The Crib Under My Mother’s Window

Daddy said it with his fork still in his hand, halfway between the ham and his mouth, like it was a small thing he had almost forgotten to mention.

“Your mama and I talked it over, Hope. We’ve got some news, and we’ve got a plan, and you’re part of the plan.”

There were eight of us around that table on Easter Sunday, and it was the kind of table you have to turn sideways to get past. Nobody turned sideways. Nobody moved at all.

Mama put her hand flat on her stomach and smiled the smile she uses when she is not sure how a thing is going to land. “Baby’s due in October,” she said. “Number six.”

Davey squealed so loud the dog got up off the porch. Nell clapped.

Lettie looked at me first, which I remember, because Lettie is twelve and she has started watching me to see how she ought to feel about things.

Silas, who is seventeen, set his tea glass down very carefully and did not say anything. He is Daddy’s sister’s boy, but he came to us at four with his own pillow, and he has been ours ever since.

Abel, who is fourteen, said, “Well, where’s it going to sleep?” and Mama laughed and said, “We’ll figure that out.”

Then Daddy finished the bite he had been holding up, chewed it, and said the rest.

“The van’s done, you all know that. Transmission’s gone, and the man at the shop says it’s not worth putting fifteen hundred dollars into a van with two hundred thousand miles on it.”

He looked down the table at me. “And the mill’s cut me to four days since February. So here’s the plan. Your school money will get us a van that seats everybody, baby included. You can start school next year.”

I want to tell this honestly, so I will say that the first thing I felt was not anger.

It was the floor tipping, the way it does when you miss a step in the dark.

Mama reached across the deviled eggs and patted my hand. “The oldest always helps, Hopie,” she said softly. “You know that. Granny helped her mama, and I helped mine. That’s how families like ours get by.”

I did know it. That was the trouble. I had known it my whole life, and I had never once said no to it, and both of them knew that about me as well as they knew my middle name.

I should tell you about the money, so you understand what it was.

I had been waiting tables for four years at a catfish place out on Highway 65, north of Harrison.

Hushpuppies, coleslaw, sweet tea by the gallon, and a Friday night crowd that would line up out the door after a ballgame.

I worked doubles on Fridays and Saturdays and the Sunday lunch rush after church let out.

I worked Christmas Eve and the Fourth of July, because those were the days people tipped like they meant it.

I kept my tips in a coffee can on the top shelf of the closet I shared with Lettie and Nell.