When Truth Takes Flight

by Sandra McGregor

  “She’s very pretty, Vince,” he said, handing back the picture and then wondering why he felt a momentary emptiness.

  “Looks just like her mother.”

  His first wife must have been a very beautiful woman then. As Vince set the picture back in its prominent place, John suspected the man perhaps had never gotten over his first love.

  “Come on, boy. Al has lunch ready.”

  The next hour was spent eating some of the best Italian food he’d ever had and talking about the fun they’d shared when he lived in the compound. All too soon, the lighthearted conversation ended, and Vince got serious. He pushed his plate out of the way and rested his elbows on the tablecloth.

  “I just thought about something. You’re going to work—apply to work—at Hughes Air, and you’ll need a place to stay. I just happen to know about an apartment house not too far from there—a boardinghouse owned by someone I know—and I heard there’s a room for rent. It’s apparently pretty nice and not too far from the trolley line. I know you don’t want my help with your job interview, but can I at least help you out with a call to hold the room for you?”

  John hesitated. He didn’t want to accept any more help that might obligate him to Vince in the future.

  “Come on, my boy, let me do you this one little thing.”

  Surely, as long as he paid his own rent, there wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, it was the least he could do to let his former stepfather and benefactor give him a helping hand. Not to mention the time it would take for him to find a place of his own. His mother never had to know that Vince helped him find a place to live.

  “Sure. Just give me the address. That sounds great. Thanks.”

  “Good, good. You know, Hannah lives in that same boarding house.”

  John stopped chewing and swallowed. His chest tightened, each breath an effort, as if the words tossed out with such nonchalance had sucked all the air from the room. He fastened his gaze on the don, waiting for what he feared was coming. Had he been set up? Vince looked a bit sheepish, then frowned when John chose to remain silent.

  “Well, boy, I guess you need to know the whole story.” He hesitated a few more moments, then lifted his chin a bit, narrowed his eyes slightly, and started. “Recently—a few months ago—Sadie was crossing the street and got hit by a taxi. She eventually died from the injuries.”

  Not sure what to say in this situation, he offered the only condolence he could think of, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Vince took a deep breath, released it slowly, and continued. “I wasn’t sure if it was really an accident or if someone had discovered her connection to me. If that were true, then Hannah was also in danger. Like I said before, I had someone living in one of the apartments, so I told him to do some checking. I’ve got enemies. If anyone finds out Hannah is my daughter and where she’s living, they might use her to get to me—try to control me.”

  He could understand the don’s dilemma, loving the people close to him and wanting to keep them safe. Still, he couldn’t respect a man who lived the gangster life, believing the end justified the means.

  Vince pushed the chair back and turned to directly face him. “Look, keeping Hannah safe is the last thing I can do for Sadie, but I can’t go there and do it myself without putting her in danger. She’s safe for now, and it needs to stay that way, but there’s a struggle for power heating up, and I need all my men here to take care of day-to-day business.”

  His body tensed, a shadow of foreboding dimming his pleasure at seeing his stepfather again. He was catching a glimpse of the writing on the wall. The man had maneuvered him—he could feel himself being sucked in. “So, your man is leaving Los Angeles, and you want me to move into her apartment house, right? You want me to spy on your daughter?”

  The smile slipped, deepening into a scowl. “No, not spy—just watch out for her and let me know if there’s ever a problem.” Vince reached out to place a hand on John’s arm, a smile replacing the former scowl. “Son, since you’re going to be out there anyway, could you do me this one little favor?”

  “Vince doesn’t do anything without expecting payment. Mark my words, he’ll want something from you as repayment on his investment.”

  A chill rippled down his arms like water down a gutter.

  Mother was right.

  Chapter Two

  “Mr. Nolan, it’s Hannah—Hannah Montgomery.” She knocked again and waited patiently, allowing the elderly man time to hobble to the door. Then there would be the invitation to come in while he got the rent money and the inevitable ten or fifteen minutes to catch him up on her life over the past week before she could gracefully get away to go up to her apartment and have dinner.

  The door opened a crack, then swung wide. “Hello, Sunshine.”

  His grin showed strong teeth yellowed from years of cigars. Smoking in the apartments was forbidden, but occasionally, she smelled the distinct odor of cigar smoke. She chose to pretend ignorance since he had difficulty getting up and down even the few stairs leading to the backyard.

  “I’m here for the rent, and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “I know, I know. A pretty girl like you must be busy all the time with beaus lining up to court you. Come on in while I get it. It’s still five dollars, right?”

  His shoulders stooped slightly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that reminded her of the leprechaun stories her mother read to her when she was young. A few wisps of hair were plastered across his bald head to blend with the graying thatch curled around the tops of his ears. Although not related, he was the only grandfather she’d ever known.

  “Yes siree, I bet you lead them a merry chase.” His shoulders jiggled as his chuckle ended on a wheezing cough.

  She reached out to help steady him, but he waved away her extended hand.

  Clearing his throat, Mr. Nolan slowly sucked in another breath. “Getting old is for the birds,” he lamented, wagging his head from side to side as he sighed. Then he stabbed the air with a gnarled finger as he sent her a wink. “In my hay days, I’d have given those young whelps a run for their money. I can’t believe you don’t have a serious beau.” His humph was loud, followed by mumbling about young men not knowing how to treat a lady.

  Hannah’s heart warmed toward the older man. He’d asked the same question every week for the past few years, showing the same concern for her single status.

  “Now, you know I’m too busy right now to add anything else to my life.” She followed him as he limped toward the sofa. “How have you been?”

  Each morning, he sat out in front of the building, waving to the neighbors leaving for work while he kibitzed with Mr. Brannon from apartment 1-C. The two old gentlemen had known each other longer than she’d been alive and still found things to talk about. She smiled, shaking her head at the thought. Of course, maybe they said the same things each day and neither of them remembered…or cared.

  “Me? Oh, I’m doing just like the weather—fair,” he answered. “You know, it just ain’t right for a young thing like you to be all alone. Why, I’d be courting you myself if I was forty…well, maybe fifty years younger.” His eyes twinkled as a mischievous grin lifted his lips into a smile. “Of course, back in my day, I would have had to pick you up in a buggy since we didn’t have cars, but that just made courtin’ a bit more interesting.”

  “Is that how you courted Mrs. Nolan?” She wanted to kick herself for encouraging him to talk when she needed to finish and get the rent money ready to deposit in the bank.

  “Yes siree bob. I’d bring along a blanket to tuck around her legs, and then we’d ride out into the countryside for a picnic after church on Sundays.” He stared off over her shoulder, obviously revisiting old memories.

  “Mr. Nolan, you’re a cutie pie, and I love you bunches. You know that, right?”

  “Yep.” He chuckled, wheezing a bit as he turned, braced both hands on the arms of the upholstered chair, bent at the waist, and then dropped the last few inches onto th
e seat. “And I don’t blame you one little bit. I’m a lovable fella,” he added, laughing at his own joke. “So, how is this old world treating you?”

  “I’ll have you know I got to do Claudette Colbert’s hair this morning. Her regular hair and make-up girl was sick, so I got to fill in.” She trembled with remembered excitement at being told to work on one of her favorite actresses. Of course, she’d been the only one available, but that didn’t stop her from basking in the memory of being instructed to fill in.

  “And I bet she liked you—even better than her regular girl, right?” He pointed an arthritic finger toward her as he voiced his opinion.

  “Well, she didn’t say that, but she gave me a compliment, right in front of the head of makeup, so I guess that’s good.” Hannah hugged the thought close.

  “It sure is. You just wait and see. One of these days, you’re going to be the one in charge of make-up over there at Paramount. Mark my words.” He nodded his head, affirming his prediction.

  She hoped so. That would be not only a dream come true, but an answer to prayers for a pay raise. But for now, she was just thankful for having a job since her mother’s income was no longer there to help make ends meet. She fought the sudden tears. Several months since her passing and she still missed her mother—her closest friend—as much as ever.

  “You still dating that skinny fella?”

  Hanna laughed, relaxing for the first time that day. The prior month, she’d been leaving on a date with Tom Lucio when Mr. Nolan had stepped out of his apartment. After a quick introduction, the older man said Tommy was too street smart for her, and she needed to keep looking around. He’d repeated his opinion every chance he got.

  “As a matter of fact, no. He moved back to New York a couple of days ago.”

  “Well, Sunshine, with the cat away, the little mouse should play,” he teased, winking. “Find yourself a new beau and have a little fun. All you do is work down at Paramount and then come home and work collecting rent, getting things fixed around here, and shopping for all us old folks. You need to go out and kick up your heels a little before you get too old.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d told her to find someone new, but she still laughed at the indignant snort he always tacked onto the end of his lecture. “I’m twenty-three. I have lots of years to ‘kick up my heels,’ ” she told him, leaning over to give him a quick hug, then smiled at the red tinge flushing his face and ears. “I’d love to stay and talk with you, but I gotta get going.”

  “Okay, little one. The money’s on the counter over there.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Now, don’t be so long before you drop in again. It’s always good talking with you.”

  “Okay, Mr. Nolan. I’ll see you next week.” She waved, but her mind was already refocused on the issue that had cost her sleep the past few nights. Money, always in short supply. The fear of it haunted her evening hours.

  I’d soon be living on the street if I didn’t get free rent for being the manager.

  Her feet ached as she climbed the stairs. All she could think about was getting her shoes off, warming up the leftover macaroni and cheese, and then calling it a night. Tomorrow would be another long day at work, and she’d agreed to go by the grocers for Mrs. Wilson in 1-D. Poor lady can hardly walk any longer, let alone carry a bag of goods up the front steps.

  Once in her apartment, she sagged back against the cool wood. “Mother, what were you thinking about when you stepped out in front of that taxi?” Tears still came easily, and she swiped at both cheeks before pushing away from the door to stand in front of the end table where a gold-framed picture was prominently displayed. “Mama,” she whispered, “I miss you so much.” She ran a finger down the glass, tracing along the familiar face.

  Her eyes drifted closed as she slowly drew a deep breath, taking in the fading fragrance of her mother’s favorite perfume dabbed sparingly behind each ear just to take something of the beloved woman with her through the day. The fragrance brought with it the comforting memories of unconditional love and security.

  With a deep breath, she sobered, blinking her eyes several times. Of course, memories of unconditional love would always remain, but security was now a bit elusive.

  Action fixes what worrying won’t.

  “You’re right, Mother,” she murmured, wiping away a lone tear. “Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to put food on the table.” Everyone had told her that time would ease the pain—the loss. Obviously, it would take more than a few months.

  She hesitated long enough to glance around the room that once held so much joy—and now only memories.

  Hannah dropped her purse and the collected rent on the dinette table, then sank down to slip off her shoes. She glanced again at the picture of her mother and herself, taken a few years earlier at her high school graduation—so young, facing the future head-on, and beaming at the camera.

  Despite a heart that still ached at the loss, the deep-seated love they had shared brought a tender smile to her face. Her mother had been a wise, honest woman.

  “Thanks, Mama,” she whispered. “I intend to follow in your footsteps—wherever they take me.”

  She picked up her discarded shoes and headed for the bedroom closet. After placing the low-heeled pumps on the shelf, she stood staring at her meager wardrobe. Her mother had always loved nice clothes, opting for one classic, tailored outfit over two or three less expensive ones.

  “Quality is always in style.”

  Hannah closed the closet door and wandered into her mother’s room, running a finger along the dresser and vowing to dust everything before going to bed. Beside the almost-empty bottle of perfume sat a small oval frame of her maternal grandparents. Neither smiled. Instead, they both stood straight and sober as soldiers in front of a clapboard house with one window and front steps that sagged to the right. Sad.

  Hannah often wondered why there was no picture of her father. Not even a wedding picture. Had they thought there would be plenty of time, but instead, he’d been killed?

  It did no good to ask questions she could never answer.

  She turned to stare around the room. Everything has a place, and everything should be in its place. The sigh slipped out. That adage had been one of her mother’s strictest rules. Tidiness was second-nature now.

  Hannah hesitated near the bed where her mother’s slippers still peeked out from under the dust ruffle but didn’t stop until she stood in front of the closet door. After only a moment’s hesitation, she grasped the clear-glass knob and opened the cupboard, closing her eyes to breath in the smell of wool and musky perfume that still lingered in the small, closed-up space.

  The essence of Sadie Montgomery.

  When she opened her eyes, the dresses hung in precise order, like good soldiers awaiting orders to serve. She reached up, tenderly running her fingertips across the smooth material of a tailored white suit edged with navy piping. A spot of light overshadowed by shades of gray, brown, and black, but each dress a favorite despite most being cast-offs from leading starlets when they’d grown tired of the garment. When offered, her mother had accepted them with gratitude and excitement.

  Hannah smiled, relaxing her tense jaw as the memories gently washed over. Her mother had been full of contradictions. She had loved to laugh, but cried at night behind the closed door, was passionate about women’s rights and temperance, but refused requests to speak at public meetings on behalf of her beliefs.

  “Have you really been gone almost four months?” Her vision blurred, the tears escaping from behind closed eyes. She slowly allowed her head to bow under the weight of her loss.

  The sadness gradually passed, bringing her back to the white-on-white room as she stood staring at the contents of the closet. “It’s silly to leave such nice clothes to gather dust and risk being ruined by moths.”

  The decision was made quickly, with little agonizing. She had borrowed the dresses when her mother was alive, so the practical thing to do was move them to her clos
et so they’d be available for use.

  She slid the dozen or so hangers together on the pole, lifted them off, and carried them to her room down the hall. A couple minutes later, she had them rearranged by color into two sections—casual and the few more formal suits. Her favorite was still the slinky, midnight-blue evening dress her mother had been given. They had both tried it on, oohing and ahhing over its slenderizing lines and naughty plunging neckline, but neither of them had ever had an occasion to wear it out for an evening.

  There was satisfaction in seeing so many outfits to choose from, but the elation was short-lived. Guilt reared its ugly head. What was she thinking?

  Hannah, don’t be ridiculous. She immediately squashed the negative thoughts. “This is what mother would want,” she whispered into the tomb-like silence of the room. She then slid some of the outfits forward so she could put her mother’s calf-length wool coat at the back.

  That’s when she noticed a seam was separating on the pocket.

  With reverent care, she took the hanger from the pole, lifted the sewing box from the shelf that also held her two hats, and carried the bundle to the kitchen to repair the coat while her supper warmed.

  She started by checking each pocket. In one was a trolley token, and the other held a couple folded pieces of paper. Her first inclination was to set them aside, but curiosity overruled, and she unfolded one, surprised to see bold, masculine handwriting.

  Dearest Sadie,

  I must return home, but the thought leaves me empty and my heart already misses you. Please tell me you’re seriously considering my proposal. I want to make you happy for the rest of your life.

  The note was signed with an equally bold check mark…or perhaps a “V”?

  “That’s strange.” It was obviously written by someone who loved her mother, but her father’s name was Robert, and the note was definitely not signed with an “R.” She puzzled over the note while she unfolded the second one.