"Thank you. Now, about your not going to the library Tuesday..."
So much for thinking she was out of the woods. She decided to brazen it out. "Mom, I'm a senior next year. I shouldn't have to tel you everywhere I go."
"Oh?"
"We, well, we, um, did go to the library..." She stumbled over the words. "Emily needed to meet a friend before we studied. So we stopped downtown at the malt shop...."
"And then walked by the movie theater, where your friend just happened to see your mother with another man."
Marian rested her hand on Anne's wrist. "Anne, honey, you know there's a reason we don't like you wandering around downtown at night."
"The Lindbergh baby kidnapping?" Her mother didn't often refer to that time, and Anne only knew about it from old newspaper stories. But the kidnapping had affected her growing-up years and those of al the children in her generation.
"Mom, nobody's going to kidnap us! Why would they?" Her father was part of the city council and her mother was involved with city and church committees. But they weren't rich. They didn't have anything for ransom.
"Annie, that's not why we don't want you going downtown at night."
"Then what?"
Her mother lowered her chin, her expression stating more clearly than words that she expected better of her daughter. "Nothing but trouble can happen if young women are wandering around town after dark."
"Mom! You can trust me. I'm almost the same age you were when you married Daddy. And I'm going to col ege in a year."
"I know, dear. And it's not you I worry about. It's your friends. If they are friends," she added quietly.
Anne stared at her mother. "What?"
"Annie, Emily made up that story to protect herself. She was supposed to go to the library, too. Her mother and I talked that evening, about you studying together. Her mother was saying how pleased she was that you and Emily were friends, that she'd been nervous about some of the other girls Emily went around with."
Anne felt disloyal, listening to her mother talk about Emily this way. "She's my friend, Mother."
"And she told you a he about your mother. In other words, she manipulated you—how could you possibly reveal what she did? She might repeat the scandal about your mother."
Marian waited a moment. "She's not a very nice friend, Annie."
''Okay, maybe she made a mistake. But I thought I saw you, too!"
"Anne, how many women do you think have coats like mine? It's not that unusual a style."
Anne squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother sounded so plausible. And Emily did know about her parents'
earlier arguments and the times they'd separated. The two girls had spent the last few weeks sharing family secrets, whispering in their bedrooms when they should've been studying. Had Emily intended to lie hi had she real y believed she'd seen Marian? Anne could no longer be sure....
"I'm so sorry, Mama!" She threw herself into Marian's arms, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Marian smoothed her hand along Anne's hair, her touch soothing. Anne couldn't stop crying, al the anxiety of the last few days overwhelming her.
She final y sat up, sniffling until Marian handed her a handkerchief. Anne blew her nose, wadding the hanky in her fist. "I'm sorry, Mama," she repeated.
Marian tucked Anne's hair behind her ears. "I did plan to watch you swim. I was even going to use my position as your mother to push to the front of the crowd. But by the time I got home, I knew I'd be far too late."
She smiled and wiped a last tear from Anne's cheek. "Better now?"
Anne nodded. "You and Daddy aren't going to get a divorce?"
Marian laughed. "Honey, if we've stayed together this long, we can stay together a few more years. There's nothing to worry about." She kissed Anne's cheek. "Now, go wash up for dinner. You don't want your father to see those red eyes."
Anne scurried down the hal way. If her father asked her what was the matter, she'd start crying al over again.
She had so wanted Emily to be wrong—but she hadn't believed Emily would lie to her. They were supposed to be best friends.
She flung herself on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
If her father knew she'd even suspected it could be her mother going into that theater, he would be so disappointed in her. She tried to swal ow her tears. She couldn't stand the thought of disappointing him.
At supper, Alice chatted about Anne's performance and Marian suggested that maybe later they could enjoy a private family show. "I've seen you practice," she said to Anne. "I would love to see the entire performance."
Margaret mentioned an upcoming community play and Frank promised to buy tickets for the entire family.
Anne barely spoke, afraid to trust her voice. She stil felt shaky.
The younger girls offered to do the dishes without any prompting. Frank settled in his chair with the newspaper; Marian picked up her magazine. Anne opened the closet door and took out her coat.
"I'm going to the library," she announced, glad her voice didn't waver.
Frank lowered his paper. "Be home by nine."
She nodded, kissing the top of his head. She paused at her mother's side. "I'm going to the library," she said.
"I have a book to return and I want to find another one."
Her mother smiled. "I trust you, sweetheart."
The words pierced Anne's heart, and she could feel the tears wel ing up. With a muffled goodbye, she hurried out the door.
The summer passed quickly. She worked at the pool as a lifeguard, glowing at the continued attention her swimming received. Her instructor thought she should apply at one of the tourist attractions down south that featured swimming mermaids, but she was determined to go to col ege. The first step to breaking out of the smal town and seeing the world.
During the next school year, she was more observant of her parents and how they treated each other. She'd never noticed before how often her father touched her mother's shoulder or bent down to whisper something in her ear. The way her mother would glow when Frank came into the room or the girlish giggle I hat escaped her lips, often after one of those secretive whispers. Sometimes embarrassed by their displays of affection, she nevertheless hoped to find the same sort of love for herself.
But not for many years to come. She had places to go and people to see. Europe. The ocean. New York City.
Love would have to wait.
Chapter 13
Midwest Iowa Col ege
September 1949
"He's looking this way again. Right at you, Anne." Barb giggled.
Anne didn't turn. "You're being ridiculous," she hissed. "No, she's not." Susan shot a quick glance over her shoulder. "He's been staring at you since we came in. He's real y cute. Al that dark hair and those broad shoulders."
The registration line moved slowly forward. Anne clutched her purse to her chest, willing herself not to look, even inadvertently, at the next line.
The three girls had been assigned to the same room in the dorm. Anne had been nervous, not sure she could share a room with strangers. But Barb and Susan had already erased her fears, their bubbly personalities pul ing her along with them to the beginning-of-the-year activities.
Now they waited to pick up their schedules. The lines were divided by year, which meant the young man watching her was I sophomore.
"He's coming over here, Anne!"
A wave of panic spread over her. "He is not!"
"Hi."
She raised her head and met clear gray eyes. "Hel o." His voice was deep, sending a ripple down her spine.
"My name is Richard Sanders."
"Umm." She swallowed. What was her name? "I'm...Anne Kobertson. And these are my roommates, Barb Taylor and Susan Campbel ."
A tal , lanky boy with a shock of blond hair joined them. "Come on, Richard, let's get out of here."
"In a minute." He smiled at Anne, and her knees threatened to buckle. "See you around?"
She nodded, watching as he loped after his friend.
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Barb sighed. "He's a dream, Anne."
"I think we're looking at the future Mrs. Richard Sanders."
Anne's head swiveled back to her friends. "Oh, you are not!" She pressed her hand against the flutter in her stomach. "My dad would die if he thought I was using his money to find a husband. I came here for an education!"
Barb and Susan grinned at each other. "Maybe a husband wil be part of your education," Susan said. Barb laughed, and Anne felt a tiny thril of anticipation.
The week passed without a cal from him. Her parents checked in to see if she was getting settled and she babbled on the phone about her roommates, her classes, the weather. She asked about the shop and the new store they'd opened in Des Moines. Anything to avoid mentioning the boy she'd seen in line that first day.
"See?" she said Friday night. "He was just being nice. "They were sitting on the floor, painting their toenails.
"He was not," Barb argued. "He'll cal ."
Anne shrugged, adding pink polish to her little toe. "He won't. Besides, like I said, my dad would not be happy if I'm daydreaming over a guy when I should be studying."
"Daydreaming?" Susan asked. "But you're too high-minded to care about anything except your classes.
That's what she says, isn't it, Barb?"
Barb's answer was lost in a shout from down the hal . "Robertson, phone!"
Anne froze. "Did she say me?"
Barb pried the nail polish brush out of her hand. "Go on. I bet it's him."
"It's probably Mom or Dad." Her voice sounded normal, and she hoped no one could tel her insides were doing a complicated somersault.
"They already cal ed this week," Susan reminded her. "Go."
"Hel o?" she said tentatively into the receiver. Barb and Susan had crowded into the narrow booth with her.
"Hi, is this Anne Robertson?"
It was him. "Yes."
"This is Richard Sanders. You may not remember me, but we met in line when we were picking up our schedules."
She paused. "Oh, yes. I remember. How are you?"
Very cool, Susan mouthed. Anne shifted as much as possible so she couldn't see their faces.
"I'm fine. I was wondering, there's a sing-along in the student center tomorrow night. Would you like to go with me?"
"Tomorrow? Wel ..." She felt a punch on her back. "Yes, I'd love to."
"Good. I'll pick you up about seven, okay? See you then."
She stood there, the phone in her hand, until Susan took it from her and hung it up. The two girls maneuvered her back down the hal and into their room.
"That was Richard." She couldn't stop smiling. "We're going out tomorrow night."
"Real y?" Susan pushed her onto the floor and picked up the nailbrush. "Then we need to make you beautiful.
And I don't know if we're going to have enough time."
"What?" She glanced into their laughing faces. Giggling, she pelted Susan on the leg, with a pil ow. Barb joined in and they laughingly pummeled each other until they were breathless.
Barb plopped down on the floor. "Okay, that was fun. Now we have serious business. What are you going to wear tomorrow?"
By six-thirty Saturday night, she'd tried on five different blouses, changed her skirt twice and discarded four pairs of shoes. "What do you think?" she asked, standing in the middle of the clothes-strewn room.
"You're beautiful." Susan twisted a curl around her finger. "Your hair's so pretty. It's red but not that carroty red.
And these curls are gorgeous." She flicked a finger at her own straight fal of dark hair.
"I can thank my mother for the curls but not the color." Anne inspected herself in the mirror, smoothing several curls behind her ears. "Dad says that's the picture he'll always remember, the sun on Mom's golden curls. I don't know how I ended up with red hair."
"Quit fishing for compliments. Richard's going to drop at your feet when he sees you." Barb held out a sweater.
"As long as he doesn't pass out. "The somersaults in her stomach hadn't subsided and she only hoped she wouldn't be the one to faint.
When the buzzer sounded, they al jumped. Barb and Susan walked her to the end of the hal , pushing her through the door into the common lounge. "Good luck," Barb whispered. "And have a great rime."
He stood by the check-in counter, striding over when he saw her. "You look very pretty," he said.
"So do you," she responded.
She realized what she'd said and felt her skin heat. That was the disadvantage of being a redhead, she thought bitterly. You blushed so easily.
His laugh was as attractive as his voice and it immediately relaxed her. "Thank you. No one ever said I was pretty before."
"Wel , first time for everything. Shal we go?"
The evening passed quickly and delightful y. She was a soprano and he sang a deep bass. Twice the leader started a song unfamiliar to Richard and he amused her by singing sil y words into her ear, his breath tickling the fine hairs of her neck.
They headed back to the dorm a few minutes before Lights Out. When a breeze suddenly sprang up, she shivered in her sweater, and Richard draped his jacket around her shoulders, his fingers lightly touching her arms.
He halted just outside the glow cast by the dorm light. Anne stood stil , hardly able to breathe. Would he kiss her? No one would ever mistake her for a fast woman, but the thought of his lips on hers...
"I had a great time." His voice was husky.
"So did I. Thank you for inviting me." She handed him back his jacket.
Their fingers met. The somersaults were coming in waves, brought on by his eyes gazing at her so intently, the musky smel of his cologne, the uneven stutter of his breath.
"Could we go out again?" His words were a whisper in the shadows.
She nodded, not sure she could trust her voice. He stepped closer, his lips grazing hers, and walked away.
Humming one of the sil y songs he'd sung for her, she floated into her room. Susan leaned over the side of her bed. "So?"
Anne sighed. "He is such a gentleman."
"He didn't kiss her," Barb said knowingly.
Anne raised one eyebrow. "He did kiss her!" Susan squealed.
"A tiny one." Anne frowned. "You don't suppose he'll think I'm fast, do you?"
Barb hopped out of bed and hugged her. "No. You're too fragile and delicate to be fast." She giggled. "Oh, I bet you've got a boyfriend now."
She was right. Anne and Richard were inseparable during the next two months. He walked her to class. She waited for him at meals.
They were often at the library together, his dark head and her red curls bent over a book. She cheered for him at footbal games. They walked into town for movies or hot chocolate with friends.
"So, has he asked you yet?" Barb asked one evening in November.
Anne looked up from the book she was reading. Lights Out was in ten minutes, and she was cramming in a few more pages for tomorrow's history test.
"Asked what?"
"Oh, Anne, don't be dense. Has he proposed?"
She frowned at Susan in surprise. "Of course not. We've only been dating for a few months."
Barb and Susan exchanged glances. "Anne, dear, the whole campus expects an announcement any day."
"Lights out!" the housemother shouted.
Anne turned off her desk light and crawled into bed.
"You can't silence us so easily," Barb muttered.
Anne curled up with her pil ow. "We're friends, that's al ." It wasn't al . There'd been kisses that made her spine tingle. Shared smiles that caused her breath to catch. But she wasn't ready to consider marriage. She had a whole world stil to see.
She went home for Thanksgiving, grateful for some time away from the intensity of her friends and their desire to see her married by spring. She liked Richard and she liked spending time with him. But marriage was for the future. The distant future.
Wednesday night she organized receipts at the shop. Her mother did the office work while her
father ran the repair department. "Your mom's been training the staff in Des Moines," Frank said, handing her a folder. "I'll be glad when she's working here again."
Stuffing the turkey on Thursday morning she told her mother about her classes. She rol ed out pie crust and enthral ed her sisters with funny stories. She answered her father's questions about campus activities while they feasted on turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, Waldorf salad, al the special trimmings she remembered from every Thanksgiving they'd celebrated over the years.
"No boyfriends?" her father asked after the meal had been eaten, the dishes carried into the kitchen.
"I'm not there for dating," she said, her stomach giving a guilty lurch.
"I'm glad to hear that." Marian patted Frank's hand. "I don't regret a minute of my life with your father but you don't have to rush into anything. Once you have children, you won't have a chance to see the world."
Anne nodded, determined to slow things down with Richard.
The first weekend in December, he invited her to dinner. They hadn't seen each other much after Thanksgiving; she'd invented excuse after excuse not to be with him. But her imagination had failed her that afternoon and she'd reluctantly accepted his invitation.
As they walked to the single nice restaurant in the smal town, he apologized for not having a car.
"I don't mind," she said. "It's a beautiful night."
The sky was fil ed with stars, and the snow shone bright and clean in the evening fight. They crunched through the drifts, the sound of their footsteps accented by the swoosh of snow fal ing from the branches around them.
They talked quietly. Anne's heart pounded when he took her gloved hand, tucking it in his pocket, his hand curled possessively around hers.
She enjoyed dinner. Richard's views on life were intriguing and he was an attentive listener, focusing on her words, his lips curved in a smile that often made her forget what she was saying.
Leaving the restaurant, Anne turned toward the campus.
"Let's walk to the park." One hand on her elbow, he steered her in the opposite direction.
I lie smal park was set back from the street. Richard led her to the lone bench and dusted off the snow that had gathered on its stone seat.
He waited for her to sit down, then sat at the other end. His face was more serious than she'd ever seen it and he wouldn't meet her eyes.
Tessa McDermid - Family Stories Page 15