The Truth About Twinkie Pie Part 20

"Names?"

"Yes, on the meaning behind names and-what people like to name their-their children. Stuff like that."

She handed me my mug and sat down. "If you want to know about names, I got a few stories. You're going to want to write this down."

I knew my school a.s.signment book was in the front pocket of my backpack. I found a pen and quickly pulled it out. "I'll just need some, um, information. What's your full name, please?"

"Delta Dawn Barnes."

I pressed down hard with the pen to keep my hand from shaking. It ripped through the paper. "Sorry-sorry, let me-" I tore that piece out and started again. It was true. It was true. Mama was alive. Mama was alive and right here in front of me. "And-and what do you do for a living?"

She gave her curls a little pat. "You are looking at the best darn hairdresser in town. They line up for me day and night." She took a long drag of her cigarette. "Or used to, anyway. Just hard times now. But the fellows still line up to buy me drinks. That's worth something." She winked at me and exhaled.

My mind raced for what to say next. "Did you-did you always want to be a hairdresser or-"

"Honey, it's the only thing I was ever good at. It's not like I was a whiz at school. Hightailed it out of there after eighth grade. Hey, I thought this was supposed to be about names, not some fancy high school diploma."

I found myself reaching for the star on my forehead.

It was still there. It was real. But at that moment, nothing else seemed to be.

Mama was here and alive, but she was not the Mama I'd been told about. Not the Mama I'd dreamed of.

Not a scientist.

Not a brain.

Not like me.

Nothing like me.

Or was I the one who was nothing like I was supposed to be?

forty-one.

I lifted the mug of coffee with an unsteady hand and took a sip. It was sickly sweet. "Can you-can you tell me about your name?"

"Now that, little girl, is an interesting story." Mama inspected the tip of her cigarette. "Delta Dawn was a top ten song on the country music charts the month I was born. Recorded by this little thirteen-year-old girl. Thirteen years old. My mama showed her to me on the TV once. Singing there in her little tangerine dress and golden heels. That song changed her life." Even though she still had half the cigarette to smoke, she stubbed it out. "Guess it changed mine, too."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as far as I see it, when someone gives you a name, they are pretty much telling you what your life is going to be. You understand?"

I shook my head.

"Sit back, I'm going to give you a treat...." She refilled her mug and then sort of sashayed over to this old record player. I remembered Lori having one like it.

"This, baby girl, is a forty-five," she said, holding up a little black record. "I don't know why they call it that. Sounds more like a gun, if you ask me." She pointed gun fingers at me. Bang. "It was my mama's. Kept it all these years."

She placed the record carefully on the turntable and then lifted the needle and set it down. I knew the song before it even started playing.

The tw.a.n.gy sadness of the voice.

The story that would never have a happy ending.

About a woman deceived and left behind by the man she loved.

Mama cranked up the volume and then sang along, howling out the high notes best she could. "That's the song I was named after. And what do you know? My life was ruined by a man." She downed the rest of what was in her mug and wiped her mouth. Her voice was starting to slur. "Come to think of it, there may have been more than one!" She shoved me in the shoulder and laughed. "And it's not like they left me anything worth keeping."

Mama pointed a chipped fingernail at me. "You. Girl. Write this down word for word. My mama named me after this song. She's the one who handed me the life I have. This"-she gestured around the run-down trailer-"my life wasn't always like this. It's all my mama's mistake... giving me this name. Only mistake I ever made was pa.s.sing it on to that worthless, no-good girl...."

DiDi. Was she talking about DiDi?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean pa.s.sing on this name so she could end up somewhere just like this. Probably worse."

I thought of the nice trailer where I grew up that was always neat and clean. Of DiDi working in the prettiest salon I'd ever seen. Of her finding us a place to live across the street from a candy store.

I shook my head. "No."

Mama had made her way into the kitchen. "You say something? I think I got some leftover Chinese in here if you're hungry. Had a hot date a couple nights ago. Pretty sure it didn't go bad." She turned and looked at me over her shoulder. "The food, I mean. The date for sure was a bad one."

I looked around the tiny kitchen. "Do you-cook?"

Mama stopped and leaned against the counter. She rubbed her head and looked at her hands. "Well... I used to. Used to be darn good. Just... can't find my recipes anymore...."

My heart gave a twinge of guilt. I knew where her recipes were. At home with DiDi. And here Mama was-all alone. Maybe that was why she was sad and drinking and lost. I was gone and DiDi was gone and her recipes were gone. That would be enough to change anyone. Maybe we could've stayed and helped her the way I helped Lori when she had One Too Many. I was good at it.

Mama shook herself and went over to the fridge. She pulled out a nasty-looking carton of food. "Anyway, good riddance, I say." She looked over at me as she tossed it into the garbage. "Way of the world. You have to get rid of trash before it turns on you."

"Turns-?"

"Turns on you." Mama began counting on her fingers. "Steals your money, your car, your brand-new purple pocketbook-with all your tips!-and takes off in the middle of the night. Just takes off-here, look at this." She pulled up her skirt and rubbed a big ugly scar that ran down her knee like jagged white lightning. "Chased after her down the street till I tripped.... Stole everything from me... everything I had... everything." She started muttering words I was not supposed to hear.

Everything. What did she mean, DiDi stole... everything?

Mama stumbled into the bathroom. I could hear her rattling around and dropping things.

"Hey, wanna hear something funny?" She came out holding a small plain cardboard box, shaking it. "Used to scare the living daylights out of that worthless fool who manages this place-thought it was full of sh.e.l.ls."

My head was spinning. "Sh.e.l.ls? Seash.e.l.ls?"

"Shotgun sh.e.l.ls."

Mama took the lid off and I looked inside. A dozen golden tubes of lipstick rolled around. "He heard some rumor about me buying golden bullets. 'Course he was dead drunk, but maybe that's just something we have in common...."

And then I knew.

I didn't want to say it even to myself, because I didn't want it to be true. But I was already talking.

"The-the man who lives at Thirty-Six?"

"Merle, ya mean? Ol' Merle and his dog."

"He called you Dawna."

Mama shrugged. "Friends call me Dawna, and if Merle and that old mutt can keep the riffraff away from here, then I guess he's a friend."

The golden bullets... Mama howling her song... even the bear outside tied to the tree. Some of the things were just rumors grown ugly. Others were ugly because they were true.

"Getting tired of this conversation...." Mama stumbled over to the worn old sofa and laid herself down.

She was drunk.

She was drunker than drunk.

She was Dead Drunk Donna, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

"Time for you... go...."

"Wait." I couldn't leave yet. I had to ask her one last question. I didn't care if she wondered how I knew to ask it. I needed to ask before she was too far gone to answer. "Are you... awake?"

Mama's eyes were closed. "Mmmm."

"You said... she stole... everything...." I leaned in close and lowered my voice. "Did you chase her because you wanted back your-did she-did she steal your baby?"

Mama breathed into the sofa.

"Mama?" I whispered. But she was dead asleep.

I sat by her side for a bit. Reached out and smoothed her hair. I looked around for a blanket to cover her shoulders and a pillow to tuck under her head. I found some aspirin and filled a gla.s.s with water and left them on the side table where she would see them when she woke up. I knew exactly what to do. After all, I had been babysitting for years.

I stared at her a long, long time.

Then, finally, I picked up my backpack and made my way out. Step by crooked step. Through the twisty paths and stumbling rocks. All the way back to that tricky entrance where you had to know what to look for or you'd never see it coming.

forty-two.

I shook my head at Mace when she opened the door.

She didn't say a word or ask me anything. I had never been so grateful to anyone in my life. She watched as I dropped my backpack and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over my head. I reached into my pocket so I could hold on to Trip's KOB. A few seconds later, I felt Mace carefully lifting the blanket and pulling my sneakers off. When she was done, she turned down the lights and closed the shades. It was dark and I couldn't see, but after a minute, I heard something that sounded an awful lot like a pink water bottle with its very own filter being filled and placed on the nightstand by my side.

I guess I slept through the rest of the day and the whole night. Mace gently shook me the next morning. She gathered our things and got me out to the waiting cab.

I stayed silent the whole train ride back, but Mace babbled at every grown-up who even glanced our way. Yakking on about cousins and waiting aunts. Cheerfully announcing that everyone should probably give us some s.p.a.ce, seeing as I most likely had a High-Grade Fever. It worked. People stayed away. I kept my cheek pressed against the cool train window and stared at the pa.s.sing world. Haven's phone blinked with about a hundred billion messages on it. I put it away without listening.

Mace forced me to take tiny sips from that pink water bottle. She handed me bits of a protein bar that she a.s.sured me was 100% organic with no artificial colors or flavors.

By the time we were home, it was night again, the day lost in travel and weariness. Mace paid for the cab that took us from the train station back to the apartment. "Do you need help getting up the stairs? Do you-do you need anything?"

I just shook my head.

I wanted to thank her for not making me talk.

For not asking questions.

For not needing to know.

But I just looked at her and hoped she knew what I was trying to say. I think she did. Anyway, I was surprised at how worried and sad her dark eyes looked.

forty-three.

The second that old step at the top of the stairs creaked, I heard footsteps, running. Then DiDi was there, tearing the door open and grabbing me and pulling me into a fierce hug.

"Oh my G.o.d, GiGi-GIGI! Don't ever do that again! I have never been so scared! Haven's mom called-and the girls didn't know-then something about you and-and Life or Death-G! Where on earth did you-"

DiDi dragged me into the apartment and shut the door. Then she grabbed my face and just stared at me like a crazy lady. Curls coming loose from her bun. Dark circles under her eyes. Makeup smudged. She looked exactly like Mama at that moment.

I yanked myself out of her grip. "Thirty-Nine Red Cedar Road! Is there anything you want to tell me about Thirty-Nine Red Cedar Road, DiDi?"

DiDi's hands flew to her face. "What did she-she-?"

"She! Mama, you mean? The Mama I missed my whole life? The Mama I knew wasn't dead? The Mama"-I bit back a sob-"the Mama I needed? Who needed me?" I pushed the tears off my face. "Why did you tell me she was dead? Why didn't you tell me the truth?"