An Imperfection in the Kitchen Floor

by Heather Greenleaf

  ●●●

  After weeks of blistering heat, the summer ended suddenly, emptying the town of tourists with the close of Willow Grove Park’s twenty-third season. John Philip Sousa concerts had roared patriotism to ten thousand listeners that weekend, the last before the gates of the park were shut tight. Mr. Sousa announced that he was reporting back to the Naval Reserve Force; the end of his governmental leave had come. When the trumpets quieted in his last orchestral movement, he, too, left Willow Grove for war.

  Time passed slowly as the days cooled. The park season had brought us customers again, and soon Oliver would start back at school. Through the windows of my bedroom, shut tight now against the crisp air, I watched the hills paint themselves in autumn. Bright reds, burning oranges, and brilliant yellows contrasted against the enduring green of our pine trees. The sycamores out in front of the house shed their brown leaves, raining them to the ground in great numbers, giving the yard and street a snapping crunch. The days got shorter and I waited for the war to end. Though the sun set earlier each evening, the daily waiting seemed just as long.

  Autumn was normally a quiet time in our town, a time when locals reemerged and reacquainted themselves with neighbors without the rash of strangers, but this year, new faces from the city began appearing. It was not warm weather that drove them out of the crowded city, but Spanish Influenza. This strange illness was advancing, nearly as dangerously as the Kaiser.

  Every week, the paper brought news of death. The flu and the front competed for ink and victims. The Health Department declared all churches, hotels, and even Oliver’s school to close. Signs were hung in town stating fines for spitting and instructing people to use handkerchiefs when sneezing or coughing. With the flu so rampant, Papa reluctantly closed the shop. We stayed home, cooped up, always together and underfoot, making and remaking messes we had just cleaned up.

  Mama canceled most of her social obligations, but I could not keep Virginia from visiting. Her wedding had been beautiful and I had been honored to stand by her side, despite her father’s distain. Now home from her honeymoon, the new Mrs. Malcolm came over and broke up our monotonous days.

  “Did you hear Abington Hospital isn’t accepting any more patients?” she asked over tea in our sitting room. “Ken read me the article from the paper this morning. They are at full capacity and the nurses have all gotten sick and there are only volunteers left to help. Isn’t it awful?”

  “It is. The soldiers are getting sick too.”

  “Yes, Ken said that this morning also. Such sad news, but I must say, it is divine being in that house as a new bride. He has a wonderful cook, you know. She brings us breakfast and I can just relax in my robe. I am so happy, Tish.”

  I took her hand in mine. “I’m glad, Virginia,” I said, though honestly what I mostly felt was jealousy. While her life was continuing, mine had so much waiting and uncertainty.

  ●●●

  In November, the war finally ended. The buzz started around town and when the newspaper confirmed the news, joy raced through me. Ellis would come home, Papa’s business would rebound, and my life could begin to move forward again. It was all over, and though I was still waiting, this had a different feeling, a hopefulness tucked into it. A letter arrived from Ellis sharing news of the armistice. He and some Germans had swapped cigarettes for chocolate like old friends. Relief lifted the cloud of dark times; Ellis had survived the war and was coming home.

  Thanksgiving came and went without him, though. I set a place at the table for him, despite hearing no word of his estimated return. During the meal I was lonely, gazing across at the empty chair, but I gave thanks that the war was over and that he would be home with us soon.

  Ivy and William joined us for the meal. Mama and I were secretly hoping Ivy would arrive with good news and a round belly, but she was just as slim as ever, and, I believe, for the first time in her life, disappointed for it. William seemed very self-conscious, mentioning his flat feet more than once whenever table talk turned to the war.

  “How’s business going, Dad?” William asked between bites of mashed potatoes.

  Papa sighed. I wondered how he would answer. Would he tell William the truth? Would he say how many nights he had spent tweaking the precious recipes written in his black book, looking for ways to cut costs but still offer a quality product to his dwindling clientele?

  “It’s been difficult,” Papa said.

  “Did you ever consider changing the name of the shop? There is so much anti-German sentiment—unfounded in your case, of course—but a name like Hess is sure to draw the wrong kind of attention.”

  From my seat next to Papa, I saw the muscle in his jaw flex into a tight rope. He swallowed his current bite and answered slowly, “I will not change it. Hess is our name. It is our family business.”

  “Hear me out, though,” William plowed on, apparently taking no notice of Papa’s distaste for this kind of suggestion. “You wouldn’t have to change anything else inside, just the name to get them in the door. And you could keep it in the family. What’s the last name of the boy who Tish is involved with? They will surely get married when he returns. Give the shop his name. They very well may take it over eventually anyway.”

  My stomach dropped. “But we aren’t going to stay here and take over the business,” I rushed to say, the words shooting out of my mouth like knives.

  Papa’s eyes were dark and he jabbed his meat with his fork.

  “More peas, anyone?” Mama said, perhaps a little too loudly. We finished our meal, but I knew the discussion was far from over.

  ●●●

  Ellis still wasn’t home at Christmas. His letters said that even though he wouldn’t be part of the Occupation Army in Germany, there was some holdup and he remained stationed in France awaiting his return orders. I lovingly packed up some cigars and mailed them to him in Europe. In early December, a beautiful little painting of a town called Domremy arrived from him. A tiny church was painted in the far background of the landscape. I brushed my fingers over the heavy swaths of paint and grain of wood on the frame, so happy to hold a piece of art that Ellis had once held as well. The note that came with it read:

  Darling,

  All I do is sit here and think of you. We have recently been on the move and have found accommodations in an old barn in this town of Domremy. It is cold and damp, nothing but rain here and strong biting winds. It is making the men are quite foul tempered. No one agrees on anything and there are often fistfights. This seems worse than war. At least then, we were fighting an enemy instead of each other. We have been told that we are sailing home soon, but we have heard that before. I remain hopeful. I dedicated years of my life to this war and am eager to be done with it. My thoughts remain with you and the adventures we will have together.

  All my love,

  Ellis

  I missed him terribly. There was an ache, a longing, that consumed me, hovered in the background, all the time. And, worst of all, I was beginning to forget his face. I knew he had dark hair, deep eyes, thick brows, but I couldn’t put those pieces together in my mind. Now that the war was over, it was nothing but a waiting game for both of us.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Molly

  Waking nights and endless days ran into each other and I longed for a fast forward button. One morning, the crick in my neck woke me up. As I slowly rotated my head, feeling the sore spots in my neck work themselves out with resounding cracks, I attempted to locate myself in my surroundings. I was sitting up, Hayden’s head lolled on my arm, his mouth wide open, his tummy bulbous and sated. I could hear the shower running, and I assumed Corey must be getting ready for work. What day of the week was it? My shirt lay open, my chest chilled and exposed. How long had we been here?

  As sleep fell away, I realized I had fallen asleep in the rocker. I stood up with the temerity of my former self and instantly regretted it. My legs were still asleep and they buckled under me. Clutching the baby tight against my body, I threw my
free hand out and just caught us both before we collided with the carpet.

  Our jarring tumble woke Hayden and he began to wail. I soothed him while sitting on the floor, swaying him in my arms and wiggling my toes in an attempt to get the feeling back. Corey appeared in the doorway with a towel around his waist. His hair was still dripping and steam rose off his back.

  “What are you doing on the floor?” he asked.

  “Just hanging out. We like it down here,” I spat at him.

  “Hayden doesn’t seem to like it.”

  I sighed. “Hayden doesn’t like anything. Here, take him for a second so I can go to the bathroom. It may be my only chance all day.”

  Corey lifted Hayden out of my arms and our son calmed almost immediately. It was hard not to take that personally. With a heave, I hoisted myself off the ground, buttoned up my shirt, and shuffled to the bathroom.

  Yesterday I had taken Hayden to the pediatrician for a check-up. They looked him over thoroughly and answered all my questions. I was relieved to hear that he was healthy and thriving, but remained dissatisfied by the simple diagnosis of “colic” and the doctor’s assurances that his constant crying would pass.

  In the bathroom, I stood in front of the mirror wondering how much longer the colic could last. Three weeks? Three months?

  I looked terrible. There were dark circles under my eyes and my cheeks were baggy. My lips were so pale they blended into the rest of my face, and there was some sort of crust just under my chin. My hair stood on end in strange spots, with wisps flying upward out of my greasy ponytail. The saggy shirt I was wearing was dappled and discolored with spit-up Rorschach’s along my shoulders, which sagged with exhaustion.

  Though I knew I felt terrible, I still wasn’t prepared for the mirror’s harsh reality. Like Frankenstein, I tore myself away from my reflection with a groan and went into our room to find the boys. Corey was getting dressed, so I flopped down next to Hayden, who was settled in the middle of the bed. I watched him punch the air and kick out with his legs.

  “Want to get a shower, Molly? I have a few more minutes before I have to leave.”

  “I’m too tired.” I closed my eyes, enjoying a rest, even momentarily, next to my happy baby.

  “You’re kind of a mess this morning… Did you sleep in the rocker all night?”

  I said nothing, though fury burned my face. Rage empowered me, giving me the strength to stand up. Without a word, I returned to the bathroom and closed the door.

  A mess? Of course I was a mess. I didn’t need him to point that out to me. What husband in the history of the world ever benefited from telling his wife that she didn’t look good? Of course I looked awful. I was exhausted and outmatched by a tiny baby who hated me. And why shouldn’t he? I just nearly dropped him and crushed him by landing on top of him. Corey couldn’t understand because for the thirty minutes each day he spent with our son, Hayden was an angel. The other twenty-three hours and thirty minutes, the kid was eternally irritated. Well, fine. Let him have his thirty minutes. I would take a shower. And a long one. I’d shave my legs. I’d wash my hair, rinse. And as it suggested on the bottle, I’d repeat.

  ●●●

  My skin was red apple red when I finally turned off the hot water. I had let it rain down on me, nearly choking on the steam. It didn’t lift my spirits as much as I had hoped. Instead, melancholy seemed to leak into my steamed-open pores. How was I completely failing at this? Did other new mothers feel this way? Most of my life, I was easily good at things. Before I left college, I didn’t have to work particularly hard to get by. If I hustled in the kitchen, I could keep up with the guys. But my baby, my own baby, was a mystery. If motherhood were any other job, I would be fired by now. Corey seemed content to keep me in the position, despite giving performance reviews that focused mostly on my inadequacies.

  I toweled off and steadied myself against the day. I took a few deep breaths while looking in the mirror. I looked marginally better. Resolving to take it one hour at a time, I went into the bedroom, found some yoga pants, a nursing bra, and a button-up shirt. It was quiet downstairs when I found Corey and Hayden. Corey was eating breakfast and reading the paper while Hayden was bouncing in a seat set in the middle of the dining table.

  “You look better,” Corey said.

  I let it slide and went into the kitchen to scrounge up my own breakfast. While pouring my cereal, I heard Corey call to me. I poked my head in the dining room.

  “Hummm?” I asked, popping a few bits of dry cereal into my mouth.

  “This isn’t so hard. He’s perfectly happy.”

  “Uh-huh. He does certainly seem to be happy now,” I said. My teeth ground the cereal into dust.

  “Okay, family. I’m off,” Corey said as he stood, his sign he was getting ready to leave me for the day. “I’ll be home around eight. Have a great day!”

  Corey kissed Hayden on the forehead and I walked with him to the front door.

  “Have a good day, Molly. I hope he stays happy like this all morning.”

  As if on cue, Hayden began wailing. Left alone in the dining room, his cries began gaining strength. Corey gave me a sympathetic look and closed the door. What would we do for the next ten hours?

  Luckily, Liz stopped by around ten. She knocked briskly on the door and marched in with her usual bravado. I was getting used to it, and I liked her confidence.

  “What are you up to today?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “You’re looking at it.”

  “Want to go to the mall? Walk around a little? Get out of this dark house? Forget about unpacking for a while? I need a new dress, and I bet you could use some retail therapy.”

  I nodded and started the long process of packing up everything we needed to leave the house—the diapers, the wipes, the extra bottle, the binkie, the change of clothes, my wallet, my cell phone. Liz waited patiently and we drove over to the mall together.

  She led the way through the three-story cavernous place, pointing out various stores. We stood waiting for the elevator and when it arrived, I wheeled the stroller in. On the wall of the elevator was an enlarged old and grainy photograph of people at an amusement park. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothing standing at a refreshment stand offering Orangeuce, a large roller coaster looming in the background. On the bottom, white letters read Willow Grove Park Midway, 1918.

  “What is this? What is a midway?” I asked Liz.

  “Oh, before this was a mall, it was a huge amusement park. The midway is where all the games and concession stands are. My kids would have loved it if it was still here. It had rides and concerts too. There are old photographs like this all over the mall.”

  “Huh. I wonder if Aunt Tish ever went there.”

  “Probably,” Liz said with a shrug. “The whole town was built up around Willow Grove Park. They tore it down in the late seventies, though.”

  I peered closer at the figures in the photograph. Might one of them be Aunt Tish? The elevator door opened and I bumped the stroller out. We walked into a store that Liz liked and I steered Hayden’s stroller around the racks while Liz picked out a few things. When she found something, I parked the stroller outside the dressing room and sat on the couch provided for waiting husbands. I rolled the stroller back and forth, knowing I was on borrowed time before Hayden got fussy.

  From behind the partition door, Liz called, “Have you signed up for one of those baby classes?”

  “Not yet,” I called back.

  She stepped out in a light blue shift dress that gathered at the side. She looked great, but she wrinkled her nose at the mirror. She turned from side to side. “You should sign up. You’re sure to meet a few new moms there that you’ll like.” She faced me and continued, “I hate this dress.”

  She went back inside the changing stall, still chattering. “Of course, there’s always some moms there that seem to have it all together. They don’t, though. Everyone is crazy for the first few months. Let your crazy flag fly a little, see
who else throws theirs up. That woman will be your friend forever.” She stepped out of the dressing room again. “What do you think of this one?”

  Now she was wearing a white t-shirt dress.

  I shook my head. “The other one is better.”

  “There, honesty. Thank you.”

  My cell phone began to ring and Liz ducked back in to change. I fished around in my bag, flinging baby stuff all over, before locating my phone. It was Corey.

  “Hey babe, how’s your day? How’s Hayden?” he asked when I answered.

  “Fine. We’re out at the mall with Liz.”

  “Great, great. Listen, I just got scheduled to be out of town next week. Okay with you?”

  Panic immediately flooded my limbs and I stood straight up.

  “What? No! Corey, are you serious?”

  “Yeah, completely serious.”

  “How long?” Dread tinged my voice.

  “It’s only for five days. In Houston. Before you start getting crazy, I already called my mom, but of course she can’t come and help out. Maybe you could ask your dad to come or something?”

  “My dad? You know my stepmonster won’t let him out of her clutches long enough to visit.”

  “Maybe they will both come?”

  “Hilarious. That’s not making this any better.” Blood was rushing in my ears. I picked at the cuticle on my thumb and drew a single bead of blood.

  “Listen, Molly. I have to go on the trip. It’s complicated. I can’t really talk about it right now, but I don’t have a choice about going.”

  “Is everything okay at work?”

  He hesitated. Then, quickly said, “Yes, yes, fine. Everything is fine. I have to go on this trip, though, I just do, whether or not it is convenient.”

  “Then why did you even call to ask if it was okay?” I pushed the end button on my phone and tossed it into my bag. Liz stood there, back in her own clothes, watching me.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “Nope, not remotely,” I said as furious tears pricked the corners of my eyes.