Nancy Bartholomew - Your Cheatin Heart

"Uncle Jimmy, Mama."

"Uncle Jimmy?"

Sheila nodded slowly, stretched her hand out, and let it rest on my leg. "Mama, I think I got it all figured out. That's why he left that money to you and me, 'cause I'm his love child and Daddy's not my daddy." Sheila was about to bust a gut crying. "He must've forced you, Mama. That's why you killed him, huh?"

That's when Sheila really let go. Her pitiful sobbing filled the car. My poor, sweet, baby girl had been laboring all this time under the delusion that I had killed her favorite uncle. What in the world would make her think a thing like that?

I got out of the car, walked around to the driver's side, and opened the door.

"Scootch across, honey," I said. "I'll drive us home."

Sheila was coughing and blowing and crying up a storm that I knew would eventually make her sick if I couldn't calm her down. The last time I remembered heir crying like this, Vernell had packed his bags and walked out the door for the last time. There had been nothing I could say to stop the hurt that time. This was different. Sheila was confused and wrong, and as soon as I got her home, I was going to explain the entire situation.

I drove around the block slowly, in part because I didn't know where Weathers really was and in part because I was still seeing double. I managed to maneuver the Beetle into the backyard and drag my sobbing daughter up the stairs and into my bedroom. We both collapsed onto my bed and I set about the task of correcting my daughter's vision of her mother as a murderer.

I propped myself up on one elbow, reached across to the bedside table, grabbed a box of tissues, and shoved it into Sheila's hands.

"Sheila, I did not murder your Uncle Jimmy, let's just start with that and go on from there. I can assure you that you are your father's child." Sheila was sniveling, but she was not flat-out sobbing anymore. I had her attention.

"Your Uncle Jimmy always carried on like he loved me, but honey, he was really just putting on. Jimmy just loved everything his brother had." Sheila blew her nose loudly. "Over the years, me and Jimmy developed a friendship, a good friendship, but that was all."

I was sitting up on the bed now and so was Sheila. She'd pulled herself up, Indian-style, and was eyeing me through puffy, red eyes. I don't think she believed me, not totally. What was with her?

"All right," I sighed, "your turn. What made you think I killed Uncle Jimmy?"

Sheila didn't say a word. She adopted that sullen, teenaged-girl scowl that I was so familiar with, and stared down at her lap.

"Sheila, you're holding onto something," I said. "It's been eating at you ever since Jimmy died. You might as well tell me, because it's going to come out some way or another."

Sheila thought for a moment and then exploded. "Of course it's going to come out, Mama! That's what I'm afraid of! If the police find out, they'll arrest you!"

"Honey, the rate we're going, they're gonna arrest me anyway. You'd best tell me, so I can deal with whatever it is."

Sheila looked terrified and I was starting to worry. At least I had the advantage of knowing for certain I hadn't killed my brother-in-law.

Sheila tossed her hair back out of her eyes and stared at me. She was ready to talk and I could tell from the set of her obstinate chin that I wasn't going to like what I heard.

"Nobody likes Keith. Not you. Not Daddy. Not even Jolene. But that don't matter none, because what we have is the real thing." She glared at me defiantly, but I didn't say a thing. It was her opening policy statement. Every teenager had one. It was best just to let it ride.

" We could never be alone together. Not at his place and certainly not at Daddy's. Jolene was always there, always watching me. So we didn't have anywhere to go."

It was beginning to suddenly fall into place. Her ring on the bathroom sink. Keith looking around the house, pretending he was looking for intruders.

"So you came here when I was gone. You still had your key. It was close to his house. It was perfect." I was angry, but more than that, I was sad. This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out.

"We're going to be married, Mama. It's just a matter of time. It's not like we weren't serious, or like I didn't love him. Anyway," she said, rushing on, "that's not what this is about. Not really." What in the world else could it be about? Sheila's face had grown very pale again and she was staring down at the tissue in her lap, tearing it into little shreds.

"I heard Uncle Jimmy die," she whispered. "That's how come I knew it was you."

I grabbed her hands and shook her. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I got here before Keith that day and I was in my room when I heard the front door. I figured it was Keith, on account of how he knew to where to hit the door to make it open. Anyway, I just stayed where I was. It was fixing to get dark and I was lighting some candles in my room." Her voice trailed off and I could just envision my little girl preparing her boudoir for her skin-headed lover. "It was going to be our first time, you know, to go all the way."

"What happened?"

"When Keith didn't come right in, I started to walk out of my room. That's when I heard Uncle Jimmy's voice. I flipped out and started blowing out the candles. I didn't want him to find me there. He would've told you and you would've killed…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Anyway. Uncle Jimmy said, 'What are you doing here? I thought you'd be gone by now.' And then I heard a gunshot and Jimmy cried out." She stared up at me, her eyes big, dark pools of terror as she remembered.

"I hid under my bed for I don't know how long. After the gunshot, I heard the front door close, but I didn't know for sure if I was alone or what. I was scared, Mama. Scared of you!"

"Oh, sweetie," I cried.

"Then I heard Keith. I heard him whack on the front door and come in. He said something like 'Oh my God!' And I knew then that Jimmy was shot. I ran out of my room and there Keith was, bending over Jimmy, this really bizarre look on his face. He said, 'He's dead, Sheila. What's going on?'" Sheila looked at me for a second, then back down at her hands. "He thought maybe I did it, but I told him no. He just looked at me and he knew. He said 'Your mama did this, huh?' So, see, even Keith guessed."

I was breathing through my mouth, trying to stay calm and focused. My thoughts were racing across my brain like thunderclouds, too fast to catch.

"Why didn't you call the police?" I asked.

Sheila gave me a look. "Mama! The cops would've thought one of us did it!" Sheila looked back at her hands, holding them out a little ways from her lap and staring at them. "I touched him, Mama. I had to make sure he was dead, even though Keith told me he was. I had blood on my hands, and some got on my jeans."

I reached over and took her hands in mine. They were freezing. "It's all right now, honey. Just keep telling me what happened."

"Keith told me to go on home. He said we should both get out and not tell anybody anything." Tears were dripping down off the end of Sheila's chin. "So, I did. It was dark, and I was so paranoid, I thought everyone was after me, that everybody knew what was going on. I kept ducking behind trees and stuff on my way to my car, because I thought every car that passed me was the cops, or you or Daddy or Jolene."

"Oh, honey, you must've been terrified!" My almost seventeen-year-old daughter, struggling with her uncle's murder, all alone.

"I got home and, for once, no one was there. I got to my room and got cleaned up before I heard Daddy pull in. He was drinking and looking for Jolene to fix him dinner. He didn't even notice anything was wrong." Just like the Vernell of late, oblivious to everything, even his own daughter. "Jolene came in an hour later, so loaded down with shopping bags she couldn't walk. She and Daddy got into it over her not having dinner on the table and it being almost eight-thirty." Sheila was clearly reliving that night, her face wrinkled with disgust. "She called him a drunk and he called her a slut. I just left. They never even knew I'd been in the room."