Rain (Hudson 1)

"Right," he said and flashed a deep-eyed look at me before he turned to go back to his room.

Mama sighed again and then looked up at me.

"Don't make the same mistakes I did, Rain. You take

forever before you hook up with any man, hear?"

"Yes, Mama."

"And don't believe any promises," she warned. "Men are full of promises. They get some well of false hope filled for them the day they can begin to utter their first words, and they just dip into that well every time they set eyes on some unsuspecting female."

"Okay, Mama," I said smiling.

"Look how pretty you are, even woken up in the middle of the night. Come over here and give me some sugar so I can have a good dream tonight," she said and for a moment her eyes were young again, the eyes of the Mama I remembered singing to me, holding my hand, hugging me after bad dreams and kissing me good night.

I embraced her and she held onto me a little tighter than usual, stroking my hair. It put a flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach. I could feel her bones shudder beneath her thin skin. She had lost weight, as if trouble shrunk her by the minute.

"You children are my only hope now," she whispered. "Don't let me down, Rain."

"We won't, Mama."

"Beth's got a bad chip on her shoulder," she said in a tired voice when we parted. "I don't know why. I don't teach her to hate, but she thinks being black means being angry all the time. She needs to smile more. I was hoping you would teach her that, Rain. I was hoping some of your light would spill into her dark."

"She'll be okay, Mama," I promised.

"I know," Mama said, but she looked down when she said it so I wouldn't see her doubt and worry.

"You go to sleep now too, Mama. You know Ken. He'll go off for a while and then he'll come back."

"I know," she agreed. "Go to sleep, Rain. Go on," she urged.

I started out of the kitchen, looking back once to see her take a deep breath, rise and pick up the pieces of the dish she had thrown against the wall. She dropped them into the garbage can and stood there with her back to me, her five feet four-inch frame shriveling a little more. Mama's bank account of hope was dwindling. When do the good get their just rewards? I wondered, and I was positive Mama was wondering the same.

Beth was lying in her bed with her eyes wide open, smoldering like some house that had been set on fire.

"Mama's always going to like you more than me," she snapped at me as soon as I entered.

"No, she's not, Beni."

"No? Why can't you be like Rain?" she mimicked, wagging her head. "That's all I ever hear her say anymore."

She turned on her side so her back was to me.

"She's just worried for all of us, Beni. She doesn't mean you're not as good as I am," I said. I went to her and put my hand on her shoulder. "Don't be like this, Beni. Not now, not with all Ken's doing to her and to us," I pleaded.

She kept her back to me and spoke toward the wall.

"She always had more of you in her eyes than she had of me, Rain. It's like she..." She turned to face me. "...like she owes you more than she owes me or something."

"That's silly, Beth."

"No, it's not," she said stiffening. "There's something," she said nodding, convinced. "There's some reason?'

In the darkness her eyes picked up the small glow of the hallway light and glittered like new dimes.

"I know you know what I mean, Rain," she said in a softer voice. "I know you pretend there's no difference, but I know you know."

I started to shake my head.