Bombshells, page 20
I feel her standing beside me for a few seconds before she flops down on the grass. “Sure is quiet in your house.” She kicks off her loafers and wiggles her sock-covered toes. “Where’s Aunt Lola?”
And just like that my chest feels like there’s a brick on it. Sitting up, I take a deep breath. “She left this morning. Real early.”
Real early. I’d heard the front door click and checked my clock. Two o’clock. The middle of the night. I knew she was sneaking off like a… I can’t even think of a bad enough word.
Part of me wants to believe that what I saw didn’t mean anything. That it was just human nature, like Daddy tried to explain. But I can’t buy it. I can’t convince myself that people can behave like that and not understand how it hurts other people.
And no one, absolutely no one, can make be believe that a kiss is about the same as a handshake.
No, a kiss is more than that.
Lips are different from hands, and kisses on the lips aren’t the same as pecks on the cheek. Daddy kisses Birdie and me on the cheek. Mama kisses us on the cheek. But Mama and Daddy kiss each other on the lips, on the neck, on the hand and on the cheek. I understand what I saw Daddy and Aunt Lola doing.
It was wrong.
Aunt Lola proved it by sneaking away in the middle of the night. Daddy proved it by not looking me in the eye this morning.
I yank up a handful of grass, then let it slide through my fingers like green rain. Choosing a fat blade, I hold it between my thumbs and blow. Nothing happens, except suddenly my chest feels lighter.
“You’re still trying to learn how to do that?” Steph carefully places a blade of grass between her thumbs and blows. The shrill blatting sound sets the hair on my arms standing on end.
Slowing shredding the grass, Steph says, “Why did she leave so early? She usually stays until dinner time.”
My stomach rolls and I prepare to tell the same lie Daddy has been telling. Only Birdie and Mama think it’s the truth. “Lola needed to get home. She has a union meeting tonight that she forgot about.”
Lying makes me feel heavy again. I’m disgusted with Aunt Lola, but truthfully, that isn’t a completely new emotion. My feelings for her usually teeter between love and something else.
My disappointment with Daddy seems to be slowly crushing the life out of me.
I need to think about something else or I’ll end up telling Steph what happened. And I can’t do that. “Are you excited about becoming an auntie?” I say. I don’t warn her not to be like Lola.
Steph exhales sharply through her lips, making them buzz. “I guess so.”
“Cherie looked really pretty when she came to visit us the other day.”
“Yeah, I guess she’s okay. My mom acts like Cherie died or something. Mom keeps moaning about how Cherie’s life is ruined. I don’t get it.”
“Do you think Cherie’s happy?”
Steph shrugs. “Who knows? I went over to their apartment. It’s really just a couple of rooms in an old house, but Cherie acted so proud.”
“It must be pretty neat to have your own home.”
Steph picks up a pine needle and begins to braid the three pieces together. “I think Clint blames Cherie for getting pregnant. He never smiles. While I was there, he didn’t even tease me. He just got his beer out of the fridge and went downstairs to sit on the hood of his car to smoke. He never sat on the hood of his car before.”
“How can it be Cherie’s fault? I specifically remember that part of The Talk where it takes two, a man and a woman, to make a baby.”
Steph looks up and said, “Haven’t you figured out that facts and reality are two different things?”
The truth of her words hits me like a rock between the eyes. I fall back on the grass and stare up at the clouds milling around in the bright blue sky. That’s a lot like what Daddy said last night. I wonder if Clint feels like Cherie made him do something he didn’t want to do? I’m so confused. All I really know is that none of this can be love. Not real love.
I think sometimes love seems like the prism we used in science class. In the same way the prism takes ordinary sunlight and throws out reflections of every color imaginable, from indigo to canary yellow, love seems to take ordinary life and cast it in different colors, shades bright and dark, depending on who is on the other side of the glass.
Steph rolls onto her stomach, props her chin in her hands, and stares through the chain link fence to the back of Marvin’s house. We can hear his guitar. He’s practicing again.
“What’s new with Marvin?” I ask.
“Not much.”
I roll over, too. “You never finished telling me about the kiss. What was it like?”
She shifts her gaze to me. “It was cool. Can you believe he even slipped his tongue in my mouth? That’s called Frenching.”
“Really?” I tried to imagine how that would feel.
Yucky.
Robert hadn’t put his tongue in my mouth. But the way his kiss had made me feel—soft, and like I wanted more of something—makes me think that maybe I would like it. Only if it was Robert doing it. I can’t imagine letting any other boy put his tongue in my mouth.
Was that what Daddy and Lola were doing? I shudder and try not to see it again in my head.
“Yep. Okay, now I’ve had my kiss. What about you? Just because Cherie killed our plans for the Sadie Hawkins Dance doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Who are you thinking about for your first kiss?”
For Stephanie, kissing is like reaching President Kennedy’s goal for the standard number of pull-ups or something. Kissing Robert was a lot more than that for me. It was all the best things about being grown-up. He made me feel special and beautiful.
Suddenly it’s important for me to know that Steph has some feelings for Marvin. Because if she doesn’t really like Marvin, then she’s kind of like the women Daddy talked about: the ones who ask for it. Like maybe Cherie did? Would Steph turn out to be an aunt like Lola and give her niece red satin underwear? “Do you really like Marvin?”
“Sure. He’s a good guy.”
“I mean for a boyfriend.”
“No! Hellfire, Mellie. He’s, well, you know.” Steph pauses and looks back toward Marvin’s house. “He kind of scares me. He makes me think about stuff I don’t want to think about. He makes me try to understand things. It’s hard. It’s like I’m small, and he’s pulling and tugging to make me stretch.”
It sure sounds like she has some feelings for him. I just can’t tell what they are. “That’s not all bad, is it?”
“I guess not.” Steph stands up and brushes the back of her slacks. “I think I’ll go over and see him. Want to come?” She sticks her feet into her loafers. “Maybe he has a friend over, and we can take care of your kissing too.”
I stand up, too. Maybe I’ll just make an excuse that I have to go help Mama. Only, I don’t want to go back into the house. Guess I’ll go to Marvin’s with her. But I’m not kissing anybody.
NORAH
I’m taking the sheets off the bed in the middle bedroom when I hear Mellie come home. “I’m glad you’re back,” I call. Birdie flaps the top sheet like it’s a parachute, then she dives beneath it. “You’re supposed to be helping me, Birdie. Get out from under there.”
Mellie stands silently in the doorway. I say, “You’ll never guess who called this afternoon.”
“Who?” She comes in and reaches across the foot of the bed to lift the last tucked corner, then tosses the sheet to Birdie at the head of the bed.
Birdie covers herself and walks around with her arms sticking out like a ghost. “These smell like Aunt Lola,” she says. “Woooo. Wooooo. I’m the ghost of Aunt Lola. I only appear at night.”
Again, I wonder what Clay said to make Lola mad enough to leave like that. I don’t think Lola was still mad about my reaction to the underwear. We had a good day together on Saturday. I was so groggy when I took DC from Melanie last night, I can’t remember what they were talking about. But, it seems like there was tension in the air.
I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Lola had to get back for the union meeting like her note said. It’s still strange that she drove off in the middle of the night.
Mellie unfolds a fresh sheet over the mattress. “Who called? Aunt Lola?”
“No. She’s probably at her meeting. I’ll give her a call tonight, I guess.” I tuck the upper corners of the fresh sheet under the mattress while Mellie tucks the bottom. “Myra Mayfield called. You remember, our neighbors who got stationed in Cuba? They’re coming to stay with us for a little while.”
“You’re kidding.” Mellie stands at the foot of the bed with a look of disbelief on her face.
“No. Mr. Mayfield wants them out of Guantanamo, and they need a place to stay until they can get housing on the base. They’ll be here sometime Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“That sounds really bad. Mr. Mayfield doesn’t think they’re safe anymore?”
“Don’t worry, sugar. I’m sure Joe is just being careful. But it is sad that Kevin and Brooke have to leave their home and their school.”
“Where’s everybody going to sleep?”
“We’ll put Brooke and Myra in here on the fold-out sofa and Kevin will have to camp out on the couch in the living room. It’s just for a few days.”
I sit down on the freshly made sofa bed, and sigh. I wish I could take a nap, but I’ve still got a lot to do. I’m still not back to normal. Sometimes, I swear I’m walking around in my sleep. It didn’t seem to take this long to recover after Birdie was born. I guess six years make a big difference.
I hope the Mayfields will only be here for a few days, but from what I’ve seen, the Navy does things in its own sweet time. If a lot of families are evacuating—that’s the word Myra used, but I don’t want to scare the girls—there may not be much base housing available. I couldn’t say no to Myra. She was my best friend before she moved away. Forcing a smile, I say, “Won’t it be nice to see Kevin and Brooke again?”
Mellie shrugs and gathers up the dirty sheets. “What does Daddy think about this?” She sounds so much older than she did just a few days ago.
I smooth the coverlet on each side of me. Mellie doesn’t need to know that Clay and I fired off a few angry words at each other after Myra’s phone call. That’s a few more angry words on top of arguing about Lola. He still won’t tell me what set her off like that.
I take a deep breath and will myself to calm down. If I can’t stay relaxed, my milk supply will be gone in just a few days. Maybe, that would be for the best. DC does well on a little formula every day, so he should adjust to all formula easily. Maybe I’ll get some of my energy back if I quit nursing. Besides, bottles would be more modest with so many more people in the house, and Clay and Mellie could help out more.
I look up to see that Mellie is still waiting for my answer. I won’t lie to her and tell her that Clay’s approves. “It’s okay. Everything will be fine.”
She leaves with the dirty sheets bundled in her arms. Birdie struggles to put a fresh pillowcase on. I grab the other pillow and slide the case on.
I’d much rather see Birdie struggle with a pillowcase, than an unhappy husband. Some things never get easier.
I hear Melanie ask Clay what he thinks about this change in plans. I move to the hallway door to hear his reply. “Your mother says she can handle it.”
I don’t know why he’s being this way. Myra would do the same thing for me, I’m sure.
Only Birdie has anything to say at dinner. Afterwards, Clay settles into his chair with the newspaper and watches the news on TV while I’m washing the dishes with Melanie.
The doorbell rings. Birdie runs from the kitchen. “I’ll get it. I’ll get it.” She opens to the door to reveal Rachel Winston.
Mrs. Winston steps across the threshold with her miniature poodle squirming in her arms. “Hello, Norah. Clay. Hi, girls.”
“Come in and have a seat, Rachel.” Clay stands up and tosses the newspaper onto the floor.
Mrs. Winston sits on the edge of the sofa and places her Fifi on her lap. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sure you’re busy with the new baby.”
“No,” I lie. “I was just finishing up the dishes.”
DC begins to cry. He’ll be ready to eat soon, and then he’ll probably be awake for a while.
Clay lifts him out of the bassinet. “I’ll change his diaper.”
“Thanks, honey.” I turn my attention to Rachel. “How are you?”
“Okay, I guess. Bob should be home in a day or so. You know he’s been on special duty for a week now.”
“I know. You must miss him.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Melanie frown, not so much that anyone but I would notice, but I can’t put up with her being disrespectful to adults. I lift my brow at her, and she looks down at her hands.
“Bob wants me to go visit my mother in New York until this whole Castro thing blows over. He’s worried about me being so near the bases here in case something happens.”
I hear Melanie suck in a panicked breath and look at her. She’s pale. I know how worried she is about the Cuban situation, and she’s been exposed to a lot of bad news tonight: the Mayfields evacuating, and now Rachel Winston leaving Jacksonville for safety. It seems like an awful lot. Even I’m feeling edgy. “Mellie, why don’t you go see what Birdie’s up to?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rachel says, “I hope I didn’t upset her. I know Melanie is the sensitive sort.”
When Melanie is out of the room, I say, “Things must be pretty serious if Bob wants you to go to New York. Does that mean he knows something we ordinary civilians don’t?”
Rachel lifts her slim shoulders and rubs her hand down the poodle’s back. “He won’t say much about it, really. I’m just glad to go see my mother.”
Come to think of it, Stephanie’s father has to report to his ship tomorrow. I wonder how many families are preparing to tell husbands and fathers good-bye tomorrow morning.
“I was wondering if Melanie would get our mail for a few days. I’m leaving first thing in the morning, and Bob won’t be back until Thursday.” Rachel pulls a five-dollar bill and a key out of her pocket. “I’ll pay her, of course.”
“Rachel, put that away. Of course, Mellie will get your mail for you. We’re neighbors. You don’t need to pay her.”
Melanie comes back to the living room with Birdie following closely behind her. Birdie kneels in front of Rachel so she can pet her dog. The dog snarls and Birdie yanks her hand back.
“I was just telling Mrs. Winston you’d be happy to collect their mail while she’s gone.”
“Yes, ma’am, I heard.”
“Thanks. I’ll bring you back something nice from the city.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Winston.” Mellie goes into the kitchen to put the key in the drawer where we keep stuff like that.
Rachel doesn’t get up to leave. I have to make more small talk, I guess. “You’re going to miss seeing the Mayfields. They’re coming to stay with us for a few days until they can get base housing.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised they are coming to Jacksonville,” Rachel says. “It seems like Joe would want them to go further north. Doesn’t Myra have family in Ohio?”
“I don’t think Myra wants to go back to the cold weather. She said something about the kids not having coats anymore, since they haven’t been back to Cincinnati in a while.”
“But still, they would be safer there.”
“Rachel, you know we’ll be perfectly fine here. Nothing is going to happen.” Can’t she see my two girls right here?
“Well, I wouldn’t—”
“Listen, I know you have a lot of packing to do, and I’ve got to get the girls ready for school tomorrow.” I’ve had enough of her doomsday. “We’ll take care of the mail for you.”
Rachel rises. “I should be going. Tell Myra I said hello, okay?”
“I will. Have a safe trip.”
Finally, she’s gone.
Clay enters the living room and glances from me to the girls with a worried look on his face. “What’s going on?”
I reach out for DC and walk to the couch. “Nothing really. Girls, will you please finish the dishes?”
Finally, I can close my eyes and have a moment of peace. After I put DC to bed, I’m going to call Lola and find out why she left us like she did. Somehow, I’m sure Clay did something to upset her.
Atlanta, Georgia
LOLA
It’s eight o’clock. I pour myself another drink. Of course, I’m already so drunk I can barely keep my eyes open. Too bad the liquor won’t slow down my thoughts. I haven’t really slept since I left Norah’s, only that nap in the car.
I’m still raw from the cop’s picnic.
I throw back the rest of my drink, fill up the glass again and reach for the bottle of Seconal. I take one, washing it down with the booze. Instead of replacing the cap, I pour out the pills on the counter.
The capsules look like red jewels on the white countertop. I push them around with my finger. Are there enough?
They really are pretty: oblong and shiny red, like red patent leather. One, two, three, four, five… I’ve only got twenty left and can’t refill my prescription for another three weeks.
How many did Marilyn Monroe take?
I can’t remember. I could take the twenty pills, open my last bottle of vodka and get in the bathtub. Nice hot water. I’d be so relaxed. Maybe I’d fall asleep. Slide down and down and down.
I line the pills up: four rows with five pills in each row.
The water would come up over my face. Would I wake up when my nose filled? Would I come splashing out of the water, gasping for air? That would be a waste of these red beauties and a good bottle of liquor.
I open the drawer right in front of me and take out a butcher knife. It’s too big. It looks frightening. If it looks scary just resting on the counter, how will I be able to make myself drag it across my wrist?
The paring knife looks more manageable. I lay it on the counter and put the butcher knife away. I move the twenty red capsules to a straight line beside the small knife, then I push the knife into the middle of the line, making a scraggly arrow.
