Free Garden of Lies by Eileen Goudge Page B

her treasured charm bracelet. And then, coming
    home from school, she’d lost it somehow. She had been so sure Marie would be furious with her.
    And Marie had been angry ... at first. Then, in typical Marie fashion, she had shrugged, and said,
    “Oh, stop bawling, it’s not the end of the world. I know you didn’t mean it. Go on, blow your
    nose, and I’ll take you out for an ice cream.”
    “Shaaaame.” Nonnie’s sharp voice jolted Rose from her thoughts.
    Rose watched in horror as Nonnie jabbed a bony finger in Marie’s face. “Whatsa matter with
    you? I feed you. I put food on the table in front of you. I raise you like my own daughter. And
    you do this to me. For shame. You, workin’ in a store, paintin’ your face like no decent girl.
    Runnin’ around at night like a alleycat with that no-good spic boyfriend of yours.”
    Marie bristled. “Pete’s no spic! He’s half Puerto Rican, on his mother’s side. You got no right
    callin’ him a spic!”
    “He shamed you, didn’t he?”
    “If you mean am I gonna have a baby, the answer is yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna have a kid.” Marie
    took a step forward, almost menacing. Her pale pink mouth curled in disgust. “And let me tell
    you, something, old lady. My kid’s gonna have better than what I had.”
    “Ha!” Nonnie sneered. “You didn’t do so bad. The sidewalk, that’s where you’d a ended up if I
    hadn’t taken you in after the Lord took away my Dom, God rest his soul.”
    Rose stared down at the meatloaf on her plate. It was cold now; little islands of waxy gray fat
    had formed over it. She felt sick to her stomach. If only Marie would stop! Rose was afraid her
    sister might make Nonnie do or say something they’d all be sorry for.
    Marie’s eyes had a wild look in them. She advanced another step, shoulders hunched forward
    and fists clenched at her sides. “I’m not sorry I got knocked up. You know why? I’ll tell you why.
    ’Cause I’m finally gettin’ the hell outta here. I won’t have you around tellin’ me I’m bad all the
    time. Maybe that’s how come I turned out bad, with you tellin’ me all the time. I feel sorry for
    Clare. And for you, too, Rose.” She tossed Rose a pitying glance. “If you knew what was good
    for you, you’d get the hell out, too.”
    “You’re not good enough to speak your sister’s name!” Nonnie [49] spat. “Clare, she’s got the
    calling. She’s gonna be a holy sister. Not in a hundred years would she shame me this way.”
    “Sure, you been stuffin’ Jesus down her throat for so long she’d think she had the calling if
    somebody said ‘boo.’ And Rose, you treat her like she was dirt under your feet.” She turned
    toward Rose angrily. “How come you let her treat you that way, huh, Rose? Huh?”
    “Marie, please. Don’t ...” Rose felt so stricken she could barely move her lips. She gazed up at
    her sister, imploring her to stop.
    The kitchen seemed to be closing in on her. The yellowing walls with their faded fruit-cluster
    paper. The row of cabinets, once blue, now a sad dishwater gray.
    “Rose.” Nonnie pronounced her name almost spitting, lips drawn back in contempt. Her small
    pale eyes focused on Rose with a hateful glee. “ She’s not your sister.”
    Rose felt as if the suffocating air had once more come alive, buzzing like a swarm of angry
    wasps. I must have heard it wrong, she thought. Nonnie couldn’t have said that.
    Marie just looked at her grandmother. “Are you crazy? What are you talkin’ about?”
    “She’s not my Dom’s child,” Nonnie insisted. “She’s a bastard just like what you got in your
    belly. Sure, I got no proof. But,” she went on as she tapped her chest, “there’s some things don’t
    need proof. Just look at her! It was God’s curse the day she was born. The first time Dom look at
    her, he cry. I tell him, ‘What you know about that fancy wife of yours with her silk stockings and
    fifty-dollar dresses? What you think a girl like