Waking Up Joy Read online

  Sweet, Ruthie.

  At sixteen, she was always such a help when she wasn’t off writing in that diary. I wondered what she had written about this week. Might have made a good story.

  I caught a whiff of Aqua Net and couldn’t tell if it was on Ruthie or me.

  I wonder what I look like.

  For all I knew, I could have been sitting in the wheel chair with my tongue lolling out. I didn’t remember Carey and Nanette getting me ready, but I was sure they wouldn’t have let me out of the hospital without doing something about my hair and makeup. Since I must have slept through the whole ordeal, I guessed at what I might be wearing and hoped it flattered.

  Quiet whispers found my ears and I tried to pair familiar voices with the odd mix of fragrances floating about. Besides Aqua Net, lilac, and honeysuckle only one other fragrance really stood out from the others. The scent of lemon drops danced into my nose and I wished I could smile.

  I’m glad you’re here, Doc.

  The scent of lemon drops and a familiar click of candy on teeth made me wish I could smile. It made me think of being a kid. Eating a lemon drop was such an innocent thing to do. If I’d known I might be incapable of eating lemon drops for a whole week, I would have been eating bags and bags of them before my coma.

  For a moment, I had a sailing sensation and thought maybe I was swooning over Doc again, but then I realized I was just being pushed in a wheel chair. I heard the wheels squeak on the IV stand as it rolled next to me. I didn’t mind the IV too much, but I was sure glad I wasn’t using a breathing tube. That was good news, right? I could breathe by myself now, but I still couldn’t move or open my eyes, not counting the few times I’d surprised everyone and twitched or blinked back in the hospital.

  “Careful, honey,” Clara clucked at one of the children.

  “I only want to share.” It was my niece Hannah, always the helper, at age nine. I felt her patting my shoulder.

  “Well, she can’t have lemon drops, honey.”

  Doc must be handing out candy.

  A pressure seized my chest for a moment and it took a while before I realized I wasn’t trapped, but safely secured to the slightly reclining wheel chair. The chair abruptly lifted and was deposited rather forcefully onto what I expected was the stage where Momma’s casket was. I felt the hands of family on me and the faint smell of lemon drops hovering at my back.

  “Momma looks good,” Carey whispered.

  “Why do girls talk about looks during the stupidest times?”

  “Cool it, Rory.” It was River, taking the lead as always.

  “And besides,” said Nanette. “Momma does look good.”

  “I don’t want to see her like this.” Ruthie sniffled. “I’m going to sit down.”

  “Oh, honey,” Nanette said. “I fixed her up real nice. She looks just like she’s sleeping.”

  “No,” Ruthie choked and I heard her feet pad away from us. Bless her heart. I wished I could help her through this. She had a point, I realized. Maybe it was better to remember Momma alive rather than how she looked in her casket.

  Ruthie’s footsteps faded and Nanette said, “Momma looks comfortable in her duster.”

  “That she does.” I detected a catch in River’s voice and a sniffle in Rory’s as he reluctantly agreed.

  Carey whispered in my ear. “Joy, we’re here, Honey. We’re standing by Momma’s coffin now.”

  My heart caught in my throat. I wanted to cry, but of course, my tears only ran on the inside. I tell you what, it was torture to have no outlet, no channel at all to release my sadness as it spun in the center of my chest. I felt like I might fly away right out the steeple of the church if I couldn’t cry.

  I miss you, Momma. I felt the wheelchair being carried again, presumably down the steps of the stage, and then plunked on the floor of the church. My chair was turned around and I heard the rustling of pantyhose, skirts, and starched pants as everyone shuffled into their pews.

  The organ sprang to life and I waited for the whispering to fade, but it kept on. My ears perked up and I heard why people were having a hard time being quiet.

  “Would you look at that?”

  “Joy Talley. I thought she was in the hospital.”

  “Why, Bess would turn in her grave.”

  “Well, she isn’t even in the grave yet, so she can’t, but it’s hard to believe they really took Joy out of the hospital for this.”

  I recognize your snotty voice, Thelma. Yours too, Mary Sue. I thought you were my friends.

  I tried to focus on what was happening with Momma, but the voices riled me up. After all, I did volunteering for Hilltop Church—for free—because I loved Jesus and I loved them. This is the kind of talk that makes people not want to go to church, you busybodies.

  “Well you know,” said my friend Thelma. “They’re Talleys.”

  And, so we are. And you two are cows.

  “Just look at her.” I recognized Peter’s voice. “Doesn’t have any idea where she is. And her hair! Carey needs to get on top of that hairdo. Bless her heart.”

  Why can’t you grab a comb and come over here and fix it for me?

  “I do hope she comes out of the coma though,” he said. “I miss her strawberry-lemon cake. It’s the best.”

  Okay. At least that was sincere. I do make the best strawberry-lemon cake.

  A yank on my arm drew my attention.

  Lilacs.

  I was pretty sure it was Taryn, who loved to play in Aunt Carey’s perfume with her cousin Hannah. She was whispering to me and I strained my ears to hear.

  “—looks too tight. Aunt Joy.” I felt Taryn’s hands under my arms. There were clicks and then she patted my breastbone. “There,” she whispered. “Now maybe you can breathe better.”

  I was suddenly more comfortable. She’d unbuckled the seatbelts on my wheelchair and apparently nobody had noticed.

  Well, I’ll be darned. Bless you, dear.

  “You’re going to get in trouble.” It sounded like Dawson whispering to her.

  “I don’t care.”

  Oh, how I wished I could smile. That child was her mother through and through. It did seem like more air filled my pipes now. I wondered what I looked like. Was my mouth gaping open? Was I pale? If only I could at least smile, so I wouldn’t look so bad. I wasn’t a beauty queen like Carey had been, Miss Spavinaw Junction herself, but I didn’t look half bad when I smiled.

  The strains of conversation from Thelma, Mary Sue, and Peter kept drawing my attention. Mary Sue’s whisper carried over the others.

  “I just love it when she makes that cake. And those lemon tarts are to die for.”

  “To die for indeed,” said Thelma. More chuckles and shushes.

  Oh, the nerve of you.

  Those three were going to be sorry when I woke up and stopped going to the singles group.

  No more strawberry-lemon cake for you!

  “We should’ve asked her for that recipe ages ago,” said Mary Sue.

  “Nobody has it?” Thelma asked her voice incredulous, as if it were a crime for me to die without leaving the recipe to one of them.

  “Of course,” said Peter. “I think I could figure out how to make that cake myself.”

  Thelma and Mary Sue giggled and agreed that he could probably bake just about anything that he wanted to. Mary Sue sounded flirty, which made me laugh inside. If only I could laugh in her face, but I was mostly mad at Peter. He was always my favorite.

  You’re a snake, Peter. You’ll never get my recipe, even when I wake up. And I will wake up.

  The organ assaulted my ears. It nearly scared the daylights out of me and the children both. Nanette and Carey tried to stop the giggling as a short, sad ballad ensued. It reminded me of a haunted house. I wanted no organ music when I died, which I was hopeful would not be soon after all.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” Reverend Wilson declared with authority and gusto. “It is with deep regret that we gather here today to observe the sad,
sad death of one our community’s finest citizens, Bess Talley.”

  My eyes burned with unshed tears as he described Momma as one of the most generous and gracious women he had ever met. When his voice wavered, I thought of his decades-old friendship with my widowed mother, the walks they’d taken, the glasses of herbed iced tea she’d made for him and how he’d drank them with enthusiasm. I thought of the people who’d stopped by the shop to buy her tea concoctions and love potions, saying they were a “touristy” gift for visiting family, but they were always sure to ask her all manner of questions on how to correctly brew the tea, just in case.

  Sometimes she’d offer to brew a cup right then and there and then sit and drink it with them. Yes, the kids might have teased us back in high school, and they might tease Ruthie and her brother, Bobby, just a little bit now, but nobody really could’ve thought Bess Talley an evil witch. She was more of a spreader of goodwill.

  “I daresay, everyone loved Bess,” Reverend Wilson said, recounting how he’d looked forward to taking her for walks each week, and how some of the girls she’d volunteered to help at The Tulip House for Girls were even at the funeral this day.

  Momma, you were so good.

  It made my heart ache with sadness.

  Soon, my heart sank lower until it seemed to rest like a rock in my belly, causing just the slightest twinge of pain. I could have used some antacid tablets, I thought, and hoped I wouldn’t do something embarrassing in my wheelchair, like vomit all over myself.

  “But nobody loved her like her own children did.”

  It’s all true. It is. Everyone loved Momma.

  I wanted to thank Reverend for being so kind, so I made a mental note. It was the only kind of note I could make just then. “And now, we’ll hear one of Bess’s most beloved songs.”

  I braced myself for another Elvis record, knowing it was what Momma wanted for her funeral, but my heart flip-flopped when I heard the rich voice. It wasn’t Elvis.

  Sweet molasses!

  It was my Jimmy, my old lover—I couldn’t think of another thing to call him at the moment besides Mayor—and he was singing Elvis’ song In the Garden at my Momma’s funeral. Again, I wondered how he got so involved in my family all of a sudden.

  You picked yourself to sing at Momma’s funeral?

  It aggravated me to no end that my sisters allowed that man to sing. Momma had wanted us to play the Elvis song on the record player. She’d wanted the real Elvis and not someone else singing it, I was sure, even though she’d never really said.

  Jimmy’s voice immediately shushed the gossiping Peter, Mary Sue, and Thelma, for which I couldn’t help but be grateful. To be honest, his voice might have been like a caress over my bruised heart, but I refused to be comforted by the likes of his song. He kissed me in the hospital, when, yesterday? And promptly, ran away! Of course, he’d run away.

  Sweet Molasses.

  I wished I could take a bigger breath.

  This isn’t about me. This is about Momma.

  I tried to focus on the words and not his rich, resonant voice. Sniffles carried throughout the church, even from Nurse Clara sitting next to me. Carey and Nanette cried and snorted so loudly; Ruthie and Bobby were probably climbing under their pew.

  I was sure I felt Jimmy’s eyes on me, like on Sunday mornings, even though mine were closed. It made me wish more than ever that I could cry. This was his fault. His fault. Thanks to him, I was alone. Momma was gone to heaven and here he stood on stage butting into my personal life after years—no decades—of ignoring me. What was he trying to do? Rub it in? Absolve his guilt?

  We’d once made a pact, after we hid the charm in the chimney, but he broke it.

  *

  “It’s going to be okay,” he’d whispered in the attic, as we sat on a quilt just holding each other. I remember looking at the stained glass window and seeing the moon’s reflection casting dim, colorful beams around us as we made plans for the future. And for a while, everything was okay, but in a twist that I still found difficult to think about, Jimmy ended up with Fern. He never broke up; he just stopped meeting me, seeing me, or talking to me.

  When they got married, he wiped the floor with my heart. He never even explained himself.

  The music wrapped around the wheelchair and into my stubborn but very lonely self; its lyrics moving me while the voice that delivered them tugged at the sorrow. Grief for more than just Momma was dredged up from a place where I’d tried to keep it hidden away and the memory of his abandonment weighed heavy on my shoulders. I swear, I slumped down a little in my chair, even though I couldn’t move.

  I’m pathetic.

  I’d wasted over twenty years pining for a married man. And waiting for what? An affair? Friendship? Or just a moment of acknowledgment that he still bore part of the burden of it all with me, so that it wouldn’t have been so heavy. For Jimmy, all those stares between the two of us during church might have only been a question: “What did you ever do with that thing we put in the chimney?”

  My chest filled with humiliation and fresh grief; sharp pains shot through my stomach. Regret, I figured.

  God, please forgive me.

  His voice wrapped around my shoulders and I thought about Jimmy’s feather of a kiss on my lips in the hospital; but newer, sadder thoughts of life without Momma, no husband or children of my own smothered the alluring feelings his molasses voice usually sent to my heart. The tiniest rumble of anger moved in the pit of my stomach.

  Molasses. I should hate the stuff.

  A dark feverish cloud spread through my chest. I never liked conflict, but surprisingly, it felt good to really get mad for a change.

  How dare you come to my hospital room with a ring still on your finger and put your mouth, as delicious as it was, near my face.

  I swear an Oklahoma twister formed inside of me. That’s the only thing that could explain what happened next.

  How dare you visit me in my heaven-hell of a dream with your kisses, and then dirty up Momma’s funeral with your syrupy voice.

  You know what the Bible says about hell having no fury like a woman scorned? I think that was a prophetic verse about me.

  Your sweet voice tricks me every time I hear it, but not today. Not at my Momma’s funeral.

  I finally felt the truth deep down in my soul, and for a moment I didn’t even notice the wet tear tracing a trail down my cheek.

  The nerve of you, Jimmy.

  He’d probably only visited me in the hospital to relieve his guilt, the same way Thelma, Mary Sue, and Peter just moments ago tried to pour compliments over their insults to hide their petty motives. And then, I remembered his words to me in the hospital.

  “Joy, I know why you were up there.” A tear sprung from my other eye and dribbled down to my chin.

  My heart thundered and before I knew it I was full-blown crying—on the outside! Fat, embarrassing tears slid down my cheeks at will, and I couldn’t wipe them away.

  Then I heard Hannah’s little voice. “Aunt Joy isn’t dead, Mommy. She’s crying!”

  There was a gasp; an urgent whisper.

  “Nanette.” It was Carey. “Look!”

  “I’m taking her back now.” Doc’s strong voice sliced through the molasses and into my heart with authority. “This was a terrible idea.” Let’s get her to the hospital right now, before something happens to her and we all lose our jobs.”

  The same blood I’d felt pooling when my heart stopped now rushed like Spavinaw Junction Creek after heavy rains through my veins. I felt it tinge my ears red, burning my neck and heating my face in great blotches. And if all the blood rushing around in my ears wasn’t enough to make me feel suddenly nauseous, the pinch of the IV and remembering the bag attached to me did it.

  I tell you what, I’ve been hooked up to so many tubes lately, I feel like poor Jenny in Love Story. I didn’t want to go back in the hospital, no matter how queasy, or weepy, I was starting to feel.

  Jimmy’s voice wavered, but he
kept singing even as the rest of the church’s whispers swept over the crowd—like the breeze sweeping through the towering oak trees around the Talley house, their leaves rustling against the truth.

  “Auntie Joy.” Little Dawson was slapping my leg. I flinched and for once was glad Talley children were such an unruly bunch.

  That’s it. Wake me up, kids, before Doc takes me back, but be careful where you poke.

  The children continued to talk loudly as if a funeral wasn’t in procession at all.

  “Breathe, Joy.”

  Daddy? You’re here?

  “Auntie Joy, wake up!” Now, it was Hannah, whispering too loud and pressing her hand into my stomach that had started to make lots of gurgles and pops.

  Not there, sweetie.

  There was no way all the little ones knew that when a person is wearing a catheter, it’s not a good idea to press their tummies. Thank goodness Nurse Clara told them to stop poking me there.

  “You can breathe now, Joy.” I turned my head, slightly. I couldn’t open my eyes, but I wondered if Daddy was nearby, welcoming Momma to heaven. I wished he would show me.

  Hannah patted my arm now and I heard a giggle from Dawson. Someone’s thumb raised my eyelid. Dawson’s face was almost touching mine, so that I could only see his eyeball. He dropped it and raised the other one. Hannah was peering at me with a smile as their mothers desperately tried to get control. I think Doc and Clara were trying to move the wheelchair, but the children were in the way.

  The singing stopped abruptly as the children’s voices picked up and I found myself, eyes wide open, looking directly at him.

  Jimmy.

  Chapter Seven

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  Salty tears met my lips and found my tongue. Beside me, Doc and Clara were checking me over, but I was only focused on the stage in front of me.