt pouring through the pores of his skin. He always knew when my emotions shifted. His big hand swallowed mine and I felt incredibly safe as he followed me inside and sat with me on the sofa

From his fingers’ gentle yet firm grasp and the way his gaze slid to mine, time after time, pooled with compassion, I could tell he knew that somewhere during the visit to the hotel where Mama had worked, that Daddy and I had sloughed through more carnage in the wake of Mama’s great exodus.

Nana was in the living room, summoned by Francine, who sniffed a scene coming on. My big sister had this love/hate voyeuristic thing with scenes. She relished the adrenaline rush they drew but ran like a spooked cat from the nitty-gritty of dealing with them. 

Nana sat on the worn blue floral easy chair, in her home-sewn cotton dress and colorful apron–only thing bright in her entire wardrobe–and sensible lace-up black shoes.

Nana got right down to business. “Does Leona know where they are?” she referred to Mama’ best friend  in her forthright manner, her ashen features, framed by tightly bunned, once blonde hair, the only hint that she’d sustained a terrible blow all those months ago when her daughter ran off with a young doctor, saddling Nana with us four offspring to tend to.

Francine, in flagrantly irreverent flame-tinted Bermuda shorts, oblivious to the mild early November climate, sprawled in a matching chair, stretching out long, still-tanned legs to examine her toenails, freshly painted with Mama’s left-behind Apple Red polish. Timmy occupied the other, sullen. Quiet. Pale. But suddenly, he arose to cross over and wriggle into the space between Daniel and me. I scooted over to make room. Daniel patted his shoulder gently. Timmy sighed and I knew his earlier escape with Francine–to avoid family tension–had soured. Her aloofness always sent him scurrying back to me. 

“Leona talked with Doc’s sister from Spartanburg.” Daddy’s voice was strained as he paced back and forth before our small, grated fireplace, whose mantel held mockingly cheerful family pictures. “According to her, they’ve simply fell off the earth. Even his family don’ know their whereabouts.”

“Huumph,” Nana’s jaw squared off. “I’ll bet she knows where they are.”

Daddy took his time, swallowing several times, looking about as if searching for a hole to dive through. “Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, if she does, she ain’t tellin'. And Tucapau’s still without a regular doctor. Ol’ Doc Worley’s  not too happy about getting’ his retirement messed up.” Daddy’s trembling fingers slashed through his dark hair.

Dr. Brock, The handsome young physician had, just this past year, set up his practice in the old Henry house, near the mill office. Soon, all the young girls fantasized about Dr. Brock, who, with his golden hair reminded me of my matinee idol, Tim Holt. Others compared him to Alan Ladd.

Now, he’d sprouted horns and fangs that dripped blood and gore.

Our blood.

Daddy stopped pacing and stared at a portrait of Mama, the focal point of the mantel photo display. In it, she peered at him through a luminous smile. Her beauty shimmered, more ethereal then ever in that moment, while Daddy gazed longingly at her image, his grief exposed for the world to see. I couldn’t bear it. I turned my face away.

We remained silent for long moments, bonded tightly by that grief.  
“So,” Francine’s strident voice snatched us from morbidity, “Ol’ Ruby jus’ hopped in Doc Brock’s car and rode off into the sunset.” She laughed, a brittle, harsh eruption. “She just had to do it with somebody famous. Had to do it big. Does that surprise me? Nah.. Can’t see why ya’ll ‘re acting like somebody’s up and died.”

Nana’s head whipped around. Her staid, faded sky-blue gaze homed in on Francine, raking her half-clothed frame with displeasure. “Don’t you ever talk about her that way, young lady. I don’t like what she done, neither, but she’s still your Mama and I won’t have you speakin’ ill o’ her, y’hear?”

Francine tipped her head back to view Nana through narrowed eyes. “Yeah, Nana. I hear,” she drawled. "You speak ill of 'er every day. So does Aunt Tina. And you expect us to keep quiet about her runnin' off and leavin' us?"

“Francine.” Daddy’s soft reprimand brought a brief splash of color to Francine’s beautifully sculpted cheekbones. “She is still your mama.”

Francine’s eyes slitted as her lazy sprawl snapped upright, to the chair’s edge. “I know it. And you know it. But does she? Huh? Tell me that.” With that, she sprang to her feet and fled up the stairs to the bedroom shared by four siblings, slamming the door behind her with rafter-shaking force. Daddy’s desolate gaze trailed her, his slumped shoulders and limp limbs revealing the price of Mama’s folly.

It hit me. He feels Mama’s shame as deeply as I do.

“You’uns go on upstairs so your daddy and me can talk,” Nana said without looking directly at us. Didn’t have to. The command rode her tone like the snap of Lash LaRue’s black whip.

Ordinarily, Daniel wouldn’t have gone up with us. But tonight wasn’t ordinary. Neither Nana nor Daddy batted an eyelash when he accompanied us upstairs. Tonight was charged with unspoken, unprecedented nuances of expectations and behavior.

Daniel and I herded Sheila upstairs and Timmy lagged along behind, fingers clutching the tail of my blouse while Sheila angled herself to grip my hand as we climbed. Again, I felt that lurch in my heart. That “being needed” song played slowly, sadly along my soul strings.

Daniel whispered in my ear, “just pretend this is our house and our kids.” I paused on the top step, loosing Timmy’s grasp, allowing his fingers to slide into my other hand. I turned to Daniel and peered at him. Standing one step below me, his intense gaze leveled with mine. And his perception astounded me.

The smile started in his eyes, a tiny ember that slowly grew until it burst over his entire face, a contagious thing that had my lips stretched from ear to ear, tears in my eyes.

“Yeah,” I whispered, feeling Timmy’s tired little head loll against my arm.

Suddenly, it snapped into place, my role. It wasn’t exactly new. Had been before me all along, to some degree. Now, with Daniel’s encouragement, I slid into the harness, feet firmly planted, eyes straight ahead. I put my arm around Timmy’s shoulder and squeezed Sheila’s hand.

Somehow, I knew that life would never again look quite the same to me.

And I knew something else beyond doubt.

We would all get through this.

Daniel reached to kiss me soundly on the lips.

We would.