The Green Lace Corset, стр. 32
“Come down to the ground and pull your legs up to your chest,” the instructor said, and the musician began to play a rendition of Anne’s favorite hymn, “All Things Bright and Beautiful.”
Anne followed the lyrics she knew by heart: All creatures great and small / All things wise and wonderful / the Lord God made them all.
Maybe this was a sign. How could she eliminate the small creature growing inside her? Did God love it already?
But, again, she didn’t want to raise a child alone. She’d watched Pootie and Brian support each other by passing their little doll back and forth. Plus, Aunt Tootie and Anne’s own mom were there to help them at a moment’s notice.
If she kept the baby, Anne was sure her mom would welcome her home with open arms. That was, after she got over the shock that Anne was going to be an unwed mother. Anne had considered moving back there a few years ago but had decided against it. Maybe that would be best now, though—small-town Oscoda was a good place to raise kids. But she really didn’t want to do that. San Francisco was her home, her soul place. She couldn’t even move to New York with Sergio—how could she ever go back to Michigan? And what about her art?
If she stayed here and had the baby in San Francisco, she’d need to pack away most of her art materials to make way for a crib in the apartment. She didn’t need a man or her mother. Anne could do it. She’d get by. How hard could it be? Streetlamps cast a halo in the dewy air. Usually yoga rejuvenated her, but tonight it made her more exhausted than ever.
She spied Mata Hari curled up in a doorway. “Hi, Mata.”
Mata looked up. “Missy, looks like you’ve been crying.”
“I’m fine.” Anne grabbed for a tissue in her backpack. “Allergies is all. Did you eat at the shelter tonight?”
“Sure did. The spaghetti was tasty. Here, do you want a ginger snap?” Mata pulled a cookie from her pocket and held it out.
“No, thanks. You eat it.” Anne felt a pang in her heart. The kitchen used Sylvia’s special recipes. Anne thought back to learning to make spaghetti and cookies with her dear friend in Sylvia’s kitchen at Bay Breeze before the shelter had been endowed its own. What Anne wouldn’t give to have Sylvia to go to now.
“Okeydoke, Annie Oakley!” Mata took a bite.
Anne remembered something about Mata saying she preferred to live on the streets than with family. “Didn’t you tell me you have a daughter you hated?” Anne asked.
“I said I couldn’t stand living with her, not that I hated her. She’s still the most important person in my life.”
Firsthand, Anne understood how important the mother-daughter connection was. Even though she didn’t want to live with her own mom anymore, they were still close.
At home, she crawled into bed and tried to sleep, but she was suddenly wired. She couldn’t get used to these strange things happening in her body. Might as well do some art. She got up, rang her Tibetan chimes, and lit a gardenia candle.
“Alexa, play Enya, please.”
“Okay. Here’s some assorted music by Enya.”
“Thank you.” Anne picked up the washboard from her trip. The rectangular top measured three by nine inches. She ruffled through her remnants, found a crocheted oval that fit in the space, and adhered it to the wood. Next, she placed a blue-and-white chipped plate in a paper bag, broke it with a hammer, and filled in the spaces around the remnant with the shards. She dumped out a baggie filled with a random assortment of found objects: old jewelry, Polly Pocket paraphernalia, and tiny toys. She closed her eyes, stuck her hand in the pile, and picked up a piece. The teddy bear fit perfectly in the washboard’s one-inch groove. She breathed in and out as she got into the zone and randomly tried other pieces to find ones that fit: a pearl earring with gold trim, a blue button, a baby bottle, a boot, a cameo pin, a heart button, a pony, a Road Runner pin, marbles, XOXO tic-tac-toe game pieces, a diaper pin, a star.
On her found-object shelf, she spied a tiny plastic baby doll. Voilà! It fit on top of the crocheted piece nicely. She glued turquoise and cobalt lace trim along the edge. She stepped back and examined the finished mosaic, filled with love and baby themes. Was this another sign?
23
Hazy morning sunshine sent light through the window. Sally Sue tried to sit up but fell back onto the pillow, still light-headed. At least she felt better than yesterday—she was thinking clearly and well rested. For good or bad, she’d made it safely through another night.
Cliff hummed softly, stoked the fire and stirred a cauldron, and went back outside. Her face reddened, and she lifted her hands to her cheeks. Yesterday, she’d been too drowsy to even be embarrassed when he carried the bedpan outside and brought it back to her all clean.
The room grew dark as clouds formed outside. She’d better get to the outhouse before it snowed again. Forcing herself up onto her elbows, she spotted her men’s clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. She snatched them, pulled them under the covers, and put on the shirt. It smelled of oak and something else heavenly. Was it lavender?
She finished dressing; put on her hat, gloves, and coat; and made her way to the outhouse. As she returned to the cabin, it began to snow and she hurried inside.
Cliff was setting two plates on the table. “I’m glad to see you’re up and at ’em.”
“I’m glad too.” Winded, she sat.
“We’re miles from any neighbors or town. There’s no way you could have made it anywhere on foot in this inclement weather.”
She took off her hat and redid her braids. She could barely stand