by Sarah Sundin
Helen looked classy in a suit the same golden tone as the hills around Antioch in the summer. Under her hat, her hair was rolled and pinned up somehow. Ray set his hand on her shoulder.
She jumped. “Goodness. You startled me.”
“Sorry.” What did she expect in a crowd like this?
Jeannie arched one pencil-thin eyebrow. “Are you two together?”
“We came in a group.” Helen fluttered her hand toward the others. “George and Betty, Walt and his fiancée. Have you met Allie?”
“Yes, I have.” But Jeannie eyed Ray.
“Well, come say hello.” Helen took Jeannie’s arm and wheeled her away.
Ray stood alone, his stomach a cold hard ball. Women were usually glad to be seen with him, but Helen acted like a married woman caught with a forbidden lover.
Why? Did she think people expected her to remain faithful to Jim a year and a half after his death? Or was she ashamed to be seen with Ray?
Walt glanced over with a grin lifting his full cheeks. “You got the tickets?”
Ray managed to smile back. “Six tickets for Cover Girl.”
“Don’t want to miss this,” George said. “Rita Hayworth, Gene Kelly, and orchestration by an Antioch native.”
“You went to school with Carmen Dragon, didn’t you, Ray?” Walt asked.
He handed the tickets to the usherette. “I was a year ahead of him at Riverview High.”
“Riverview?” Jeannie’s voice floated over the group. “That closed ages ago. Antioch High’s been open depuis longtemps.”
“See what I mean?” Helen whispered.
Her confidential smile warmed him inside. “Oui, oui. She jabbed your education and my age in a single breath.” He touched the small of her back to guide her through the ornate lobby and down the right aisle into the theater.
“Hi, Mrs. Carlisle.” An usherette waved, and the pom-poms on her miniature sombrero wiggled. Her gaze flicked to Ray, and she giggled.
“Hi, Evelyn.” Helen’s voice stiffened.
Ray sighed, followed Helen, and sat in a plush seat. In a town of seven thousand, did she expect to keep their relationship secret? Why would she want to? How could she kiss him so fervently one week, then be standoffish the next? Did she regret those kisses?
He did. After his noble intentions, he’d moved too fast. She wasn’t ready and he’d gotten swept away, just as Mom said. But oh boy, how could he resist the way she invited him?
After the lights dimmed and the curtains parted, Goofy demonstrated “How to Be a Sailor,” and the newsreel showed the U.S. Eighth Air Force returning to English bases after a bombing raid on Nazi airfields.
Ray scanned for his brother Jack or any of his former students. One man shed flight gear and mugged for the camera. Did he grin because he loved his job, because he survived, or to put on a show for the other men and the folks back home? Deep inside, was that airman a coward?
If he was a coward, at least he’d faced his fears. Unlike Ray.
At last the movie started, the opening credits rolled, and when Carmen Dragon’s name flashed on the screen in Technicolor, the crowd cheered and applauded the hometown boy.
Not Helen. Her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks, and her lips were parted.
Between her volunteer work and caring for her home and her son, she must have worn herself out. She was tired and overworked. That explained her behavior. Ray felt a rush of relief and protectiveness. He smiled and jiggled her arm.
Helen gasped and flung both hands in front of her face, as if a monster in her nightmare had come to life.
He sat back. “Bad dream?”
She blinked and patted her hair. Her chest rose and fell quickly. “Yes. A bad dream.”
He gave her a warm smile in the flickering light from the screen. Next weekend he’d plan a quiet and early evening.
Ray hummed “Long Ago and Far Away” and twirled Helen under his arm as they turned onto D Street. “Too bad I don’t sing like Gene Kelly.”
“Or dance like him.”
He swung her into his arms. “Hey, now. I’m not that bad.”
In the moonlight, her eyes glowed. “No, you’re just right.”
Yeah, he could kiss her, but he’d wait until Mrs. Carlisle went home from babysitting duty, and then he and Helen could cuddle on the porch swing behind the shield of the cherry tree.
They climbed the steps, the front door swung open, and Jay-Jay ran out. “Mama!”
Helen scooped up her son. “Sweetie, what are you doing up? Goodness, it’s 10:30.”
“He wanted to wait for you.” Mrs. Carlisle stood in the doorway and leveled a cool gaze at Ray.
He smiled and tipped his service cap. “Good evening, Mrs. Carlisle.” It was none of his business why the Carlisles disliked the Novaks, but he suspected it had to do with the Great Choir Robe Debate of 1928.
Helen smoothed her son’s curls. “He should be in bed. Tomorrow’s Easter. We have church and dinner.”
“He didn’t want to go to bed.”
“No bed,” Jay-Jay said.
“Come on, sweetie. I really need you to go to bed.”
“No!” Jay-Jay swatted at Helen’s face.
She turned to the side. “Please, sweetie? Please?”
Ray frowned. Why didn’t she discipline him for hitting? Why did she ask permission of a two-year-old? To avoid a scene in front of him?
Mrs. Carlisle crossed thin arms. “What’s the harm in one late evening?”
Helen’s face agitated, and Ray had to do something. He whispered in her ear, “Do you have a basket for him?”
She nodded and bounced the little boy.
Ray ducked down to him. “Say, munchkin, did you know the Easter bunny won’t come till you’re asleep?”
Blue eyes stretched wide.
Helen gave Ray a grateful look. “Goodness, Jay-Jay. If he sees you awake, he might hop away and never come back.”
“Go bed.” Jay-Jay slithered out of Helen’s arms and scampered inside with his grandmother clucking behind him.
Ray gathered Helen’s hand in his. “I’ll wait out here. Take your time.”
She glanced inside the house and backed through the door. “Thank you for walking me home, Lieutenant. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow in church.”
Lieutenant? Maybe she’d see him? Heat expanded in his chest. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” He marched down the steps and flipped a wave over his shoulder.
“Ray . . .” Her voice reached to him in quiet, pleading waves, but no footsteps followed.
“Good night, Mrs. Carlisle.” Steam filled his head. He hated steam. He had to put it out, and he knew the best place in the world to do so.
Ray’s clothes stuck to his body, but the San Joaquin River had been cold, the air not much warmer, and if he air-dried, he ran the risk of arrest for indecent exposure.
He turned onto D Street. Most likely, Helen would be asleep already, but he had to make the effort.
A sliver of light shone around the blackout curtains in Helen’s living room. Ray paused on the sidewalk. He’d rather wait and pray some more, but apparently the Lord wanted this done now.
He knocked. A moment later, the door opened a crack, then fully. “Ray? What are you doing here? Goodness, I’m a mess.”
A mess? Not at all. She wore a long silky lavender robe over a matching nightgown, and her hair hung in waves to her shoulders. She’d removed her makeup, but a lack of lipstick didn’t reduce the appeal of that mouth.
But that wasn’t why he was there. “I’m surprised you’re still up.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was working on the children’s pageant. It’s next week.” She brushed her hand over her hair, and her forehead puckered. “You came back.”
“I needed to apologize.”
“Whatever for?” Her gaze leaped over his shoulder. “You’d better come in before Mrs. Llewellyn sees me out like this.” She motioned him inside.
Ray leaned back
against the shut door and put his hands safely in his pockets. “I’ve got a lot to apologize for. First, you said you didn’t want a date, then I conspired with Walt and George.”
“I’m sorry I was bad company. I didn’t mind. I enjoyed having the old gang together.”
Ray tilted his head and smiled at her. Maybe she did, but not in public. “I moved too fast. Last weekend at the farm was amazing, but I moved too fast.”
“Don’t you remember?” Helen wrapped her arms around her middle. “I was an active participant.”
Warmth rumbled in his chest. “I remember, all right, but today I went too far.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just . . . it was the first time I’d been out for years, and I felt like . . .”
“Like everyone was talking about you?”
“Well, yes.” She pulled her lips in between her teeth.
Ray gazed at the ceiling. “Maybe they were, but maybe they were happy for you.”
She let out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry. I can’t do anything right. Things were going so well. Why do I have to ruin everything?”
Ray frowned at the distress on her face. “Nothing’s ruined. Just some growing pains. Understandable, don’t you think?”
She pressed her hand over her eyes. “I’m such an idiot.”
“An idiot?” He chuckled. “I win that award. Your son needed you, your former mother-in-law hovered over your shoulder, and I pouted because I couldn’t have a good-night kiss.”
Helen peeked from under her hand.
He nodded. “Yep, I pouted. You have one little boy in your life. You don’t need two.”
She smiled and lowered her hand. “Speaking of little boys, what happened to your shirt? The buttons . . . they weren’t like that earlier.”
Swell, he’d skipped a buttonhole.
She laughed. “Your tie . . . where is it? And your hair. What happened?”
“I went for a swim.” He patted his rolled-up tie in his jacket pocket and smoothed his lumpy hair. “Left your place, took a dip, talked to God, and here I am.”
“What did you wear?” She clapped her hand over her mouth and laughed. “You didn’t.”
He glanced into her living room with a sofa, a radio, and a card table piled with papers. “Name, rank, and serial number. That’s all you’ll get out of me, lady.”
Her laughter reached inside him and tickled spots he’d forgotten about for over a year.
He winked at her. “Looks like you’re stuck with another little boy.”
“I like little boys.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Do you still want that good-night kiss?”
Oh yeah, but how could he with her in that nightgown? He walked to her, kept his hands in his pockets, and leaned over to place a kiss on her lips.
“You may be a little boy, but I’m not your mother.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “And no one’s watching.”
Did she know? Did she know what she did to him? He pulled her close and sank into the longest, silkiest kiss. He might not be a hero, but he was a man. Every day the Army and society drained away his manhood, but with Helen Carlisle he gained it back.
However, she was too close, too silky, too willing. Even though she was almost a decade younger than he, she’d been married. She was used to more than kissing.
He disengaged himself. “I’d better go.”
“Why? This is so nice.”
“Too nice.” He kissed her on the forehead and backed away. She looked even more alluring with her hair mussed up and her eyes all dreamy.
“I’m glad you came back.” Her breathy voice made departure even more difficult.
Ray puffed out a breath. “Gotta go.” He opened the door and trotted down the walkway to a safe distance. “I’ll see you tomorrow at church.”
“Have a nice dinner with your parents.”
“I’d rather be with you.”
She leaned against the doorjamb and sighed. “Me too.”
That voice curled around him and pulled. He strode back up the steps and swung her—laughing and protesting about the neighbors—into his arms for another heated kiss.
Next Easter maybe they’d dine together as a family.
8
Sunday, April 9, 1944
“Egg!” Jay-Jay held his treasure high and ran to Helen.
She held out the basket. “Very good, sweetie. What color?”
“Ello.” He ran off. “More egg.”
Helen inhaled spring air only slightly tainted by the scent of the oleander hedges surrounding the Carlisles’ backyard.
“Look over there,” Mr. Carlisle said to his grandson. “But you’d better hurry. I lo-o-ove Easter eggs.” He rubbed his belly and smacked his lips.
Jay-Jay laughed. “No. Mine.”
Helen wiggled her toes inside her cream pumps. Ray said she’d looked pretty walking down the aisle in church this morning, prettier than ever, but then he thought that every time he saw her. She smoothed the side pocket of her dress containing the note with those words.
How romantic he was, asking if she needed an extra hymnal, then passing one back with the note peeking out the top.
Helen pirouetted in the middle of the lawn, twirling the skirt of her lilac-flowered dress. She laughed. What would everyone think? “Jay-Jay, where are you?” she called to cover up.
He plucked an egg from among the tomato seedlings in the Victory Garden. “Boo egg.”
“You’re so clever.” And so darling in his gray suit with a light blue bow tie. Below his short pants, his round pink knees pumped as he ran the egg to Helen.
“That’s the last one,” she said.
Mr. Carlisle grabbed his head. “Oh no. I didn’t find a single one. Jay-Jay beat me.”
“He’ll have competition next year.” Helen smiled at her sister-in-law, Dorothy Wayne, who sat in a wicker chair with three-week-old Susie nestled under her chin.
Mr. Carlisle picked up Jay-Jay and swung him in a circle. “Oh ho. No one beats my boy.”
“It’s time to go home.” Dorothy stood with a pinched look on her face. “I promised to help Mother Wayne in the kitchen. I’ll say good-bye to Mom on the way out.”
“I’ll go with you. I’m needed on kitchen duty too.” Helen followed her friend in the back door. “Don’t worry, Dorothy. Men are no good with babies, but once Susie starts running around and batting those big brown eyes, watch Grandpa melt.”
Dorothy gave her a thin smile and entered the kitchen. “Bye, Mom. I need to get Susie home.”
Mrs. Carlisle kept mashing potatoes. She wore a blue floral dress in the latest fashion, which contrasted with the outdated way she wore her hair in mousy brown waves close to her head. “Thank you for coming, dear.”
Helen smiled at Dorothy despite the sour feeling in her stomach. “I’ll drop by tomorrow and pick up the sashes for the pageant. I appreciate your help.”
A curt nod made brown curls bob, and Dorothy headed for the front door.
Helen sighed. Although her parents preferred Betty and her bounciness, Helen never felt unloved. Thank goodness the Waynes welcomed Dorothy into their family and their home, since her husband, Art, was bogged down in Italy with the U.S. Fifth Army.
Helen set the basket of eggs in the icebox. “How may I help?”
Mrs. Carlisle stood on tiptoes to get enough force from her tiny body to mash the potatoes. “I don’t need your help.”
Helen shivered from the cool tone. She didn’t need help? The cooked ham sat out, the table hadn’t been set, the cherry pie hadn’t been put in the oven, and the pot of peas boiled over.
She turned off the burner, wrapped a towel around the handle, and lifted the pot until the bubbles died down. “I’m glad to help. I’m family, after all.”
“No, you’re not.” Her voice quivered.
What on earth? Since her wedding day, the Carlisles had insisted she was a Carlisle, and the Jamisons agreed. She was never to come home begging.
“Excuse me?”
“Not after what I heard. You’d better pray Mr. Carlisle doesn’t hear.” She mashed so hard, the bowl tipped with a glassy clank on the counter. “Oh dear. Oh dear.”
An old, cold dread squeezed Helen’s chest. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play innocent. Such carrying on. You ought to be ashamed.”
Ashamed? She couldn’t think of anything to be ashamed of. Unless . . .
Helen grabbed the lid and strode to the sink. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“With a Novak, no less. And with sweet little Jay-Jay in the next room. Have you no shame?” Mrs. Carlisle splashed milk in the bowl, far too much milk.
“I can’t imagine.” Helen’s hands shook so hard, she spilled peas into the sink.
“Oh! You can’t, can you? Mrs. Llewellyn saw Ray Novak go into your house and leave quite some time later. Quite some time. And you in your nightgown, a slinky thing like the pinup girls wear, kissing him for all the world to see.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Helen walked around with the pan, searching for a bowl.
“What was it like? Tell me.” She scraped potatoes into a bowl and sent pasty blobs onto the table.
Helen wiped steam from her forehead. “After—after you left, I couldn’t sleep so I did some paperwork. He came back to apologize for something he said. We talked—maybe five minutes, right in the doorway. He never . . . we never—”
Mrs. Carlisle spun around, eyes in slits. “Did you seduce him?”
“Heavens, no!”
“Did you kiss him?”
Her mouth flapped open and shut. “Well, yes, but Mr. Carlisle said I could date.”
“Victor! He said you could date Victor Llewellyn.”
“I don’t like Victor. Not that way.”
“You’re not supposed to. You said you loved my Jimmy.”
“Of course I did.” Helen whirled around and grabbed the first bowl she saw.
“If you truly loved Jimmy, you could never love another man. You wouldn’t be in some torrid love affair. You’d marry for support and companionship, nothing more.”