Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells Read Free Book Online Page A

great assurance, Mama would hook her hand under your chin, lean your head back against her chest, and begin the rescue, using her mighty inverted scissors kick to propel the two of you through the water in short little bursts.
    Once back on the sandbar, Mama would lean over you with her ear to your chest. Then she’d feel around in your mouth with her fingers to make sure there was nothing blocking your throat. After that began the most dramatic component of the rescue: mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The Kiss of Life. Or as we called it, “mouth-to-mouth re-Vivification.” This was the crucial part of the rescue attempt, which could mean the difference between life and death. She’dclamp your nostrils together, put one hand on your chest, and begin to breathe into you. She’d breathe, then pump your chest with her palm, then breathe again. Then, when she was satisfied, Mama would stand up, her hands on her hips, her hair slicked back like a mermaid-lifeguard, and announce with a proud smile, “You were almost a goner, Dahlin, but now I think you’ll make it!”
    Occasionally the staged rescue would scare one of the little kids, who did not understand that it was pretend. So Mama had gotten in the habit of inviting each Petite Ya-Ya to lean over you, the rescued one, to feel the breath coming out of your nostrils. After the last kid had been reassured, everyone would start clapping. Then Mama would jump on one foot, shake the water out of her ears, and say, “Knew I hadn’t lost my touch.”
    For days after Mama saved you from a watery death, you would recall over and over again the thrill of such a close call. You would remember how confidently she pulled you through the water, and you would recollect the taste of her mouth and the smell of her breath. For days you felt unsafe venturing near the deep end, because the “near-drowning” was so vivid. So Vivi vivid. You would begin to fear the alligators even when you were in the safe areas. You would wonder, What would happen if you were drowning and Mama wasn’t around to dive in and save you? Say she simply went away . Like the time when you were little, getting over bronchitis, and it wouldn’t stop raining. That time you went to the window again and again and she was not there. You were bad and she hit you, then just went away.
    Mama wasn’t the only strong swimmer. Caro had been a lifeguard too, and had even more stamina when it came to certain strokes. With her smart red-highlighted brown page boy and her olive skin, Caro grew up swimming in the Gulf, and she could swim for hours. Her dips in the creek wereminuscule adventures compared to her ocean swims. Mama always said, “Caro is indisputably the strongest lady endurance swimmer I have ever known or ever will know.”
    Caro brought out Mama’s intrepidness. She was close to five feet nine, which was terribly tall for a woman in an era that worshipped petiteness. She had long legs and her body was perfectly built for Hattie Carnegie suits, which she still wore in my childhood, even though she’d bought them years before.
    With her flat chest and square shoulders, she looked terrific in clothes, although of all the Ya-Yas she cared the least for them. She had one black strapless evening gown with a slit up the back, which showed her calves when she danced. She wore that dress to every Ya-Ya party I remember from my childhood. She wore the gown with a feather boa, which my sister, Lulu, and I followed around like it was alive. For Mama’s birthday one year, Caro teamed a pair of cowboy boots and a cowboy hat with the gown, looking like a cross between Marlene Dietrich and Annie Oakley.
    Caro is my godmother, and I have always been told the story of how, at the end of my Baptism, Caro, out of the blue, whistled “When You Wish Upon a Star.” She called everyone “Pal.” “Hey, Pal,” she’d say. “What’s cookin?” Some people might think of New York City taxi drivers calling folks “Pal” or