She looked at the piece of metal blankly, could think of nothing to say except, “Oh, P…” and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.
Neither Peyton nor Sheila told their parents of these new, significant plans they’d made. They decided to wait until at least Christmas to be sure it was what they both wanted. And as the weeks passed and Sheila grew used to the weight and width of Peyton’s class ring, which she now wore on a chain around her neck, she also began to grow used to the idea of marrying him. Oddly, the reality of the situation had left Sheila full of peace, despite her need for “better.” It was something she couldn’t quite describe. Peyton engendered this feeling of serenity inside her as much as Darrel was capable of rendering the opposite, turning her world upside down. And she had to admit: with the tranquility came the sort of happiness she would have described her parents as having. It wasn’t the erratic high she’d felt with Darrel. It was lulling and calm. Then Thanksgiving weekend Darrel arrived.
Sheila and Peyton had been to see The Last Picture Show at the Regency Theater with what seemed like just about everyone else in Oklahoma City. It wasn’t that interesting to Sheila, but then she and Peyton didn’t go to the movies to watch. They made out in the back, feeling each other up, and usually left before the end of the film to talk in the car over root beer floats about their future together. It was cold. Snow had already fallen and disappeared a couple times since the end of October, and it was forecast to fall again come midnight. Sheila gave Peyton one last kiss and stepped out of his Cadillac, hurriedly making her way up the front walk to her house. As he pulled away, she turned to wave good-bye to him and stopped short at the sight of Darrel’s Mustang in the driveway of Faye’s house across the street. No amount of snow could have frozen Sheila in place like the sight of Darrel’s ride and the thought of his presence only feet away. Then the question of what this might mean began to warm her insides like a fever heating every pore on her body, spinning the gears in her head with a momentum they hadn’t worked at in months, maybe ever. It made sense that Darrel and Ruby might come down for the holidays, though it wasn’t expected so far as Sheila knew. Had he brought someone with him? Oh, God! That thought punctured her gut with a violence she wasn’t quite prepared for, and she almost doubled over. The only thing that stopped her was the sound of Faye’s front door opening with a whisper and the image of Darrel stepping out onto the front porch in a leather bomber jacket and flannel shirt and cupping his mouth to light a cigarette. He took a puff and expelled the smoky air into the night. Then he looked over at Sheila. She wanted to turn and run into the house but didn’t. Darrel stepped out into the light of the street lamps and slowly walked down Faye’s concrete driveway, across the quiet street, and up the Barnetts’ drive to within a few feet of Sheila.
“Hi.”
Sheila nodded, but didn’t utter a word.
“How you doin’?”
Sheila just stared at him, tears now creeping up the whites of her eyes.
She let one fall before Darrel tossed aside his cigarette and scooped her up in his arms, smothering her mouth with a heavy kiss. Sheila wanted to kiss back, but struggled against him.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.” He kissed her again, not letting her free of his arms. “I messed up. I was just… I was just scared.” He kissed her now a third time, and she went limp in his arms, her lips meshing with his, her body contorting to match his pose. And when they parted, he knew he was forgiven from the look of powerlessness in Sheila’s eyes. He smiled. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too,” Sheila whispered.
“Get inside before you catch cold.”
Sheila opened her mouth to protest, but her mind was blank, and she was suddenly cold and weary, as though she’d come to the end of a very long journey.
“Go.” And Darrel released her.
Sheila suddenly realized snow was now coming down hard, so hard in fact, she could hear it crunching as it collided with the ground. She could hear everything around her with an exquisiteness she had never quite experienced before. She stepped back from Darrel, who she could swear was a ghost, and she headed for the front door of her parents’ house. And when she reached the door and turned back to make certain Darrel was actually there in body, he was. She opened the door and went inside.
As she prepared for bed, Sheila’s mind was a jumble of emotions. What did Darrel’s kiss mean? What did this mean about her and Peyton? She considered Peyton’s class ring hanging around her neck. She took it off and almost instantly there was a tingle that rushed through her body. She was high again.
By the Sunday that Darrel left with Ruby to head back to Missouri, he had proposed to Sheila. It had happened at Thanksgiving dinner in front of just about everybody important in Sheila’s life. And she said, “Yes.” All this and the turkey hadn’t even been cut. The letters started up again from St. Louis. Plans were made for a wedding in June after Sheila graduated. Sheila told Peyton about the engagement as carefully as possible, but he was still devastated. She hated that she’d hurt him. But her excitement about her upcoming nuptials superceded everything else in her life. So she was able to pick up and move on without much regret.
The colors for the grand affair would be lilac and mint. The dress would be straight, floor length, satin, with an empire waist. Darrel and Sheila would marry in the evening at Crossroads Methodist Church among a gathering of at least two hundred friends and family, and as the plans materialized, it all went smoothly, at least until the night of the rehearsal dinner.
Fred McAllister, Darrel’s father, was crotchety to begin with, taller than his son with a constant scowl on his face and an arch to his eyebrows that made him look like he was judging everything he looked at and none of it measured up. He hardly spoke a word except to snap at people whenever they tried to rush him or get him to do something he didn’t want to do, which seemed to be just about everything except sitting in a corner pouting with a lip full of chaw and a Styrofoam cup stuffed with a paper towel he could spit the tobacco juice into. Part of his inability to be social was actually a welcome thing to those who knew him, especially his wife, Ruby, who liked to be the center of attention. And maybe their lack of interaction was the reason Sheila had never noticed how awful Ruby and Fred’s bickering could be, or maybe it was that she had never spent much time with Fred, as he always seemed to stay in Missouri when Ruby and Darrel came to Oklahoma City for visits. Or maybe it was because Fred and Ruby were seated next to Gwen and Willie at the banquet table, and the contrasts of their relationships were stark. Perhaps Sheila’s focus on marriage in particular had made her keen to pay attention to other couples around her. Maybe it was looking at Fred, realizing that years from now Darrel might be a duplicate of him. Whatever the case, it was the first time Sheila questioned her decision to marry Darrel. Yes, her parents were boring and always so calm and nice about everything, but Darrel’s parents were just a bundle of nerves that seemed to make everyone around them walk on eggshells. Surely Darrel wouldn’t be like them, though. She and Darrel, they’d be happier than her parents and his. They never really argued and always seemed to laugh at something or other when they were together. But watching Fred, Sheila was carried off far away from her rehearsal dinner to a land of thought she’d never visited before, a place completely unfilled in her mind.
That night, in the lonely dark of her room, she explored this foreign land with the vigor of a prospector greedy for whatever the parcel might yield. And it did give up its goods with each step, with each question she ventured deeper into its unfamiliar terrain. It was the place where emotions came to die, but principles thrived on the hearty soil of logic and reason. Here, from the mountaintop of truth, one could see clearly in all directions and take in the sweet breeze of rationale that allowed healthy choices to be made without need for feelings. And it was here that Sheila realized she didn’t know Darrel, not really. She’d never been to his house. She’d never met any of his friends ex
cept Tom, who had exchanged barely a word with her. All told, she’d only spent maybe thirty days or so where she was physically in Darrel’s presence. In all sorts of ways, she knew Peyton way better than she’d ever known Darrel. Peyton? What was she thinking about him for?
Bright and early the next morning, when Gwen knocked on her bedroom door, Sheila pretended to wake up. The next few hours were a blur of satin and hairspray and smiles all around. Excitement! Sheila was relieved to have been pulled out of the place where she had been all night and away from the questions that had plagued her. She only had one more chance to think before she walked down the aisle to marry Darrel. It was during the wedding procession. The flower girl had gone ahead with the ring bearer, and now her bridesmaids where walking along the candlelit, flower-strewn center church aisle toward the front. Soon it would be Sheila’s turn. She took Willie’s arm, and he forced a smile at her that said he was going to be happy for her, though she could sense his trepidation.
“Daddy?” Sheila said, not sure why she was asking for his attention.
“What, sugar?” Willie asked.
“Am I gonna be happy?”
Willie patted Sheila’s hand, thinking about his answer. For him, watching his daughter marry Darrel was a crapshoot. He couldn’t say he approved after everything that had happened, but could he really say he disapproved either? “You’re gonna be as happy as you two decide to be.”
Sheila nodded. She still had questions, though. She needed more time looking out from the mountaintop of truth. But the music changed. The wedding march had begun. The doors to the sanctuary opened, and the crowd turned to look at her. Then she saw Darrel, and he saw her, and they both smiled. And it was his smile Sheila focused on as she made her way past pew after pew. He was her strength. He was her everything, and as long as she was by his side, it would all be okay. That’s what she told herself. He knew what they were doing. Darrel took Sheila’s hand when she reached the front, and the two of them were married.
The honeymoon was a trip to Dallas, Texas, where they visited a few museums, went to a baseball game, and ate dinner out every night. Their hotel was nice enough, even if it wasn’t quite what Sheila had dreamed of.
When they came back to Oklahoma City a few days later, they picked up all Sheila’s things, which Gwen had finished packing, and headed to St. Louis. It was on this drive to St. Louis that the thoughts came back to Sheila again. Who was this man she’d married? What did married life really mean? She cried, and Darrel wrapped his arm around her.
“What’s wrong, Funny Girl?”
She lied. “I’m happy. I’m just so happy.”
Married life in St. Louis was different than anything Sheila could’ve imagined or dreamed. Every morning for the past four months, she had woken up with really nothing to do other than cook, wash clothes, clean the house, plan dinner, buy groceries, pay bills, and do more cooking—things she really didn’t even know how to do. She told herself she liked being a housewife. All she really liked about the whole situation she had found herself in was Darrel. And from the time he left for his job working at the extension office in Pacific until he came home at night, she anticipated his return.
“Funny Girl?” Darrel entered the back door of his and Sheila’s rented, two-bedroom craftsman off Wilson Avenue.
Sheila appeared in the kitchen, her hair up in a handkerchief and her body, which had filled out in all the right places, outfitted in threadbare jeans, an old T-shirt, and rubber cleaning gloves, which protected her always thoughtfully manicured fingernails.
Darrel, still in his shirtsleeves and tie from work, laughed. “What are you possibly cleaning now? This place is immaculate.”
Sheila smiled, embarrassed. “Well, I moved the washing machine this morning and, well…”
“You moved the washer?”
“I dropped a dress sock of yours behind it. Anyway, it was dirty back there.”
“It’s supposed to be dirty behind the washer, sweetie.”
“What’ve you got behind your back?” Sheila asked, nodding to whatever it was Darrel was hiding just out of sight.
“Ain’t I allowed to hold my hands behind my back if I wanna?” Darrel teased.
Sheila tried to get a peek at what he was keeping from her, but Darrel laughed and evaded her. “Well, somebody’s awful anxious. Ain’t she?”
“Darrel. Don’t tease me. Please,” Sheila begged.
“Oh, come on. You like it, don’t you?”
“Fine. If you don’t wanna show me, I don’t care.” And Sheila turned away from Darrel in mock aloofness.
This was one of their little games, and Darrel played right along. “Well, that’s too bad. Was kinda a nice gift.”
“A gift?” Sheila spun back around, eyes bright and mouth smiling. “What gift?”
Darrel laughed again. “Give me a kiss, and I’ll show you.”
Sheila approached Darrel demurely to plant a simple kiss on his lips, but the next thing either of them knew, that kiss had turned into a sloppy make-out session with their bodies pressing up against one another. Darrel moved one of his hands to pull Sheila in even tighter, and Sheila took advantage of his moment of weakness to snatch away her “gift.”
“HA!” she said as she deftly swiped what was a small, cardboard box out from behind Darrel’s back and tried to inspect it.
“Someone’s playin’ dirty now!” Darrel swooped Sheila up in his arms.
“Darrel!” She screamed as he hauled her into the living room and laid her down on the couch, pulling off her T-shirt and tackling her breasts with his mouth. “Darrel.”
Sheila couldn’t help but acquiesce to Darrel’s passionate attack, but she also couldn’t help but try and sneak a peek at the box she’d snatched from his hand. And finally she saw what the box contained. “A canteen? You got me a canteen?”
Darrel continued to kiss Sheila. Then he ripped off his own shirt. “Yeah. So you don’t drink all my water when we go camping. Like we talked about.” And Darrel was on Sheila again, plowing down beneath her jeans and between her legs, with his tongue leaving Sheila to forget anything except the intense shivers coursing through her body.
That weekend, as would become their habit, Darrel and Sheila loaded up his Mustang and headed deep into the heart of the Ozark Mountains, staking a getaway claim with their tent in the Mark Twain National Forest. Those weekends, they hardly ever saw another person, lost to just about everything except the natural world. They woke up in the morning and made love, shaking the dew off the outside of the tent in their passion. Then, as the sun pierced the dark trees with hot, yellow rays, Darrel would stoke the fire while Sheila fixed the coffeepot and prepared eggs, bacon, toast, and whatever else they’d brought along. By midmorning, they were always off on some hike, following a creek or cliff edge, Darrel pointing out different natural phenomenon.
“See that?” Darrel nodded.
“What?” Sheila squinted, trying to follow his line of sight.
Darrel walked twenty yards over to a hillside that was covered in black-eyed Susans. “Your favorite?”
“I like daisies.”
“These are daisies, maybe not the white ones you like, but they’re in the daisy family.” He fingered the petals of one of the flowers. “Asteraceae. You know why they’re called that?”
“A-ster-a-ce-ae?” Sheila pronounced. She laughed self-consciously.
“Astera, from the Greek word meaning star.”
Sheila could see it. The flower, even with its color, did kind of resemble a star.
“Daisies are one of the largest families of plants in the world.”
“Oh, no. Are you gonna start getting all scientific?” Sheila moaned, although she secretly liked it when Darrel showed off his smarts about things biological.
Darrel squatted down and studied the plant. “We get so much from these little guys. Medicine. Food. Oil.”
“Beauty,” Sheila chided.
&
nbsp; Darrel smiled. “They’re fortune tellers, too.” Darrel plucked a blossom and stood up with it.
“Don’t,” Sheila said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pull off its petals. We’re together. I already know that you love me.”
“But what about you?”
Sheila said nothing.
Darrel left the petals intact as Sheila had requested, and instead he simply smoothed back her hair and placed the flower over her left ear.
On their trips to the woods, Darrel took pictures with his Nikon of anything and everything. Sheila began to believe nature was Darrel’s true love. Sometimes they would walk for hours without speaking. Sometimes they’d just lie on a large boulder under the sun, talking about nothing at all. If they came upon a swimming hole, Darrel was quick to shed his clothes like shackles and jump in, encouraging Sheila to do the same. At first, she’d been nervous about this behavior, but she quickly grew accustomed to it and began to enjoy the thrill of exposing herself in unknown territory. They would have sex in the water, on the bank, against a random tree.
Sheila didn’t necessarily understand these weekend trips to the woods, but she began to accept them, appreciate them even. No matter what occurred during the week, no matter if Darrel got upset with Sheila or she got upset with him, no matter if the issue was big or small, the forests seemed to help them forget all that. The love they made in the silence of the woods reconciled weeknights when the pressures of domesticity suffocated all romance between them. And Sheila didn’t mind sharing Darrel with the trees and birds and squirrels. It was better than losing him to weekend nights out with “the boys,” which she’d heard other girls complain about. But soon Sheila became pregnant, and their weekends in the woods disappeared without being replaced by something new, without Darrel and Sheila even realizing what they had lost, without them knowing how to get it back.
Daisies Page 6