White Oleander

She was convincing herself there was nothing between Ray and me, that nothing could possibly be going on, because she was a woman and I was nothing. But I could still feel how he knelt in front of me on the unfinished floor, how he held me around the thighs, kissed my bare belly. I could smell the odor of the raw wood, feel the clutch of his fingers, and we burst into flame like oilfat chaparral in oleander time.

 

A FULL MOON poured white through the curtains. The refrigerator cycled around in the kitchen, ice cubes dropping in the ice-maker. "I can't believe she'd go out after all this time," Carolee said. "Never trust an alcoholic, Astrid. Rules one, two, and three."

 

Carolee sat up in bed, peeled off her nightgown, put on her miniskirt, nylons, and a shiny shirt. She opened the window, pushed the screen out, and clambered onto the dresser, high-heeled shoes in her hand. I heard her drop down on the porch outside.

 

"And where you think you're goin', missy?" Starr's voice came from out of the darkness.

 

"Since when did you care," I could hear Carolee reply.

 

I went to the window. I couldn't see Starr, only Carolee's hip jutting out in her white skirt, hands on her hips, her elbows defiant.

 

"Goin' out to spread 'em for every Tom, Dick, and Harry." Starr must have had a few on the porch, in the lawn chair over by the living room.

 

Carolee put on her high heels, one at a time, and walked out into the yard, which was full-moon lit, bright as a stage. "So what if I am." I wished I could draw the way her broad-shouldered body threw a shadow on the moonpale dust. How brave she looked just then.

 

Starr wouldn't let it go at that. "You know what they say. 'Call Carolee, she does it for free.' Whores are supposed to get paid, don't you know anything?"

 

"You should know better than me." Carolee turned and started walking to the road.

 

Starr lurched across my field of vision, staggering down the stairs in a shortie nightgown, and smacked Carolee in the face. The sound of the blow reverberated in the still night, irrevocable.

 

Carolee's arm drew back and struck. Starr's head jerked to one side. It was ugly, but fascinating, like a movie, like I didn't even know them. Starr grabbed her by the hair and dragged her around as Carolee screamed and tried to hit her, but she couldn't straighten up far enough to reach her. So she took off a high heel and hit her with that, and Starr let her go.

 

I saw Ray come down the steps wearing just a pair of jeans. I knew he had nothing on underneath, that body I loved so much, as Carolee grabbed Starr by the front of her nightgown and shoved her down hard in the dirt. She stood above Starr so she had to look up at Carolee's legs in their nylons, her high-heeled shoes. How bad could this get, could a daughter kick a mother in the face? I could see that she wanted to.

 

I was relieved when Ray got between them and helped Starr to her feet. "Let's go back to bed, baby."

 

"You lousy drunk," Carolee yelled after them. "I hate you."

 

"Get lost then," Starr said, staggering unsteadily on Ray's arm. "Bug off. Who needs you."

 

"You don't mean that," Ray said. "Let's just sleep it off, okay?"

 

"I'll leave," Carolee said. "You bet I will."

 

"You leave, you are never coming back, missy."

 

"Who'd the fuck want to?" Carolee said.

 

She slammed into our room, opening drawers, pulling stuff onto the bed, cramming what would fit into a flowered suitcase. "Bye, Astrid. It's been real."

 

Davey and the little boys were waiting in the hall, scared, blinking from sleep. "Don't go," Davey said.

 

"I can't stay. Not in this nuthouse." Carolee gave him a quick one-armed hug and went out, banging her suitcase against her knee. She walked right past Ray and Starr, never turning her head, strode out of the yard on her high heels and walked down the road, smaller and smaller.

 

I watched her for a long time, memorizing her shoulders, her long-legged gait. This was how girls left. They packed up their suitcases and walked away in high heels. They pretended they weren't crying, that it wasn't the worst day of their lives. That they didn't want their mothers to come running after them, begging their forgiveness, that they wouldn't have gone down on their knees and thanked God if they could stay.

 

WHEN CAROLEE LEFT, Starr lost something essential, something she needed, like a gyroscope that kept the plane from flipping over or a depth gauge that told you whether you were going deeper or coming up. She might suddenly want to go out dancing, or stay home and drink and complain, or get all sweet and sloppy and want to be a family and play games and cook brownies that burned, and you never knew which it would be. Peter didn't eat her casserole one night and she took his plate and turned it over on his head. And I knew it was my defiance, my sin. I took it all, never said a word.

 

If only I hadn't started with Ray. I made her go off her program. I was the snake in the garden.