The next morning, after a sleepless night, running out of formula, walking the floors, singing until she got hoarse, she called the police. Two officers came fifteen minutes later. They asked her questions about Lonnie and she told them the little bit she knew about BB’s mother. One officer carried his stuff. The other carried BB. Sheila waved at him from her door.
That afternoon as she left the apartment to walk over to Brenda’s place, picturing her friend’s reaction when she heard about the abandoned baby and the hard night caring for him, Lonnie came storming up the steps screeching, “What have you done with my little boy?”
Lois puffed along behind her, saying, “God damn it, this is the God damndest thing.”
“You never asked to leave him with me. I waited until this morning, and when you didn’t come back to get him, I didn’t know what to do.”
“This is all your fault!” Lonnie turned to Lois. “I told you we shouldn’t get in that guy’s car. I’m going to the station. I better be able to bring him home or, I’ll … I’ll, I don’t know, maybe I’ll kill you.” She rushed back down the stairs, tripping on the last one, catching herself, and racing for the street, mumbling that her husband would really kill her if he found out.
“Why’d you do that? Didn’t you know we’d be back?” Lois raised her fists for emphasis.
“How was I supposed to know?”
“Lonnie’s sitter fell through and we wanted to go over to San Pedro and you liked the little guy. We figured you’d help us out.”
“Well you figured wrong. Why didn’t you come back last night?”
“Drunk driving. We got hauled in,” Lois said over a shoulder as she headed for her own apartment.
She moved shortly after this, but beforehand Sheila never spoke to her again, figuring that stuff like this was why most of the tenants were so aloof around navy wives.
Sometimes she wondered what happened to BB. And the incident caused her to conclude that at least her own mother hadn’t been this bad. At least she’d never dumped her kids with some stranger while she went out and drank and took off with different guys. Lily did all her drinking at home.
CHAPTER 8
A Time to Remember
SHEILA HAD TWO DIFFERENT PLACES TO GO THAT CHRISTMAS OF 1965.
Jane said, “We’d love to have you stay with us. We can bake cookies, sing some carols … I’ll go with you to midnight mass.”
Brenda said, “I was really counting on you being here with us. It’s going to be awfully lonesome with just me and the boys.”
Sheila chose to go to the Klevens.
Walking up the brick pavers that led to Jane’s bungalow on Friday morning, Sheila soaked in the festive, multicolored lights and the lavishly decorated tree in the bay window. Ringing the doorbell, she expected Jane to bustle out, smelling of sweet treats and enveloping her in a big, soft hug.
Instead Bradley opened the door, his glasses smudged and his lank, dark hair hanging over his forehead. “What’s up?”
“I think your mom’s expecting me.” Sheila shifted the guitar Bradley had lent her from one arm to the other.
“They’re at the drugstore. Getting medicine for Mary Beth’s stomachache.” He tossed his head so that his hair flipped out of his eyes. “Ate too many Russian tea cakes.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sorry. Yeah. Christmas Eve—not really my thing. Want to play some music while you wait?”
It was their first time alone. Usually Jane and Mary Beth sang or at least hummed in the background. Sheila felt awkward. How could anyone not be into Christmas with the mood and smells in this house?
Bradley retrieved his guitar from a corner next to his mother’s console piano.
Sheila sat down on a dining room chair, and Bradley slouched onto the sofa.
After strumming for a couple of minutes, satisfying himself that his guitar was in tune, he said, “Why don’t you move over here? I have some chords I want to show you.”
Sheila moved to the sofa.
He started out with a D chord, then a G and an A7 and said, “This song is called ‘Eve of Destruction.’”
A really odd choice, Sheila thought. Can’t we forget about war for a couple of days?
Bradley went back to strumming, and she joined in.
After about five minutes, he said, “You’ve got it. Let’s try a few measures.”
Before long they were playing and singing, slowly, but accurately. The singing came more easily to Sheila. But her mind felt pulled in two opposing directions—like two stretched rubber bands. Bradley’s words brought one set of images. The eastern world, it is exploding/Violence flarin’, bullets loadin’, You’re old enough to kill, but not for votin’. And, remembered words from a favorite song of Jim’s evoked a completely different picture.
Kiss me good-bye and write me while I’m gone/Good-bye my sweetheart. Hello Vietnam … A ship is waiting for us at the dock/America has trouble to be stopped.
She shook her head and tried to focus.
After about the tenth try on the anti-war song, Bradley stopped. “That’s enough. We’ll try it later. Should be better next time.
“Are we going to play something else?” Something festive?
Bradley didn’t say anything, merely set his guitar aside. “I want to talk to you.”
“What about?” She moved to the far edge of the sofa.
“The demonstrations … What do you think about Vietnam … the whole fighting thing?”
“I guess I don’t have an opinion. How can I feel any way but supportive with my husband on a ship delivering supplies to soldiers?”
“You’re for it?”
“No! I’m not for it. The more I read about it, the more I feel it’s insane.” Her voice caught. “There’s not much I can do about it.”
“Next weekend there’s going to be a rally at the civic center. Guys like me are burning their draft cards. I’m going to play some music. Want to come along?”
Sheila hesitated. Will demonstrations like this bring him home sooner? “Sure. I’ll go with you. Anything to help end this …”
“Sheila! You got here already. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Jane had come in the living room. She glanced at the guitars. “You played some Christmas music, huh?”
Bradley shook his head, “Right,” and walked down the hall to his bedroom.
Mary Beth followed behind her mother, looking pale, carrying a bag with her drugstore purchases. “I have the flu.”
Despite Bradley’s attitude and Mary Beth’s touchy stomach, the rest of the weekend made for an almost perfect Christmas. Because of Jane’s efforts, it didn’t matter so much that Jim was half a world away.
When she was showing Sheila all the decorations, Jane made comments like, “This antique crèche belonged to my grandmother.” She picked up a lamb.
Sheila wondered how her own grandmother was doing. Would the family be with her in Chambers? Or would they bring her to Minneapolis?
“Would you mind if I call my grandmother sometime today?”
“Of course you can.”
They baked together all afternoon, while Mary Beth napped in her room and Bradley worked on another anti-war article in his room.
At 2:00 p.m., 4:00 p.m. Minnesota time, Sheila went to the guest room and dialed her grandmother’s number. No one answered. She must be in Minneapolis. Sheila decided to try there the next morning.
That night, they had a delicious roast beef dinner with Yorkshire pudding. Jane said, “Turkey’s for tomorrow.”
She played the piano, and they sang carols. This time, Bradley and Mary Beth joined in. Both of them seemed to have picked up a bit of Holiday glow.
At 9:30, after “O Come All Ye Faithful,” Jane said, “We better leave for church, in order to get a seat.”
The other two opted to s
tay home.
Bradley said, “I’m not into church.”
He does have something in common with Jim.
Mary Beth said, “I’m going to bed early. Feeling pretty good now. I’ll be fine for tomorrow.”
On the way to St. Anthony’s, Jane, a non-Catholic, said, “I love all the ritual and ceremony. This’ll be a special Christmas Eve for me.”
Before they went into the sanctuary, Sheila said, “I want to light a candle for Jim.
Jane stood quietly off to the side as Sheila prayed for his safe return at the shrine to the Blessed Mother.
When she rejoined Jane, Sheila noticed a funny look on her face, almost child-like. “Could I light one?”
“Absolutely,” Sheila assured her.
“For my children—particularly Mary Beth. Bradley seems so certain … never questions a thing. Mary Beth is the opposite, trying to figure out where she belongs, what she thinks.”
Sheila watched Jane light the candle, sending an extra prayer for her friend’s concerns. Then she said, “I want to light another one.” For the end of this war.
Sheila rubbed shoulders with Jane during the service and gave her an appreciative hug at The Peace. She missed singing her usual solo of “O Holy Night,” something she’d done at St. Cecilia’s in Minneapolis more years than she could recall, but the wistfulness only lasted a minute or two.
The next morning Jane prepared a delicious brunch—omelets with fruit salad and homemade cinnamon rolls. After eating, Sheila went into the guest room and tried to call her grandmother again. No answer. She tried calling her parents’ house. No answer.
When she came out, Jane said, “Couldn’t reach them?”
“No one seems to be home.” Sheila shrugged.
As they sat around the tree with recorded carols playing in the background, and the smell of roasting turkey filling the air, she tried not to worry. She was surprised and happy about the gift the Klevens gave her—a guitar, so she wouldn’t have to use Bradley’s extra.
Jane loved the silver locket with two spaces for pictures of her kids that Sheila gave her. Mary Beth, who’d recently pierced her ears, took out her studs and put in the small gold hoops Sheila had chosen for her. And Bradley seemed happy with the Bob Dylan album—Bringing It All Back Home.
About 8:00 p.m., after pumpkin pie and whipped cream, Jane said, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us another night?”
“I’d like to, but I also have some things to do tomorrow and Monday.” Mostly, Sheila wanted to be alone with her new guitar, and to write Jim a long letter. She was getting used to so much time by herself.
Jane didn’t argue. Instead, she retrieved her keys from a hook on the kitchen wall.
“I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this time with your family,” Sheila said before getting out of the Oldsmobile sedan.
“You are part of my family … I always wanted more children.”
“Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me.” Sheila couldn’t express exactly how much it meant.
That night she called her parents from the telephone in her apartment. No one answered.
On Monday Sheila finally got hold of her father.
“Where have you been? How was your Christmas?” Her voice shook a bit.
“Emergency. Your grandmother fell. She had a stroke. We brought her here from Chambers.”
“Where is she now?”
“We found a home for her. She’ll never go back to her own.”
“This is so sad.”
“It’s reality. That was our Christmas.”
“I’m sorry to hear this.”
“You should have been around to help out.”
“I have to go, Dad. Greet Mom and Tommy, and give Grandma a hug for me.”
“Yeah … sure.”
The next Saturday, a week after Christmas Day, Sheila visited Brenda, carrying a Dillard’s shopping bag. Brenda gave her a warm hug.
Sheila was taken aback. “You must have really missed me.”
“We did—terribly.” Brenda sounded unusual—almost bereft.
The boys pushed in between them, saying, “Auntie Sheila! We have presents for you!”
To Sheila’s surprise, Brenda said, “Since we don’t have any relatives here, I told them you could be their adopted aunt.”
“I guess that makes me your adopted sister.”
“Or Ted’s. Take your pick.”
“I choose to be yours.”
“C’mon. See what we have for you,” Teddy hollered from next to the tree.
Brenda gave several books of church music to Sheila. The boys gave her a Johnny Cash and June Carter album—named just that.
Sheila reached in her bag and gave Brenda a box wrapped in glittery gold paper with a green bow. Inside was a soft, red sweater that brought out her dark features. Sometimes Ted said Brenda looked like Elizabeth Taylor. Sheila never saw it, but on this evening, sitting in front of the tree, its twinkling lights the only illumination, she understood what he meant. Brenda’s eyes looked dark purple, and her lashes looked thicker than ever before. With Teddy and Jerry cuddled on either side of her, she appeared to be the perfect, beautiful mother.
The boys cuddled their new plush stuffed bears that Sheila gave them, and left their old ones bunched in a corner crying out for repairs and cleaning. After a chicken and rice dinner, with cherry pie a la mode for dessert, Brenda copied the recipes on cards for Sheila. Before the boys went to bed, they all played with the Lincoln Log set that Sheila had also brought.
“I’d like to have a cabin like that on a lake back home,” Brenda said, upon completion of their first project.
“Me, too, only on a farm with lots of dogs and cats and horses,” Sheila said. “Maybe in Minnesota. Who knows … maybe in California. There are farms out here, right?”
“Sure. It’s not all sprawling city.” Brenda looked wistful. “I never had animals growing up.”
“Me either, but someday I’ll have lots of them.”
“Maybe you should move to Texas. Wide open spaces. We could visit you.” This was the first time Brenda had ever spoken of a future that the Gallaghers might be in.
Later when they were alone, Sheila and Brenda talked until well past midnight, continuing with memories.
“We constantly moved around since Daddy went from one revival to another,” Brenda said. “That’s why I never had any pets. Just stray dogs slinking on the outskirts of camps, waiting for handouts.”
Sheila, feeling almost as close to Brenda as she had been to Patty back in Minnesota, said, “We moved around all the time too.”
“Why?”
“My father was always searching for a way to make his fortune. I don’t remember much about most of the places we lived—Chambers, a little town in Minnesota, Idaho where he worked in a mine, Minneapolis … more apartments than I can recall.”
“Did it ever happen?”
“What?”
“Making his fortune?”
“No.” Sheila gave a resigned chuckle. “Eventually he settled down as an electrician. He bought us a house when I was a teenager. My parents still live there.”
“With your brother?”
“Tommy is with them, on and off, depending upon what kind of problems he’s having … there’s usually something.”
“I didn’t like being an only child, but at least I didn’t have that kind of concern.”
So then Sheila told Brenda about her ongoing Tommy worries and about her father’s need to control everyone in the family and about her mother’s drinking. “She always told me I was the strong one.”
After which Brenda repeated, “I’m really lucky not to have things like that to think about.” She hesitated, as if she might say more, but then pressed her lips together.
This attitude s
eemed a bit strange to Sheila, after all the things she’d told Brenda, but it was late and she was tired. For the time being, she forgot about it.
The last thing Brenda said, before she left Sheila on the sofa, was, “You are strong.”
For the weeks after that, before Brenda left, their friendship continued to grow. Still, Brenda never confided in Sheila about anything else to do with her own life.
Right around a very lonely Valentine’s Day, 1966, right around the time of Luna 9, an unmanned Russian space vehicle landing on the moon, and President Johnson’s conference with South Vietnamese Premier Nguyen Cao Ky in Honolulu, Ted Rolly received orders to report for shore duty in Yokosuka, Japan. He flew home from Saigon to get his family.
Sheila and Brenda said a teary good-bye the weekend before he arrived. “There won’t be any time for us to see you once Ted gets here. I’m all packed up, and we’re leaving right away to visit relatives in Texas before the big move,” Brenda said.
Ted did make a surprise visit to Sheila’s apartment, all by himself. Standing at the door, he hugged her for too long, the wool of his uniform irritating her cheek, reminding her of the last time Jim had hugged her like that.
“Your husband’s still got a long ways to go before he gets back.” Ted glanced at the double doors that hid the Murphy bed. “If you want me to stay for a while, I sure will.”
Sheila would have invited him in for a Coke, but the implication silenced her. She had put up with Ted’s uncomfortable remarks about her appearance and his pushiness about religion, but she couldn’t believe he would act like this.
“I’m fine. Go back to Brenda and the boys!” She shoved him away.
He shrugged and retreated, mumbling something about, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Sheila watched his rounded shoulders retreat to the old white Ford, and thought, Why, oh why couldn’t it have been Jim?
A short while after the Rollys arrived in Japan, she received a letter from Brenda, telling about the housing situation. It was required that they live on base. Further letters, full of complaints, came every couple of weeks. These made Sheila angry because she would have given anything to be with Jim, no matter where, no matter what the circumstances. In one, Brenda described how out of control all the kids living near them were, how they were screwing around in the weeds, as if these children were actually having sex. Sheila guessed their play to be harmless, but for whatever reason, it freaked Brenda out.
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