Maybe, she thought, she should redo his room to help him settle in and be more comfortable. Get rid of all the clothes and paintings and other grown-up stuff, so it felt like a kid’s room. Not today, but maybe this weekend. They could make a fun project of it. It would be great if she could get him some posters for the walls, but she realized she wasn’t sure what Tommie would want. Would he like skateboarding or surfing posters, football or baseball? She supposed she could ask him, but the truth was, she couldn’t afford any.
The idea of redoing his room made her remember the room she’d prepared for him in the months before he was born. She’d known he was going to be a boy—she told the ultrasound technician, Yes, absolutely! when asked if she wanted to know the sex of the baby—and the following weekend she’d found a classic wallpaper border to go with the light-blue walls she could already imagine. On the wallpaper were scenes of a boy doing country things—fishing from a dock, walking alongside a scruffy but happy dog, dozing beneath a tree—and Gary had made jokes about it, even though he agreed to purchase it. She’d spent days painting, hanging wallpaper, and assembling the rest of the furniture. They got a crib and changing table and chest of drawers and a glider-rocker she could use when breastfeeding, and when Gary had given her money for baby clothes, she browsed in stores, wanting to buy everything she touched. The outfits were precious, the cutest clothes she’d ever seen, and she could imagine Tommie in all of them.
Those were happy times, some of the best. Gary wasn’t drinking or hitting her, and she was able to drive a car instead of having to walk everywhere. Never in a million years would she have expected her life to turn out the way it had, and she thought about all that had happened since the moment she woke Tommie in his bed and told him they were going on an adventure.
Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the walk or the passage of time. It was only when she reached the gravel road that she realized how weary she actually was. She felt as though she were running a marathon where the finish line kept receding into the distance, but she continued to put one foot in front of the other. On either side of her were crops, green and leafy in the late-spring sun; beyond the crops, there was a pasture dotted with barns, odd-looking outbuildings, and a massive greenhouse. Near one of the barns were a tractor and two pickup trucks, tiny from her vantage point, and as always there was a cluster of people in the fields, doing whatever it was farmworkers did. Eyeing the greenhouse, she thought about the marijuana she’d found in the house.
Couldn’t marijuana be grown in a greenhouse?
Sure, but at once she laughed at the absurdity of trying to link the two. For all she knew, the greenhouse wasn’t even being used, but the idea was sticky enough to make her wonder again if there were more drugs in the house. She reminded herself to make sure there weren’t, sooner rather than later.
By then she could see the house in the distance, and she passed a second cluster of fieldworkers, this one closer to the road than the other group, maybe fifty yards away. They were bent over and examining the leafy plants, their faces shadowed by the hats they were wearing. From the corner of her eye, however, she noticed one of them slowly stand upright and stare in her direction; three others in his proximity did the same—like meerkats, or as though they’d been choreographed. Pulling her baseball cap lower, she picked up her pace, but she could almost feel their eyes lingering on her, as though they’d been waiting for her to return.
By the time she reached the porch, her heart was pounding, and Beverly tried to calm her nerves. She thought again that she was simply being paranoid—of course there were farmworkers at farms, and the sight of anyone walking in the middle of nowhere was an oddity. Besides, it wasn’t as though any of them had followed her to the house; when she glanced over her shoulder, they were back to work. She reminded herself that unless she learned to keep her thoughts from bouncing around like marbles tossed onto a granite table, she wasn’t going to be any good for either herself or Tommie.
Removing her wig and hat, she climbed the stairs to the bathroom. A shower would help clear her head, but as she started to strip off her sweat-soaked clothes, she suddenly remembered the marijuana. On impulse, after readjusting her shirt, she opened the mirror of the medicine cabinet. To her, it appeared to house a small pharmacy. There were all sorts of prescription medicines, most with names she didn’t recognize, but one she did: Ambien, for sleep. She vaguely remembered seeing the commercials. Assuming that all of them could be dangerous for Tommie, she tossed the bottles into a small wicker basket near the door. She searched the drawers and cabinet beneath the sink next, and then, grabbing the wicker basket, she carried it to the kitchen, where she dumped the contents into a plastic garbage bag.