by Harmon, Amy
“Introduce me, Lizzie.” Roger had a toothpick in his mouth that he slowly moved from one side to the other. Maggie had seen him three times now, and she liked him less each time, if that were even possible. Her heart pounded at his proximity, and she felt a little sick to her stomach. His hair was dark and his eyes green, and he was undoubtedly handsome - and very sure of himself.
“I’m telling Irene that you were staring at our cousin with drool on your chin, Roger,” Lizzie said snidely, looping her arm through Maggie’s and pulling her into The Malt. That seemed to bring Roger up short. It was one of his friends who called out after them.
“Does the cousin have a name, Dizzy?”
“Do you have a brain, Larry?” Lizzie replied, and Larry’s friends guffawed at her wit. Maggie decided she definitely liked her grandmother.
“Inquiring minds want to know!” another boy yelled out.
“Her name is Maggie, okay? Now go away!” Lizzie grumped, and they walked into The Malt. It wasn’t much to look at, really. It was shaped like a long train car with small windows running all along the side. Inside, the roof was domed and a long line of stools connected to an even longer bar ran along one side with narrow tables and metal chairs running along the side with the windows. A soda fountain, complete with pull levers, occupied one side of the counter, and grey menus with three red stripes along the top and three red stripes on the bottom were spread here and there for easy access. Big grey and red squares criss-crossed the floor, and a jukebox played songs in the corner. A man in a big white apron and a white cap dispensed soda and barked out orders to the kitchen behind him. There were a couple of waitresses in grey dresses with rounded white collars, little caps, and white ruffled aprons manning the tables. The place was brimming with teenagers.
Lizzie hopped up on a stool and pulled Maggie along, tapping the shoulder of the fellow sitting between the only two empty stools and asking him politely if he would “scoot over so she and her friend could sit together.”
He slid to his right agreeably, and Lizzie patted the stool he had vacated, indicating that Maggie should sit. She did so and was trying not to be too noticeable about staring at everyone and everything when Lizzie informed her that she would order for both of them.
The two boys to her right were discussing a ball player’s salary, one exclaiming that “before you know it, athletes would be making more than the president!” She giggled a little at that, and one of the boys looked up at her in surprise. Maggie’s giggle died in her throat. She recognized him. He glanced away immediately, blushing furiously, apparently unaccustomed to eye contact with girls.
It was Billy Kinross. She was sure of it. Same glasses and short spiky hair with the cowlick in front. He had a splash of freckles across his nose, and he wore a short-sleeved dress shirt and khakis. He reminded her a little of Wally Cleaver.
“Lizzie,” Maggie leaned toward her young cohort and whispered into her ear. “Who is the boy two stools down on my right?”
“That’s Billy Kinross. Why? Do you think he’s cute? If you think he’s dreamy, you should see his brother.”
Maggie couldn’t very well respond that she knew exactly how “dreamy” Johnny Kinross was. She didn’t need to; Lizzie had simply paused to take a slug of her pink, foamy malt. Maggie pulled the strawberry confection to her own lips and drank thirstily as Lizzie swallowed and continued, her top lip mustached in milky pink.
“Billy is in here all the time, lucky duck, because his mother works here. I think he gets his dinner free.”
“His...mother?” Maggie swung her head around, looking for the two waitresses. “Is she here now?”
“Prob’ly. Billy doesn’t come unless she’s here. No free food that way.” The man in the white cap and apron set baskets brimming with food and lined in red tissue paper in front of them. Maggie’s stomach growled loudly, and Lizzie snickered into her hand.
“Can I get you ladies anything else?” the man asked with a rosy-cheeked grin. Maggie thanked him politely as Lizzie dove in, but his attention was drawn almost immediately to something going on beyond them. Maggie swiveled in her seat to see what had narrowed his eyes and robbed him of his cheerful smile.
Roger Carlton sat at a table with his three friends, but his arm was clamped firmly around a waitress’s trim waist, and his other hand had captured one of her hands in his. The waitress was trying to extricate herself while still maintaining the facade that nothing was amiss, but her discomfort was obvious. Maggie didn’t have to see her face to know it had to be Dolly Kinross. She was a platinum blonde, and her hair was rolled and pinned in curls around her head. Maggie could only see her profile, but she could see how nicely the dress hugged her hips and how youthful her figure was. Roger Carlton seemed to have noticed as well. Funny, Maggie had been given the impression that he was angry with Dolly Kinross for having an affair with his father. Maybe that wasn’t why he was angry at all.
The man behind the counter called, “Dolly...order up!” although no order had been called from the window behind him. The woman freed herself and turned away from the boys. Roger watched her walk away, and his face held a strange expression. He caught Maggie staring at him, and his face smoothed immediately. He gave a little wave, and her heart gave a dread filled twist. She turned away from him quickly. As she turned, she noticed the episode had not escaped Billy Kinross either. His cheeks were ruddy again, and his eyes were on the counter-top, his hands fisted and white. Dolly Kinross slid behind the long counter and shot a grateful look at the man in the apron. He shook his head at her and turned away. She smiled and shrugged and, leaning forward, pinched Billy’s cheeks, causing him to lift his sullen gaze.
“Eat up, Billy. I get off in a few minutes. Can you walk down to Gene’s and ride home with Johnny?” Her voice was musical, and there was the slightest gap between her front two teeth giving her a winsome look. Deep dimples appeared at each side of her mouth. Johnny had those dimples.
“Aren’t you comin’ home?” Billy asked, his voice low and wary.
“In a while, darling.” She glanced away then, and busied herself removing her apron. “Don’t worry about me.” She sat a brown bag on the counter in front of Billy. “This is for your brother. Make sure he gets it now!” Dolly Kinross let herself be distracted, and she hustled away. Billy sighed mightily and grabbed the bag, sliding off the stool as he did. He sneaked a glance at Maggie without turning his head, his eyes darting sideways. He ducked his head when he again caught her looking at him.
“Gee whiz, Maggie!” Lizzie breathed between bites. “Stop staring. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a cute boy before.”
Maggie twisted back around on her stool and stared at the food she hadn’t even touched -- food she no longer had any appetite for. She was almost nauseous with the knowledge she carried. She knew what would happen to Dolly and Billy, to Johnny, even to the little girl who sat next to her. She knew their life stories, their heartaches, and the day each one died. Could she change any of it? Did she dare? What if she made things worse just by being here?
She wanted to run down the street, screaming after Billy, warning him of the perils to come. And more than anything else, she wanted to find Johnny and lock her arms around him, convince him that she loved him, and never go back home. Could she? Was it possible that she could stay and save him from Purgatory all together? Would time go on in the future without her? Or would it remain suspended until she returned, or until she caught back up with it?
~11~
A Time to Keep
When Lizzie and Maggie left The Malt, the sun was setting, and as long as Maggie’s eyes stayed trained on the horizon, she could almost believe she was in the same Honeyville, in spite of all the changes in the last 53 years. Maggie convinced Lizzie to ride farther down Main, past Gene’s Automotive. But the place was locked up, and the plaque on the door read “closed.” There was no sign of the Kinross brothers or Johnny’s car. Maggie felt a surge of panic. How could she shrug her shou
lders and pedal meekly back to her house, to Lizzie’s house, knowing that at any minute she could be whisked back to where she had come from.
“Are you okay, Maggie?” Lizzie said softly, straddling her bike next to Maggie, who sat staring dejectedly at the quiet automotive shop.
“I am in love with someone who doesn’t know I exist,” Maggie tried to laugh at what she’d meant to be an inside joke, but the laughter stuck in her throat.
Lizzie looked at the automotive shop and back at Maggie. Lizzie Honeycutt was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. “You’re in love with Billy Kinross? Already?”
“No. I’m not in love with Billy.” Maggie smiled ruefully and turned away from the empty storefront, climbing back onto the seat of her bike and positioning one foot on the ground and one on a pedal.
“Johnny?” Lizzie squeaked, as if Maggie had just confessed her love for the King of England. “You love Johnny Kinross?”
Maggie felt tears prick her eyes. It seemed Johnny was out of her league even in 1958. She started to pedal back down Main Street, Lizzie trying to keep pace behind her. She knew her way home, but the return trip was not as filled with wonder and excitement as the trip to town had been. Maggie felt a sluggishness in her muscles and a fatigue in her weary head that had her fearing her time was closing fast. When they reached the house, she climbed the stairs and fell across Lizzie’s bed, barely able to keep her eyes open.
“Maggie?” Lizzie’s voice was small and scared, and Maggie opened her eyes with great effort. “Are you sick?”
“No, Lizzie. I don’t think so. I just think I might not be able to stay much longer.” Maggie felt Lizzie pull off her shoes and cover her with a light blanket. “Please don’t go yet Maggie. I’ll be right back. Hold on, okay?”
Maggie nodded a little, her head feeling like it weighed eighty pounds. In what could have been only a minute or two, Lizzie was back. She crawled up beside Maggie on the bed and, snuggling close, tucked her hand inside Maggie’s.
“I’ve told Nana that I’m feeling tired; I have been sick after all. I told her I was going to bed. She is waiting for the Mod Squad to come on. I don’t think she’ll move from the sofa for the rest of the night. I am going to hold your hand while you sleep. I’m going to hold your hand so tight that you won’t be able to go.”
“Thank you, Lizzie,” Maggie sighed.
“I was thinking. You have to stay at least one more day. If you’re going to make Johnny Kinross fall in love with you, that is.”
“Hmm?” Maggie was trying desperately to follow the conversation and fading fast.
“How do all the princesses get the princes to fall in love with them? They go to the ball, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So tomorrow is the prom. You go to the prom, ask Johnny to dance, make him fall in love with you. Simple. So you can’t leave yet.”
The problem was that when the clock struck twelve, Maggie might not just turn back into Cinderella; she may disappear altogether. With glass slippers and coaches that became pumpkins dancing through her head, Maggie succumbed to a slumber that would rival the Sleeping Beauty.
***
“Lizzie, how did your mother die?” Maggie looked at the girl beside her. “I don’t think Irene ever told me.” Maggie had awakened in the night to discover that she had not turned back into Cinderella after all. Lizzie had been true to her word, and her hand was tucked into Maggie’s, her other arm wrapped around her elbow. Lizzie had awakened almost immediately, and now they lay in the dark, talking quietly.
“She got sick. She had cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Lizzie.” Maggie wanted to tell her that she understood how it felt to be a motherless child. But telling Lizzie would be wrong. After all, she would be telling her about her own daughter’s death, a death that had occurred after Lizzie herself had succumbed to what had most likely killed Lizzie and Irene’s mother.
“Why, Maggie?”
“Do you ever think about what life would have been like if she hadn’t died, if she was still here?”
Lizzie lay quietly, not answering for several minutes. Only the tightening of her hand relayed that she hadn’t drifted back to sleep. Maggie wondered if the topic was too much for the little girl, and cursed herself for letting her mind wander into the complexities of altering history, and then musing out loud. But when Lizzie finally spoke, her voice was troubled but not full of grief.
“Maybe if Momma were here, she would tell Irene to stay away from Roger. Daddy doesn’t ever say anything. He thinks Roger’s swell.”
Maggie stiffened with the unexpected turn of the conversation. “And you don’t think he’s.....swell?” Maggie had never said the word “swell” in her life.
“No,” Lizzie whispered. Maybe it was the dark room or the silence of the sleeping house, or even the distance she had traveled, but Maggie felt the hair rise on her neck and arms. When Lizzie didn’t offer further explanation, Maggie asked the obvious, almost afraid to know the answer.
“Why, Lizzie?”
“You know how he called me Dizzy Lizzie?” Lizzie’s voice was so hushed that Maggie shifted in the bed until her forehead rested against Lizzie’s.
“Roger?”
“Yes. He and his friends call me Dizzy Lizzie.”
“I just assumed it was because it rhymed -- just a silly nickname.”
“Roger started calling me Dizzy Lizzie about six months ago when I fainted at a party for Irene’s birthday.”
Lizzie pressed her face into Maggie’s shoulder, and her whisper was no longer audible.
“Lizzie? I can’t hear you....”
“...It had been following Roger around all night...”
“Who had been following Roger around?” Maggie was only getting bits and pieces of the story at this point. Lizzie was pressed against her so tightly that Maggie feared she would fall off the bed if she moved an inch.
“It wasn’t like other ghosts. It saw everything, watched everyone, but mostly it watched Roger. It stayed very close to him. I was afraid. I didn’t want to say anything to Reney or Daddy because I didn’t want to get in trouble.”
“There was a ghost hanging around Roger?” Now Maggie’s voice had dropped to the barest whisper.
“It wasn’t a ghost. It was more like a...shadow....with eyes.”
“What happened, Lizzie?” Maggie didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She didn’t worry about slipping back to the future any longer, but she worried about what their words would invite into Lizzie’s bedroom. A room occupied by not one but two girls who shared a gift for seeing what others could not....and what others would rather not.
“I was so afraid, I forgot to breathe. I fainted right into my dinner. Nana came and helped me clean up, but I was still dizzy and felt sick, so I stayed up in my room for the rest of the night.”
Maggie breathed out, slightly relieved that the story had ended rather anticlimactically. She had just started to relax when Lizzie spoke again.
“I think that shadow thing is inside Roger.”
***
Morning came and with it the sunlight that cast the terrors of the night into a more manageable light. Lizzie hadn’t wanted to talk anymore about the “shadow” inside Roger. She had clammed up and pretended to fall asleep when Maggie tried to coax her to explain what she meant. Maggie had lain in the dark for a long time after that, afraid that she was stuck in a whirlwind of events that she could only be harmed by, and uncertain as to where to proceed if given the chance for one more day in Johnny’s world.
Lizzie had introduced her to Nana, claiming she was a cousin from McClintock, about two hours south, who had come to visit for the day while her mother spent time with a sick friend. Nana, who had the very unoriginal name of Mary Smith, said a polite hello but seemed very uninterested in Maggie or who she was, which was fortunate because she let the girls be. She was like an efficient shadow, cleaning and polishing, providing lunch and putting away laundry, never saying much,
her neat self fitting into the neat corner the family had placed her in. She was unobtrusive to the point of being almost robotic, and Maggie wondered that Lizzie spent so much time in the company of someone who seemed so void of personality. It hadn’t put a damper on Lizzie’s personality, however. The girl was brimming with intelligence and life, and Maggie genuinely enjoyed being in her company. She had peppered Maggie with questions, and Maggie had tried her best to answer them, stopping altogether when she felt that strange tugging sensation inside that indicated she was nearing a line that should not or could not be broached.
The fatigue that had so consumed her the night before had left her, and Maggie wondered if it wasn’t some form of cosmic jet lag that had left her system reeling rather then a signal she would soon be going home. With her returned energy, Maggie considered the idea of attending the prom after all. Johnny would be there as would so many others she had heard him talk about. She had even seen pictures. She could do it, couldn’t she? Johnny would be there with Peggy, who was being pursued hotly by Carter, leaving Johnny somewhat free for a “chance encounter.” She would have to go alone, but the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her.
She bathed in the pink tiled bathroom with the perfectly square tub, brushing her teeth at the pink pedestal sink with handles to turn the water off and on rather than knobs. This bathroom had been redone sometime in the last fifty years. The pink was long gone in 2011.
She let her hair air dry, and then she and Lizzie rolled it into giant scratchy rollers with pink pins that stuck out every which way, making her look like a porcupine with pink quills. Lizzie thought they should go downtown and get her hair cut in the latest style, but Maggie declined. She was willing to go only so far to play the part of a ‘50s teenager. It was while they were rolling her hair in curlers that Lizzie made a horrifying discovery.