by Dan Walsh
Etta Mae still didn’t understand what that had to do with watching him with those binoculars.
Josephine continued. “See, I never got a chance to spend any time with his boy when he lived here before. August always kept him on a short leash. But I saw him out sweeping the front porch the other day, and I could’ve sworn he wasn’t the same little boy.”
Etta Mae’s ears perked right up.
Josephine continued. “I’ve been reading the newspaper every day, because of this Cuban missile crisis. Most days I just read ‘Dear Abby’ and the obituaries. And I saw this story about a little boy been kidnapped on Monday. Had a picture of the boy and a drawing of the man who took him. I’m telling you, the man looked a bit like August. I only saw that little boy sweeping that porch for a minute, but I could’ve swore he resembled the boy in the newspaper. I’ve been watching the house ever since, trying to get a glimpse of him up close. But August hasn’t let him out of the house again.”
“Timmy?” Etta Mae said. “You talking about Timmy?”
“I think that’s his name,” Josephine said. “How did you know that?”
49
Friday afternoon was nearly over. Mike and Rose had just left for the store to pick up a few needed things for dinner. Colt was across the street at his friend Murph’s. Scott and Gina were alone in the house.
Scott was reading the newspaper, sitting where he’d always sat. Gina sat in her spot, finishing the last few sips of her coffee. In between the moments she unconsciously stared at the telephone, wishing it would ring, she wondered what Scott was thinking. A common pastime for her when Scott had lived here. He would sit there not talking, and she would sit there trying to imagine what was on his mind. Back when she used to care a great deal about this, she’d occasionally ask him.
He would typically say nothing. Nothing was on his mind.
She typically found that hard to believe. Was he just stupid? Were all men just stupid? Of course, he couldn’t be stupid in one sense; they didn’t give out engineering degrees to stupid people. But could he really just sit there and pass the time with absolutely nothing going on in his brain? Could men, in general, really be content dwelling on absolutely nothing?
“What are you thinking about?”
Gina looked up. Now this was different. Scott was asking what was on her mind. But she couldn’t tell him. Not really. He’d be too insulted. Maybe that was it, why he’d always said “nothing” when she’d asked him this question. The truth wasn’t nothing. He was thinking of something he didn’t want to tell her.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You sure? Your face looks pretty serious.”
She didn’t know what to say.
“Well, I’ve got a question,” he said. “When did you stop using the milkman?”
Oh my goodness, she thought. Was that the big thing piquing his curiosity right now? The milkman’s fate? “When did you notice?”
“Yesterday, I guess. So, when was the last time he came?”
“It’s been awhile. A few months after you left. Wasn’t really a big deal. I might have felt bad for the man, if we’d ever met. But he always came and went before we woke up. So I just left him a little note with a little extra tip.” Scott cared because he had been a milkman for several years, back when he had gone to night school. It was a hard life, mainly because you had to go to bed and wake up so early in order to get the milk and eggs to all your customers before they woke up. And, of course, Gina had to get up with Scott to get his breakfast and lunch ready.
“They’re a dying breed, I think.” Scott put the newspaper down. “It’s kind of sad, when you think about it, like the passing of an era.”
Gina wasn’t so sentimental. “I hated it when you worked as one. But having a milkman was pretty convenient most of the time. But now that we get fresh dairy in the supermarket, and it’s even cheaper, and I go shopping at least a couple times a week, I just didn’t see the point.”
“I’m not mad,” he said. “Probably would have made the same decision if I was here.”
She kind of doubted that. Maybe he would have. He certainly seemed to be doing some things differently than she was used to. Like this, sitting here reading the paper instead of being at work. She still couldn’t believe he had walked away from that big promotion, right in the middle of this Expo thing. Technically, he didn’t really have a job right now. And it didn’t seem to bother him. That was different too.
“I really liked being a milkman,” he said. “I don’t know why exactly. I hated getting up so early.”
“You did? You never said that when you were a milkman. When I’d complain about it, you’d try to talk me out of it and tell me what a good job it was, how much we needed the money. One time you said, ‘Milkmen provide a vital service in this country.’”
“I really said that?” He was smiling.
She nodded. “You really did.”
“What did you say back?”
“What could I say back? I couldn’t believe you said it. I was only complaining because I was so tired from having to get up with Timmy at 1:00 a.m. He was just a baby then. I was just letting off a little steam, and you were trying to defend the rights of all milkmen everywhere.”
Scott shook his head. “I was such a dope.”
Gina laughed. He really was.
He leaned back on the couch. “I can’t believe we lived like that for three years.”
“I can,” she said. She was going to say more but decided not to pile on. He was being so nice right now. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did we do that for three years? And those other jobs you had for four more, while you attended night school?”
“Because we needed the money. I did it so you could stay home with the boys. I thought that’s what you wanted. What we both wanted.”
“I did, but me working wasn’t our only option. There was another option on the table that you rejected. And it would’ve meant you could have gone to school during the day full-time instead of at night, and that would have knocked three whole years off our ordeal.”
Scott stood up. Gina recognized this move. He was about to clam up. Then he’d walk away, refusing to talk about things further. He used to say he did this for her protection, so she wouldn’t have to hear him get angry and say some things he’d later regret.
But that wasn’t what happened this time. He sat back in his chair.
“I know it must look that way to you,” he said softly, “but at the time I didn’t feel like I had any choice.”
“Okay,” she said. “Could you explain that?”
“I’ll try. To me, that option was a closed door. Because my father made the offer with some pretty short strings. He was pressuring me to go into finance and to go to the same college he and my brothers went to. I wanted to be an engineer. But it was more than that. Even if I could have somehow talked him into letting me be an engineer, I didn’t want to be dependent on him. Not like that. I’m not like my father, or my brothers.” He let out a deep sigh. “Or like my mother, for that matter.”
She knew this but wondered what he meant by it. They had never talked about any of these things before. “What do you mean? In what ways?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love them. All of them. But I’m not . . . I don’t know. I’m not old South. Not since Korea. I don’t buy into the way they think. For one thing, I don’t like the way they treat Mamie Lee. Or black people in general. I never liked that. She’s been working for them my whole life, and she has nothing. Nothing to show for it. And they’re all okay with that. For them, it’s just the way it is.”
He stood up again but kept talking. “They won’t even let me treat her the way I want to. When I do, I get scolded like a child. But I know what’s really going on. When I do nice things for her, I’m making them look bad. And they don’t like how that feels. I love them, but honestly?” He paused. “They’re just racists, Gina. When you get right down to
it. Southern white racists who really believe, at a basic level, that whites are better, smarter, and more deserving of the good life. I grew up with that, but that’s not who I am. It always bothered me. And after what I experienced in Korea, I can’t do it anymore.”
Here was something else he barely ever talked about: his time in Korea. While he was there, he’d written letters, but it was all small talk. Nothing that conveyed where he might be struggling or things he was feeling at a heart level. “What did you experience in Korea that has to do with this?”
“I guess I never told you this, but . . . two black guys turned out to be my closest friends over there, and one of them even saved my life.”
Gina had never heard any of these things before. She liked what she was hearing. Why had they never talked like this?
“Mamie Lee feels more like my mom than my own mother does. I think I could have told Mamie Lee everything I was going through, while it was happening, and she would’ve understood, and she could have helped me understand it all, just like she did when I was little. Because of my parents, I could never talk to her that way. I had to keep Mamie in the dark. She still doesn’t know half the things I’ve been through.”
“Scott,” Gina said softly, “neither do I, and I’m your wife. Does that sound right to you? Why couldn’t you have talked to me like that? Told me everything you were feeling—while it was happening? Given me a chance to see if I would’ve understood?”
He looked at her a few moments, like he didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have talked to Mamie Lee, or have been able to talk with her like that. But that’s who I wanted to be in your life, who I was supposed to be in your life. But you never let me in. Do you realize we haven’t had a conversation like this . . . ever? I’m hearing you share things now that you were feeling years ago, for the first time. And I’m not judging you. Or telling you how wrong you were to feel that way. In fact, I pretty much agree with everything you’re saying about Mamie Lee. I would have even been open to us inviting her over, even if we had to do it secretly behind your parents’ back. It could’ve been our secret.”
Gina didn’t mean to or want to. It was probably just the emotions of everything else going on this week. But she started to cry just then.
Scott didn’t get angry with her. He didn’t try to defend himself or make any excuses. When she looked up and was able to see his face through her own tears, she saw tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Gina. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. You’re right, I should have given you a chance.”
50
Etta Mae couldn’t help it, she felt tingly all over. Had felt like this most of the day. She’d had this feeling before, mostly in church. But sometimes when she prayed, either alone or with her ladies group. She recognized the feeling as the Holy Ghost.
She was pretty sure that was what this was now.
This tingly feeling happened toward the end of the day. She was finishing up in the kitchen after making dinner for Josephine and for her too. Josephine had insisted she bring some home. She said it was silly making all that food for one person. Etta Mae looked up from the dinette table she was cleaning. There was Josephine still sitting in that chair, hurt foot propped up, eyes staring through them binoculars.
Josephine was all stirred up too after her conversation with Etta Mae that morning. “I don’t believe in coincidences anymore,” she’d said. “Not since I started following the Lord.” She was sure God had set this all up. He’d made sure Etta Mae was the one who got picked to help her with housecleaning after her fall. Because she had that connection to Timmy. Josephine had even said she wouldn’t be surprised if God had one of his angels stick out his foot and trip her on purpose, just to make her this helpless. Helpless enough that her sister Mabel was forced to take pity on her and offer to let Etta Mae come over like she did.
Josephine could’ve used help a dozen other times over the years, had even deliberately hinted as much to Mabel. But Mabel had never once offered the services of “her domestic,” as she liked to call Etta Mae.
“No,” Josephine had said. “This wasn’t any coincidence.”
Etta Mae didn’t think so either. It was all she could do not to stop these chores and march right over there, demand to see the boy the next-door neighbor had hidden away. She had asked Josephine if she could. Josephine didn’t say much when she said no, but it was clear to Etta Mae the very idea almost terrified her.
“No sign of him yet?” Etta Mae asked.
“Not yet,” Josephine said. “I’ve seen old August over there a couple of times. Twice through the living room windows, once out on the porch. But no sign of Timmy.”
Etta Mae realized that Josephine wasn’t even talking like that boy was anyone else but Mamie Lee’s Timmy. “You sure we shouldn’t just go over there? You seem pretty sure it’s him.”
Josephine set the binoculars down a moment. “Oh, I am sure. On one level anyway. But you don’t know August, what he’s like, what he can be like. I have to be absolutely sure before we start making accusations. If somehow we turned out to be wrong and it was his little boy, I’d never hear the end of it. I might even have to move. I think the wisest thing is to just sit here and wait him out. That little boy has to show up sometime, right? And now that we have his picture from the newspaper sitting right here next to me, I can make a positive identification with certainty.”
“We can do better than that,” Etta Mae said. “I’ve seen Timmy myself with my own eyes. If you think you see him, you just yell for me and I’ll run right over.”
“I’ll do that, Etta Mae.” Josephine turned to look at the clock on the wall. “You better start getting ready to leave for the day. You got a ways to walk before you get that bus, don’t you?”
“You’re right. I almost forgot.”
“Say, before I forget to ask. Can you take a look around the kitchen, see what ingredients I have to make a pie?”
“A pie?”
“Yes. I’m thinking about tomorrow. Maybe I can take another stab at making August a pie. He might do the same thing he did the last time, but at least it would give us an excuse to go over there. He’s not likely to take a shotgun to a woman bringin’ a pie.”
“He take a shotgun to you last time?”
“No, but he keeps one nearby. Had a feeling if I pressed him too much further, he might have gone for it. ’Course, I think he’s all bluff and bluster, but you just can’t be too sure with someone so unstable.”
“Then what did he do the last time you brought him a pie?”
“He tossed it in the trash can.”
“You mean the leftovers?”
“No, the whole pie. It was blueberry, as ripe and juicy as they get too.”
Mike and Rose had just gotten home from the store. Rose and Gina had decided to get working on dinner. About that time, Colt walked in the door from his visit across the street at Murph’s house. Scott noticed he had a look of concern on his face.
“Everything go okay at Murph’s?”
Colt closed the door. “Yeah, it was fine. I came home now because Mom asked me to before I left.”
“Is anything else bothering you?”
“I’m not sure.” Colt walked over to the front window and looked down the street. “Did anything new happen on the news? About this whole Cuba thing?”
“I don’t think so,” Scott said. “Why?”
“It’s Mr. Weldon. He’s acting kind of strange.”
“What’s he doing?”
Mike got up to look too. He had just started reading the newspaper Scott had finished a little while ago.
“He’s walking down the sidewalk in front of his house,” Colt said, “holding some kind of meter up in the air. I think it’s a Geiger counter.”
“A Geiger counter,” Scott repeated. “I didn’t even know you knew what that was.”
“Sure I do. I’ve never seen one, but we’ve read about them in school. A
nd I’ve seen them on some of those monster movies you took me to. You know, the ones with the giant bugs and lizards that got so big because of radiation.”
Still standing over Colt, Mike said, “That’s exactly what it looks like. A Geiger counter.”
Scott got up and looked for himself. “Could be what it is, but it looks a little different from the ones I’ve seen.”
“You’ve seen Geiger counters, Dad?”
Scott didn’t realize something like that would be impressive. “I have, both at school and at work. Why don’t we just go ask him what he’s up to?”
“Could we?” Colt asked.
“Sure. Mom and Aunt Rose have just started dinner. Just let me do the talking. You want to go with us, Mike?”
“No, you two go ahead. I’ll just sit here and finish reading the newspaper.”
“Come on, Colt. Let’s go have a look.” They headed toward the front door, but Scott stopped. “Let me tell your mother first where we’re going.”
Scott walked back to the kitchen. “Hey, Gina, I’m going to take Colt down to see Mr. Weldon for a moment. Check out something odd he’s doing on the sidewalk.”
“Something odd? Like what?”
“Looks like he’s taking some radiation measurements.”
“What? Why? Is something going on?”
“Nothing new, not that I know of. Just thought it would give me something to do with Colt. He’s pretty curious about it.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “We’ll just be here pulling the strings out of these beans.”
“Let’s go, Colt.”
They headed out the door, but it seemed like they were too late. No sign of Mr. Weldon. “Can we at least walk down to the corner?” Colt said.