All the Ugly and Wonderful Things

Mrs. Berry hurried over with a big smile and said, “Oh, Mrs. Morrison, what a relief! Wavonna, honey, you had us so worried.”

That was the day I earned Wavonna’s trust. Mrs. Berry swooped toward us, clearly planning to deliver an enormous, smothering hug. I spread my feet and put out my arm to block her.

“Mrs. Berry, we need to talk to someone about changing classes.” She made a wounded face as we backed away from her. I had nothing against the woman, but I was too old to beat around the bush.

When I sat down with the school counselor, I took the same approach. I looked her square in the eye and said, “My granddaughter is not retarded.”

“Mrs. Morrison, we don’t use words like that anymore. Our concern is that her speech problems are a sign of developmental delays.”

“I don’t mean it to offend, but she’s not stupid. Look, here. Wavonna.”

She didn’t look at me, but I knew she was listening.

“Give me paper and a pencil.”

The counselor slid a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen across the desk. I scooted Wavonna’s chair closer and said, “Go ahead and show her. Otherwise you’ll have to stay in the class with the loud lady.”

As soon as I mentioned the special-education teacher, Wavonna picked up the pen and put it to the paper. First, she wrote out her name, neat as can be. Below that, she wrote her alphabet: Aa Bb Cc, and on like that. Under that she put her numbers. Then she did something I didn’t even know she knew. She turned the paper over and wrote: Cassiopeia. Next to it, she drew five dots and connected them. Then seven more dots that she labeled Cepheus. She filled the paper up that way. The only ones I recognized were the Big and Little Dippers.

The way the counselor’s jaw dropped down set me to giggling. I laughed right in that poor woman’s face. Laughed until I cried. Before Wavonna, I’d been feeling pretty good. My cancer was in remission, and I had myself a nice retirement planned, before Wavonna moved in. After everything I’d been through in the last month, I needed a good laugh.

They put her in a regular classroom, but I told them right up front, “Don’t give her a nicey-nice teacher.” I spelled it out for them. Nobody could touch her. They couldn’t expect her to talk, but they shouldn’t assume she wasn’t listening and learning. I didn’t make requests and I didn’t apologize.

Things weren’t perfect after that, but they got better.

She lived with me for almost two years, and in all that time, she touched me twice. On what would have been Irv’s and my fortieth anniversary, I had a little wine and got maudlin. Wavonna touched my hand, my wedding ring. To comfort me, I think. The second time was right before Valerie got paroled, and I hired a lawyer to help her get custody of Wavonna and the baby she’d had while she was in prison.

We drove down to Tulsa for Leslie’s birthday and had a fine old time: singing, wearing silly hats, and cheering as Leslie ripped open packages. After all the big hoopla, the three girls settled into the living room to play, while Brenda and I cleaned up.

I couldn’t keep putting it off, so I sat down at the kitchen table and said, “I’ve been talking to Valerie’s lawyer about this transitional program she can get into.”

“I didn’t know she still had a lawyer. Are you paying for that?”

I didn’t answer. I wanted it not to be her business, but maybe it was.

“Fine. So, Val’s lawyer thinks she can get into some program?” Brenda cut a second slice of birthday cake. Her weight dogged her for years, because she ate when she was upset.

“It’s for women with children, to help her get back on her feet so she can take care of Donal and Wavonna.” I knew that would cause a ruckus and it did.

“Are you serious, Mom? Do you really think Val can take care of them? You know what Vonnie’s like. That’s Val’s parenting skills right there. A daughter who won’t speak, won’t eat, and sneaks out at night.”

“She’s doing better.”

“I know. You’re doing so good with her. I—” Brenda laid her hand on my arm, and I could see she really was sorry she’d lost her temper.

“I want Wavonna to be with her mother.” I wanted to want that. I wanted things to be simple and they never were.

“Do you really think that’s the best thing for her?”

“Val’s been getting treatment. This program will put her in an apartment, where she’ll have a counselor. They’ll make sure she takes her medicine, and help her take care of the kids.”

“Well, what do you need to do? Is there paperwork?”

“I need you to go to her parole hearing and the custody hearing. You’re going to have to do it, Brenda.”

“Why?”

“Metastasized.” Wavonna had crept up so quietly neither of us noticed her until she spoke.

“What does she mean?” Brenda said. “Mom?”

“She must have overheard me talking with the doctor’s office. The cancer is back. It’s in my lungs and my liver. Three months they think, maybe less.”

Now that we were talking about hard things, Leslie and Amy stopped playing Barbies and came to stand in the doorway next to Wavonna. I tried to will Brenda to be strong, but she started shaking and crying. Amy and Leslie cried, too. They were all crying, except Wavonna. She crossed the kitchen and reached out to me. For a second, she laid her hand on my chest, touched those fake foam boobs I wore in my bra.