Page 51 of Leave It to Us
Shaking her head, Yvonne continued. “Because I didn’t say them in front of you. I didn’t want to appear disrespectful to Mama when she was disciplining you.”
“Berating me,” Tami said, her tone edgy.
Yvonne looked back over her shoulder at Tami. “Okay, she was berating you.”
“And it seemed like it was always me. No matter what anybody else did in that house, I always got yelled at the worst. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t good enough for her.”
There was a sadness in Tami’s voice that Yvonne had never heard before. Tami might’ve been the youngest of the Butler sisters, but Yvonne had always thought she was the strongest and the most resilient. She could stand in that kitchen, with tears rolling down her cheeks, while Mama disciplined—no,beratedher—for one thing or another one minute, and a few hours later, Yvonne would see her lying on her stomach on the floor in the bedroom, playing with her dolls or coloring in one of the billions of coloring books she had. And while she did either of those things, her head would be bopping to the side, joy glittering in her eyes as she talked to the dolls or hummed some song while she colored. Like the words Freda had said to her a while before had simply dissipated in the air. It was that capability that Yvonne suspected irritated their mother more than anything else Tami ever did.
“You never acted like it bothered you,” Yvonne said. “Never cried longer than the few minutes after a beating or a lecture. You just moved on.”
“Until the next time,” Tami said. “It’s how I coped with the situation. I realize now that I developed several ways to cope with things at home that didn’t make me feel loved or accepted, just like I eventually began adapting to things in school to mask my deficiencies there. I copied off Melissa Anderson’s paper a lot in the sixth grade. In eighth grade, I started raising my hand first and asking a question—that way, Mr.Rubin wouldn’t call on me in that moment that I didn’t know the answer to something and then embarrass me because I didn’t know.”
“Oh, Tami,” Yvonne said, and reached out a hand to grip her sister’s.
When Tami didn’t pull away but let Yvonne twine her fingers with hers, Yvonne sighed. “I wish I had all the training I eventually received in spotting children with learning or mental disabilities that I do now back then. I wish I’d been able to say to Mama that there was something wrong with you and that didn’t mean that the something was a bad thing. But I was her child too.”
“I know,” Tami said, and nodded. “You were just so much better at doing what she said than me or Lana were.”
“It was easier that way,” Yvonne admitted. “If I just did what she said, she wouldn’t look at me like I’d disappointed her. I guess I needed that approval.” That empty part of her that had appeared at the sight of the missing statue started to form a pit in the center of her stomach as she wondered if she could continue to live for Freda’s approval.
“We all wanted her approval,” Tami said. “But only you got it.” She shrugged. “After a while I think Lana just stopped caring and just did and said what she wanted. And for some reason, Mama didn’t put up much of a fight with her.”
“That was odd,” Yvonne said, recalling the day Freda had told Lana she wouldn’t be going to photography classes. Lana had calmly told her mother that was fine but that she would drop out of the modeling classes as well since that wasn’t a career that could provide a stable and respectable living for her either. But for Freda, modeling would’ve been a spotlight for Lana to fill. A way for people to say, “Wow, lookat Freda’s daughter out there, looking amazing.” And there was money to be made in modeling, even if it may have been only temporary—Freda had known that too. Before she could give in, though, one of the mentors at the modeling school had taken note of Lana’s passion for photography and had called Freda to ask if she could continue to work with Lana free of charge.
“Yeah, a lot of things Mama did was odd,” Tami said. “Like, did you notice how she never talked about Grandma Betty or Daddy? How, to her, neither of them existed even though she and Daddy were still co-parenting.”
This wasn’t the first time Yvonne had noted that fact. It was the first time she’d noted it in at least twenty years, though, and it was the second time today that it had crossed her mind. Freda had acted differently starting the year she’d gotten pregnant with Tami—or at least, that’s when Yvonne thought she’d first noticed the change.
“I thought I was the only one who’d figured that out,” Tami said with a little chuckle.
“Anyway,” Yvonne said, still holding on to her sister’s hand, “I wanted you to know that I’m sorry for not being there for you when we were young, and I guess in the years that followed. I also wanted to say that I think you’re doing a great job here with the house. You’ve really taken charge of most of the decisions that need to be made, especially decor-wise, and I’m really proud of you.”
Saying the words felt like a weight lifting from Yvonne’s shoulders, but watching how Tami’s face lit up after she’d spoken them was an unexplainable pleasure. Tami was a beautiful young lady, with pretty brown eyes, a pert little nose, and the prettiest smile. Watching the genuine happiness play out on those features now almost brought Yvonne to tears.
“You really mean that?” Tami asked.
“I do.” Yvonne smiled. “Have you ever thought about going into interior design? I mean, I’m sure there’re people out there that willappreciate that teal-watercolor-rosebud paper you insisted on for the powder room.”
“Guuuurrrl, stop,” Tami said, waving her free hand at Yvonne. “You know that room is the bomb now!”
Yvonne chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right—now that Deacon and his crew have added that cheerful melon-colored paint you picked out, it is coming together.”
“That’s right,” Tami said, holding her free arm over her head and moving the top half of her body like she was in a club, dancing. “I did that! I did that! You know it!”
Yvonne continued smiling. “You’re a mess, girl,” she said, then immediately followed it with, “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Tami lowered her arm then and leaned in to wrap both her arms around Yvonne. “Thanks, sis. Your words mean a lot to me.”
A few hours later, while Yvonne sat on the porch, waiting for Deacon to pick her up, she thought back to Tami’s words and how poignant they were. If Yvonne’s words had meant a lot to her, imagine how Tami would’ve felt if Freda had found it within herself to say something nice to Tami—or any of her other daughters, for that matter. And what if Lana could put into words whatever was going on between her and Isaac? Would talking about it make that situation better? The safer and more taxing question was, would saying the words Yvonne knew she needed to say to other people in her life lessen some of the stress and turbulence she felt brewing in her soul? Would it bring her and her sisters closer?
There was no more time to contemplate any of that as she watched Deacon’s work truck pull to a stop in the driveway. His was one of very few vehicles on the island, and she suspected it was allowed because it was related to his work. It didn’t bother her as much as it probably didothers that there weren’t many cars on the island. For her, it was part of Daufuskie’s appeal. The portion of the island that had managed to remain untouched by the world, the dirt roads and mature trees, the scent of salt water floating on the warm summer’s breeze—all those things made this place unique and homey in a way she doubted could be captured anywhere else.
“Well, you’re looking awfully pretty for this to not be a date,” Deacon said as he took the steps.
She’d stood from the rocking chair and met him at the top step, smoothing the material of the straight, white off-the-shoulder sundress she was wearing. Her thought in selecting that dress had been that it was simple enough with just that touch of dressy in the length, which stretched to her ankles. She’d paired it with a long gold chain with a whimsical crescent-moon piece and a gold cuff on her left wrist. Her Fitbit was always on her right wrist. The straw purse she carried was just big enough to hold a smaller pouch, where she kept her glucometer and test strips, along with her phone, lip gloss, and keys.
“I can say the same about you for this to be just dinner at your mama’s house,” she replied.
