Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel

by Phyllis Zimbler Miller

  "Is that your story? Can't you come up with a better one?"

  What is he talking about?

  "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" His angry face is inches away from her.

  "What should I say?"

  "Why weren't you with Sharon today at the club? Who were you off with?"

  "Who was I with?"

  "That's what I asked."

  "I wasn't with anyone. I was home all day. I ... I worked on the afghan for my sister."

  "Don't lie to me. I know you were with a man."

  Jim's face flushes with the ugliest shade of purple she's ever seen. His eyes will pop out of his face any minute, landing at her feet and rolling away, becoming marbles for Squeaky to chase.

  She sinks to the floor as her knees fold under her. "I swear, Jim, I swear on my sister's life, that I was home all day alone. That I was not with another man today, or ever before, or ever in the future." The tears plop onto her hands.

  He strides down the hall. In a moment he's back.

  He has the gun!

  "I'll kill you if you're ever with another man. I promise you, Kim, I'll kill you."

  SHARON – XII – July 3

  President Nixon receives optimistic report from 11-person commission he sent to study Cambodia and South Vietnamese war zones ... June 10, 1970

  “If you accompany your husband to a unit party where soldiers are present, you should arrive a little late and stay only a short while.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet

  Sharon locks the apartment door behind her. The cars parked below sizzle on an asphalt frying pan.

  Kim isn't due to pick her up for another half hour. At least Sharon expects Kim to pick her up at the usual time. Even though yesterday Kim begged off going to the pool when Sharon came by to pick Kim up, she didn’t say anything about canceling today.

  Even this early in the day the apartment feels like a blast furnace. Outside there might be a breeze. She'll walk at a slow pace to Kim's apartment and get there before Kim leaves.

  How did people get along before telephones? Of course, in all Sharon's favorite English novels people find somebody, a servant or a street urchin, with whom to send a handwritten note. Sharon has neither at her disposal.

  Telephones, though, are not the primary invention that Sharon would miss most. That convenience is indoor plumbing – flush toilets! She hated Girl Scout camp, hated the outdoor latrines with the putrid smell. She would run down the path, do her business at lightning speed, and race back up the path to sweet-smelling civilization.

  Americans take flush toilets as part of their national right. Yet what about Donna's brother, perched in a tree where even the slightest movement betraying his forward position could bring a fatal bullet? How does he go to the bathroom? War movies, the ones where the good buddies save each other against overwhelming odds, never show these things. If they did, perhaps fewer little boys would dream of going off to war to prove they are men.

  Sharon tramps through the field. A patch of bluebells reminds her of the imitation bluebells on the large Marshall Field's box that Bonnie Morgen, the daughter of Sharon’s mother’s best friend, opened at her bridal shower Sharon attended the same weekend she had told her parents about Robert first coming to visit.

  "Look, Mother,” Bonnie had said, “aren't these towels beautiful!"

  Farther down the restaurant banquet table Sharon twisted around to whisper to her own mother. "For heaven's sake, the way she carries on you'd think Bonnie was the first girl to ever get married," Sharon said.

  Sharon's mother leaned closer. "Just because you don't approve of things like wedding showers doesn't mean you have to be rude."

  "How bourgeois," Sharon mumbled, not quite loud enough for her mother to hear, then turned back to watch Bonnie unwrap more gifts.

  Bonnie Morgen. Sharon's long-standing competitor in the "my daughter is the best" contest that Bonnie's mother and Sharon's mother have engaged in since the two girls were young children and the Morgen and Bloom families first became good friends.

  Rainbow lights darted from the large pear-shape diamond on Bonnie's left hand as she tore into yet another package. Sharon could visualize the night Bonnie announced her engagement to her AEPhi sorority house at U of I. The same type of ceremony took place regularly at Sharon's AEPhi sorority house at MSU.

  The house mother announces on the loud speaker, "Everyone come to the dining room now. There's a candle ceremony."

  They all rush down the stairs dressed in their pajamas or robes, hair set in curlers, barefoot or with slippers, and stand in a circle alongside the dining room tables. Then the electric lights are turned off and a single candle lit. The sorority president passes the candle to the girl on her left and around the circle the candle goes once for good luck. Then if it stops before making a complete second circle, the girl who blows out the candle is announcing she's pinned. If the candle is on its third trip around when the lucky girl blows it out, she's engaged!

  Bonnie blows the candle out on the third circuit. Everyone exclaims and hugs her. She takes her engagement ring out of her bathrobe pocket and slips it on her finger for all to admire.

  Sharon could puke, particularly since Bonnie's intended is Neil Rosen, already attending law school at Northwestern. Bonnie has definitely won this contest – becoming engaged before Sharon. That's really hitting the jackpot for Mrs. Morgen.

  Yet a few weeks later, now with brown hair 12 inches shorter than her dyed blond hair of last quarter, she met Robert's plane at O’Hare Airport on his way back from Ft. Riley.

  At the gate the deplaning exodus included mothers with small babies, soldiers in uniform, old people, young people. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a young man in a short-sleeve shirt and jeans, his head practically shaved.

  "Robert!"

  "Sharon!"

  Two steps take her to him.

  "I didn't recognize you with such short hair," she said.

  "I didn't recognize you. What did you do to your hair?"

  They walk to the luggage carousel to claim his meager army luggage.

  "I really appreciate how you wrote every day – it kept me going," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't write more. There was no time."

  He wrote her four short letters in his six weeks at Ft. Riley. He did call twice, once on each weekend he'd gotten leave, when he and some other guys piled into an air-conditioned motel room and slept for two days.

  At home when she brings Robert into the house her parents and Howard are gracious to him. They sit down for dinner and no one even obliquely refers to military training or the war. Until her father stands and says, "The news is on."

  Robert nods his head at her father, then turns to her mother. "Thank you, Mrs. Bloom. Delicious dinner."

  "Let's go out on the patio," Sharon says.

  She grabs his hand. Finally a closed door separates them from her parents and Howard.

  Robert recites:

  Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

  Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

  Sharon laughs. "You're quoting Shakespeare?"

  "I've had six weeks to think," he said.

  "About what?" How wrong the war is? How he wants out of his military commitment?

  He took her hand. "Sharon, will you marry me?"

  She hadn’t expected this.

  "We’ve only known each other a short time.”

  “I know what I want,” Robert said.

  “I love you – I really do,” she said. “I just can't marry you now."

  "It's Vietnam, isn't it?"

  "You're a second lieutenant commissioned in infantry. Those are the men with the shortest life expectancy in Vietnam."

  "Sharon ..."

  She disengaged her hand. "There are flies out here. Let's go back inside."

  As she now approaches the parking lot of Kim’s apartment building, Sharon wipes an arm across her sweat-beaded face. Maybe staying in the apartment would have been a better idea.


  Sharon spots Kim's car in front of her apartment, heat waves shimmering off it the same as all the other cars. Sharon knocks on the apartment door.

  Kim doesn't answer. Sharon waits. Calls out "Kim." Then knocks again.

  Not even an "I'm in the bathroom; I'll be right out" which would be heard across the small apartment and through the flimsy door.

  Sharon's hands itch and her armpits clutch. Is Kim ill? Is she too sick to walk to the front door or lift her head and call out?

  The laundry room! Sharon runs over to the separate building. Empty.

  Sharon dashes back to the apartment and twists the doorknob. Locked. The curtains across the living room window block the view. She runs around the apartment building to the back side of Kim's apartment. Like hers, these apartment units have no back doors.

  Curtains stretch across the bedroom window, but the bathroom window stands open. "Kim, Kim!" Nothing.

  Firewood logs lean against the side of a tool shed. Sharon scoops some logs up and piles them at the foot of the window. She drops her purse into her swim bag and throws the bag through the window. Then she removes her sandals – useless for climbing – and throws them through the window.

  She steps up carefully onto the logs so as not to get splinters in her feet, grabs hold of the window sill, and pulls herself up, her bare feet bracing against the outer wall. She swings one leg over the sill, assesses the drop zone, then swings the other leg over.

  She drops into the bathroom.

  On the floor an open medicine bottle tilts against the sink base. It's empty! Her hands shake.

  Kim. Where's Kim?

  Sharon turns left out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. She stumbles against something in the dark room.

  Sharon flicks on the light switch. Kim lies on the floor, one arm stretched towards Squeaky in his cage, the other arm cradling her head.

  "Kim, Kim!" Sharon shakes Kim by the shoulders. Her head rolls forward.

  First aid! What has she learned in high school first aid class? Feel for a pulse. Kim's wrist – no pulse! The spot on the neck – something! Please may she be alive.

  Sharon dashes into the kitchen, fills a glass with water, and runs back to the bedroom. Splashes the water on Kim's face. A slight reflex!

  Hospital. Call an ambulance. No, wait.

  Kim would die of embarrassment if people knew what she's done. The apartment complex might look deserted. Yet the moment Muldraugh residents hear an ambulance, they'll scurry outside. Better to keep this quiet. AND KIM DOESN'T HAVE A PHONE!

  If Sharon can somehow get Kim into the car, she can drive to a hospital as fast as waiting for an ambulance. Which hospital? The only one Sharon knows is the post hospital. This might go on Jim's army record. Jim would be furious.

  Fred. Dr. Fred Weinstein. He could help. How to find him? Call Judy. Ask her to reach her husband. KIM DOESN'T HAVE A PHONE!

  First things first. Sharon can't lift Kim. Maybe she can drag her. Sharon runs into the bathroom and slaps on her sandals, shoves the empty pill bottle into her swim bag and hooks it over her arm. Then she runs back and places her hands under Kim's armpits.

  Two good things. One, Kim wears street clothes, not a nightgown. Two, Squeaky isn't a bull dog who will devour Sharon.

  Sweat pelts down Sharon's face, back, arms and legs as she tugs Kim across the living room floor. At the apartment door she remembers. NO CAR. She runs back into the bedroom. The car keys lie on the bureau top, in the same spot Robert keeps his keys.

  Sharon opens the apartment front door and pulls Kim out. She props Kim against the apartment door while she opens the car door on the passenger side. Please may no one decide to come outside right now.

  She drags Kim across the asphalt to the car door. Kim's slacks should protect her legs from the blazing pavement.

  How to lift Kim up into the seat? People are supposed to have Herculean strength in life-threatening circumstances. Sharon doesn't. "Kim, Kim," she says. "Please, please, wake up."

  Sharon slaps Kim across the face. She has seen this in a movie. Maybe it will work. One eye opens. Sharon slaps Kim again. The other eye opens.

  "Kim." Sharon shakes her. "You have to help me. Please help me get you in the car."

  No response. Sharon places her hands under Kim's armpits. She's not as heavy as before. Perhaps the slight consciousness makes Kim less of a deadweight.

  Sharon pushes and pushes. Kim's upper body rolls onto the seat, her head sliding beneath the steering wheel. Sharon straightens Kim into an upright position and slings her legs in front of her. Sharon fastens the lap belt around Kim's waist and rolls down the window on her side. The car feels like a fondue pot of bubbling oil.

  Sharon slides into the driver's side, fastens her lap belt, and rolls down her window. The steering wheel burns her fingers. She grabs the towel out of her swim bag to hold the wheel.

  She drives out of the parking lot, then around the block to her complex. In front of her apartment she jumps out of the car and dashes up the outer stairs. Inside her apartment she grabs the phone. With all those children Judy should be home at this time in the morning. The number appears on a list with other Ft. Knox numbers next to the phone.

  A young child answers. "May I please speak to your mother?" The receiver bangs against the wall as the child calls "Mommy, Mommy."

  "Yes?" Judy says.

  Sharon gulps tears back into her throat, then tells Judy what has happened and why she doesn't want to take Kim to the army hospital. "It could affect her husband's career and he'd be furious."

  "Call me back in two minutes,” Judy says. “I'll try to reach Fred at the hospital and ask if he can come home for a 'family emergency.' Then you can bring her here."

  Sharon runs outside and leans over the railing. Kim sits upright in the car. Please may all the other wives be inside watching their favorite television programs.

  "...119, 120." She redials Judy's number.

  "My husband will meet you here in 10 minutes,” Judy says. “Drive carefully but hurry!"

  **

  Forewarned that Kim has swallowed a bottle of pills, Judy's husband Fred prepares to pump Kim's stomach. "Watch the children while I help Fred with the procedure," Judy says.

  The four children catapult around the backyard, fight over the sandbox toys, chase each other up and down the slide. The four-ring circus keeps itself amused until the youngest falls off the swing.

  "You're fine," Sharon says. The child ignores her and climbs back up on the offending swing.

  Judy appears in the backyard. "Go speak with Fred. I'll watch the children."

  Fred meets Sharon in the hall outside the bedroom. "She’s going to make it,” he says, then adds, “You should have called the post ambulance, had her taken to the post hospital."

  "You don't understand about her husband."

  He shakes his head, then asks, "Do you know why she took the pills? Was she trying to kill herself?"

  "She was dressed to go out," Sharon says.

  Fred twists the clasp on his doctor's bag. "She may not have wanted to be found in her nightgown."

  "How is she?"

  "She'll be very tired. Can you take her home by yourself and stay with her?"

  Sharon nods. The apartment key resides on the ring with the car key – Sharon tried the wrong key first in the ignition – so she will be able to get back in the apartment. Then what? How to help Kim and what to tell Jim? She’ll ask to use Judy’s phone – call Wendy and Donna.

  "Try to talk to her – see how you can help,” Fred says. “Next time she might not be as lucky."

  Yes, Fred is right Sharon thinks. Next time Kim might use the gun.

  **

  Thirty minutes later Sharon lets Donna into Kim's apartment. "Thanks for coming," she tells Donna.

  "I called Wendy – she'll be here soon." Donna sits down on the couch. "Now tell me what's going on with Kim."

  "I walked over to Kim's because it was so hot in my apartment. Then I
climbed in the bathroom window when Kim didn't answer the door."

  "You what?" Donna bends forward, as if she is about to spring up and inspect the bathroom window, check if Sharon can fit through the space.

  "I climbed through the window ... and found Kim lying unconscious in her bedroom."

  Donna's mouth sags around her disbelief.

  Sharon paces away from Donna, then turns back to her. "I knew she was alive because I found a pulse. I tried to revive her, but couldn't."

  Donna jumps up. "She's okay now, isn't she? You didn't call me over to figure out what to do about a ..."

  "She's resting in the bedroom. I need your help to talk to her about what happened and figure out what to say to Jim."

  Donna sits down and motions for Sharon to sit back down too. As Sharon moves towards the couch the doorbell rings again. Sharon opens the door to Wendy.

  "What's going on?" Wendy says. "What's wrong?"

  "Sit down," Donna says.

  Sharon repeats what she has told Donna. "I can't believe it, I can't believe it!" Wendy says.

  How much help are these two going to be? Sharon thinks, then says that Kim’s stomach was pumped. "She took ... she took almost a whole bottle of pills."

  "Why?" Wendy asks.

  "I haven't asked and she hasn't said."

  Donna takes Sharon's hands. "We're here."

  Sharon gulps back a sob. "Help me fix it, especially the part about not calling an ambulance.”

  “You didn’t call an ambulance? How did you get Kim’s stomach pumped?” Wendy asks.

  Now Sharon tells the rest of the story. The mad dash to the Weinsteins’ house. Afterwards the talk with Fred.

  “Did I do the right thing?” Sharon says. “Kim could have died! It would have been my fault!" Again.

  Donna says, "You have to believe that nothing here is your fault. Another person makes a decision – to enlist, to leave his family, to whatever. And if something happens after that, if you react to the consequences of that action a certain way, it's not your fault. You did your best at that particular moment."

  Sharon looks at Donna. She's talking about herself as much as Kim, about herself and her first husband.