Read Online Catfish Alley by Lynne Bryant - Free Book Online Page A

peers
between the curtains.
    "Your mama is here. How about
we go out on the front porch to meet her?" he says. When Dr. Jackson opens
the door for us to leave Zero's room, Adelle is standing right outside waiting
for me. She puts her arm around me and gives me a quick squeeze. Right then I
think how lucky I am to have a friend like Adelle. She steps back beside Mrs.
Jackson as I run out on the front porch to meet my mama.
     
    Roxanne
     
    I feel the bond between Grace Clark and Adelle Jackson.
I wonder what it would be like to have a friend like that, someone you've known
practically your whole life. It occurs to me that no one knows me that well. Of
course, I've made sure not to get too close to anyone; otherwise people might
find out about my background. But it would be nice to have a friend to confide
in; maybe someone who could tell me what I ought to do about Dudley.
    But then, as far as I can tell, neither one of these
women ever had a husband and child to complicate their lives. I look at them and
I can't imagine that either of them would ever fall head over heels for the
wrong man. Was Dudley the wrong man? He seemed to fit everything I needed per fectly
at the time. Was I so ambitious that he simply served as a vehicle for me to
complete the story I made up about myself?
    Having children was certainly a part of my story that
didn't work out according to plan. I always thought that Dudley and I would
have our first child about a year after marriage and then maybe one or two
more, two or three years apart. Everything seemed to be moving right along
according to schedule. I got pregnant right away and Dudley was delighted.
Milly came along in February and it was wonderful. I loved being a mother,
knowing that things would be so different for my little girl. She would have
genuine social status. I poured myself into mothering her. I even began to
wonder how I would be able to love the next child as much as I loved Milly.
    But there never was a next child. The same cancer that
killed Mama because she ignored it for thirty years started early in me. My
dreams of surrounding myself with beautiful children disappeared along with my
uterus and ovaries. No son for Dudley. No more daughters for me.
    I never confided my sense of loss to anyone. Instead,
any conversation with women in the community could so easily be turned to the
subject of Dudley, or a home
    I
was restoring, or my daughter, Milly. Deflecting attention from myself had
become a habit very early in my life and I never broke it. Dudley's parents
were so indulgent, of him and of Milly, that it was easy even with my own child
to gloss over my particular past. Milly has always been a happy, contented
person. She must have gotten that from her father. She doesn't seem compelled
to ask questions. She takes her secure place in the world for granted. All
through school as she was growing up, I focused her attention on Dudley's
family. It was fairly easy to just say that my Louisiana parents died young and
I was taken in by the Stanleys.
    I
see a lot of myself in Milly. She's very interested in appearance, but she
doesn't have to work as hard at it as I did. She really does have wealthy
grandparents. She really was a debutante and a sorority member at Ole Miss.
It's all part of her reality, not a fairy tale. Milly has no problem allowing
me to indulge her; having everyone's attention is her birthright. It's probably
my fault that the child has been on the fast track since conception. She was
even born two weeks early. She whizzed through high school, finished college in
three years, married her prelaw boyfriend this past summer, and is now
complaining about being bored and trying to decide between opening a boutique
and going to graduate school. I always dreamed that we might go into business
together. After last night's phone call, I have serious doubts about that.
    "Hey,
Mama," she said in her distracted tone. I can always tell when she's doing
something else during our