Free Walking Through Shadows by Bev Marshall Page B

praying. “Please, God. Please please please.”
    Mama’s eyes were closed and I knew she was praying as hard as me. The silence in the room was terrifying. I could hear the clock ticking all the way from the kitchen. A leaf blowing against the window sounded like a gunshot. I lifted my eyes to Gloria, and saw her pressed lips. She nudged Uncle Walter. He moved away from her on the couch.
    Finally, when we were all about to break into a million pieces from the stillness, Mama’s voice drifted out from above Lil’ Bit’s head. “So you’re moving soon.” The words were whispers, like the sounds of a weak person lying in a hospital bed.
    “Yes, Rowena,” Uncle Walter said. “I’ve got the house up for sale and the land, and I’ll be packing up and going within the week.”
    “This week,” Mama echoed.
    Uncle Walter’s face was chalky, and there were wet circles on his blue shirt beneath his armpits. I was glad of that. I wanted him to feel worse than he’d ever felt in his life. Just then Lil’ Bit pointed to Gloria’s yellow clutch purse which she held in her lap. “Candy,” he yelled out. “I eat candy.” Since Grandma had started bringing Lil’ Bit a peppermint or a chocolate drop in her purse, he had gotten the idea that all purses held treats like these. “I want candy,” he said smiling at Gloria.
    Gloria didn’t understand. “I don’t have any sweets,” she said. She turned to Uncle Walter. “Give him a penny or something, Hon.”
    I almost said, “No, he’ll put it in his mouth and swallow it, stupid.” But Uncle Walter wasn’t listening to her. He stood up, walked over to where Mama sat on the edge of her chair and knelt in front of Lil’ Bit. He held out his hands. “Come here, son,” he said.
    But Lil’ Bit wasn’t interested, and he craned his head around his father’s back to stare at the yellow clutch. He pointed again. “Candy,” he said, his face screwing up with fury.
    Mama looked at me. “Annette, get him a piece of fruit slice.”
    I jumped up and ran to the candy dish, fishing out a sugared orange slice, and raced back to Lil’ Bit, who grabbed it in his chubby hand and stuffed it into his mouth as he said, “Thank you” using the manners we had taught him.
    Uncle Walter hadn’t moved, nor had Mama or Gloria or Sheila. It seemed they were all frozen wax figures, the smell of the sweet candy wafting around their still heads. Mama’s fingers moved when Lil’ Bit’s drool dripped down onto her hand, and without looking, she found his mouth and wiped it with her thumb. I stood right beside her chair, thinking about grabbing Lil’ Bit and running out the front door. I saw the two of us flying down the road, Lil’ Bit’s overall straps falling down on his shoulders, my tennis shoes tearing up the grass as we sailed out of the yard. My right hand reached out, but Mama took it and laid it on her shoulder. As I stood there ramrod straight, I thought we must look like a tintype photograph in which I was the stern husband with my hand on the shoulder of the sitting wife, a serious-eyed baby seated on her starched skirt. Lil’ Bit did look somber, now that his craving for sweets was satisfied. His round eyes bore into Uncle Walter as if he were memorizing him. Gloria was talking all this time, but I have no memory of what she said. I suppose she was telling us their plans because I heard Mama say, “The house sounds nice.”
    When Uncle Walter stood up, Mama and I knew that nothing could keep him from saying the awful words that would stab our hearts. “We plan to take Lil’ Bit with us.”
    Pieces of the next hour come back to me, but mostly all I remember is the hollow sound of the voices, the sudden heat that made the air hard to breathe. I can still see the pink lipstick smear on Lil’ Bit’s cheek where Gloria kissed him. Phrases come to me. “Wonderful to him,” “Appreciate all you’ve done,” and finally the last hateful sentences as they walked out