Page 66 of What Happens in Paradise
On Sunday, Debbie helps Baker clean out his fridge and cabinets. Becky helps him figure out his tax returns. Wendy comes over with her daughters, Evelyn and Ondine, and they play with Floyd while Baker packs Floyd’s suitcase.
Ellen stops by with a goodbye present, a Rawlings alloy baseball bat for his new coaching duties.
“You won’t hit the ball if you don’t swing,” she says.
Baker books tickets for Wednesday. Debbie drives a minivan; she’s going to take Baker and Floyd to the airport after she drops Eleanor and Gale at school.
Monday after school, Baker and Floyd sit in the kitchen eating pizza because Baker doesn’t want to dirty any dishes. It’s ironic that they’re eating pizza, Anna’s favorite meal, when Anna is so far away.
Baker decides to reach out to Anna. He snaps a selfie of himself and Floyd and the sausage and pepperoni pie from Brother’s and texts it to her with the words Miss you, Mom!
She’ll probably respond to the text sometime next week, Baker thinks.
A few minutes later, Baker’s phone beeps and he checks it, expecting Anna’s response to be Okay or Sounds good or maybe even Miss you 2.
The text isn’t from Anna, however. It’s from Cash. Baker reads it, then drops his phone.
Rosie
July 31, 2006
I should have known that telling Mama and Huck had gone too easily.
Mama read my diary and found out about Russell and found out about Irene—and one night after work, I walked in the door expecting to find her asleep or, possibly, waiting up with a plate of chicken, beans, and rice—she was concerned that I wasn’t eating enough for two—but instead she was in the doorway, my diary in her hand, her eyes popping.
“A married man?” she said. “Have you no shame, Rosie?”
I grabbed the diary from her. “Have you no shame?” I asked. I went into my room and slammed the door behind me, my heart cowering in my chest because I had left it exposed and my mother had found it.
I’m going to set the diary on fire, I thought. And if the whole house goes up in smoke, so be it.
There was a light knock on the door and I figured it was Huck, there to try and fix what my mother had broken. But when I opened the door, it was Mama herself. I tried to slam the door in her face but she pushed back—for a second, our eyes locked, and it was a test of strength. I was younger but pregnant; Mama was Mama. Then she put a finger to her lips and I relented.
She entered, closed the door quietly behind her, sat on my bed, and patted the spot next to her.
I shook my head, lips closed in anger.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I had to be sure.”
What she meant was that she had to be sure the baby wasn’t Oscar’s.
I wasn’t naive. I knew there was talk across the island. Who is the father of Rosie Small’s baby? The odds were on Oscar. It was possible that Oscar had even claimed it was his, though we hadn’t been together since he’d been out of jail.
“My word isn’t good enough?” I said.
“It’s not,” Mama said. I gave her a look, which she brushed off. “You’re young, you’re afraid, you might have said anything to keep a roof over your head.”
“I don’t need this roof,” I said. “I have money saved.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “The ten thousand dollars. Where is it?”
She knew about the ten thousand dollars, of course. She knew everything now: Vie’s Beach, the sex, the room service, the wife and sons in Iowa, the name of the boat—Bluebeard.
“I kept a thousand in cash,” I said. “The other nine I deposited a little at a time along with my paychecks.”
She nodded like she approved. “Good.”
“I haven’t contacted him,” I said. “I have no intention of ever seeing him again, Mama. Like I said, it was a mistake.”
