Garden of Angels

by Lurlene McDaniel

  I felt my face turning pink. Barry Sorenson was gorgeous. Tall, trim, black hair in a buzz cut and dark blue eyes—plus, he could have stopped a charging bull with his smile.

  “Pleased to meet you, son,” Papa said. “Adel’s told me many things about you.”

  When? I wanted to know but didn’t dare ask. She’s never said a thing to me!

  “And she’s told me about you and her mother too, sir,” Barry said. “Thank you for bringing her all the way out here today.”

  Barry put his arm around Adel’s waist. They looked into each other’s eyes and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was head over heels in love with my sister. But then, wasn’t every man who ever laid eyes on her?

  Six

  Papa said, “Adel tells me you’re in special training.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m attached to a Lockheed training and missile control project, but once that’s done I belong to the army one hundred percent. I don’t get passes off the base very often, so I appreciate your making this trip to bring her to me. I know these are difficult times, with your wife’s illness and all.”

  The way he said the words “bring her to me” sounded intimate and made a shiver run up my spine. Adel sure could pick winners.

  “Yes, Joy’s illness is hard on me and the girls, but she wants us to go on with regular life, so that’s what we’re doing,” Papa said. “She’s a fine, brave woman.”

  Adel said, “Want to get a cola before you get back on the road, Papa?”

  “All right.” Papa put his hand on my shoulder. “How about you, Darcy? Care to wet your whistle?”

  Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away from the opportunity.

  We walked to a stand that sold sodas, candy and snack items, bought what we wanted and sat together at a nearby picnic table. Papa said, “Adel tells me you hail from New York City.”

  “I was born upstate,” Barry said. “My parents moved to the city when I was ten. My father’s a cop and Mom works for an insurance company. I have an older brother. He served in Nam with the marines in the late sixties.”

  Another shiver shot through me as I recalled video of the war I’d seen on TV. “Is he okay?” I blurted out, without thinking. They stared at me and I blushed, realizing that I was once again being nosey. “I’m—um—studying Vietnam in school,” I explained, hoping to smooth over the awkward moment. “All I know about Vietnam is what I read in newspapers, or see on TV, which isn’t so much anymore. I’ve never talked to anyone who’s been there firsthand.”

  “Kyle’s home in one piece,” Barry said, his eyes serious. “I can’t say he’s okay, though. He’s in and out of the VA hospital.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Adel flashed me a look that said Would you hush up? and slipped her hand into Barry’s.

  Papa said, “Perhaps this isn’t the appropriate time to talk about this, Darcy.”

  Barry said, “It’s all right. America still has personnel over there, but people forget because it’s not in the news as much as it once was. As for my brother, he was never wounded in the flesh, just in his psyche. He suffers from what doctors call post-traumatic stress. The things he went through during his combat were so bad that his mind can’t let go of them. He’s had a lot of trouble fitting back into the normal world.”

  I’d never heard of such a thing.

  Papa said, “In World War Two, it was called combat fatigue or shell shock.”

  “Were you in World War Two, sir?”

  Papa shook his head. “By the time I was eighteen and old enough to sign up, the war was over. In those days, we counted it a privilege to fight for our country. I missed Korea because I had family obligations and Vietnam because I was too old. I admire men who serve our nation, though.”

  Papa had been born in 1929 and he and Mama married in 1954. Adel came along in 1955 and me in 1960. My father had seen three wars thus far in his lifetime but hadn’t fought in any of them, and he sounded sorry about it.

  Papa stood. “We’d better get on the road, Darcy.”

  I gave Adel a questioning look, and she said, “Sandy’s driving over this evening and I’ll come home with her. For now, Barry and I will just keep each other company.” She gave him a flirtatious smile and he grinned.

  Barry shook Papa’s hand. “I’ll take good care of her, sir.”

  “You’re the one who’ll need looking after, son. Southern women are not to be trifled with. They look delicate as lace, but they’ve got rods of steel running through them,” Papa joked goodnaturedly.

  Adel said, “Oh, Papa, stop it . . . you’ll scare him off.”

  “Not likely,” Barry said.

  On the drive home, I was quiet, mulling over what I’d seen and heard that day. After a long time, I said, “Adel and Barry seem to really like each other.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “What’s Mama think?”

  “She wants Adel to be happy, and if Barry makes her happy . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to.

  “I miss Mama,” I said. “We’ll be going a long time without her. And an extra-long time having to eat Adel’s cooking.”

  “We surely will,” Papa said, sounding wistful.

  We looked at each other, then burst out laughing. Evidently, we both held the same opinion of Adel’s kitchen skills.

  Papa said, “I was thinking that maybe we should start having Sunday dinner down at the Southern Grille.” He named the single restaurant in Conners other than the Woolworth soda counter and the brand-new Kentucky Fried Chicken fast-food store.

  “Sounds like a reasonable idea,” I told him. “Potluck supper at church on Wednesday night, Sunday afternoon in a restaurant.” Two out of seven meals Adel wasn’t cooking. “I’ll bet Friday night is good for takeout from Kentucky Fried,” I ventured.

  “Don’t push it, Darcy,” Papa said. “The girl needs to practice sometime.”

  On Friday night, Conners’ football team played Redford, one of our toughest rivals, at the Redford field. Russell still hadn’t taken the kind of notice of Becky Sue that would result in his asking her on a date, so we were with each other, as usual. Becky’s dad drove us to the game and stayed, but he sat high up in the bleachers with other Conners parents and alumni, which left Becky Sue and me to sandwich ourselves between our classmates in the lower seats.

  The night had turned chilly, so we were bundled up and had an old quilt thrown across our laps. Both bands were playing, and people in both sets of bleachers were cheering. Rebel flags waved, and since it was Redford’s homecoming, we were watching their queen and her court sashay around the field.

  “Who do you think will be elected queen at our school?” Becky yelled above the noise of the crowd.

  “Neither one of us,” I shouted back.

  As the court passed in front of our stands, some senior boys yelled out a few rude remarks and received threatening looks from the Redford court in return. I remembered when Adel had been queen and had ridden around our high school field in Tom Chapman’s red convertible. She had looked beautiful perched atop the backseat, wearing a sparkling tiara and holding a scepter just like a real queen. Fleetingly, I wondered if any boy would ever look at me the way Barry had looked at Adel, a memory I could not get out of my mind. I’d told Becky Sue that he’d looked at her “. . . like she’d been ice cream, and him starving for it.”

  Becky Sue poked me in the ribs. “Look, there’s Jason.”

  My heart did a stutter-step at the sight of him. He stood at the side of the field, elbows braced on the top of the four-foot chain-link fence. He wore the old leather jacket and a black knit ski hat.

  “Looks like he’s all alone. Maybe we should ask him to sit with us.” The words were out before I could stop them.

  Becky gave me a quizzical look. “Why would we do that?”

  “Just being friendly. Like Pastor Jim asked.” I knew my face was turning red and the last thing I wanted was for Becky Sue to start giving me the th
ird degree.

  Fortunately, our football team ran out onto the field and the stands went wild with cheering. Even I had to admit that the team appeared formidable. Especially J.T. He looked as big as a barn dressed out in pads and helmet. The opposition came onto the field, the captains met in the middle and the referee flipped a coin. It went our way and our team elected to kick off. The announcer on the PA system asked for silence while a minister said a prayer, which I figured Redford needed more than us; then the band played the national anthem and the whistle blew to start the game. All the while, I couldn’t help noticing that J.T. kept twitching and tugging at his uniform britches. I guessed even guys like him got nervous before a big game.

  The teams got into formation on the field, but just as the referee put the whistle in his mouth, the strangest thing happened. J.T. gave a yelp, stood straight up and commenced to dancing and whooping like a wild man, all the while grabbing at his private parts. For a stunned second, no one moved; then laughter erupted from both sets of bleachers, followed by catcalls.

  “You got hot pants, J.T.?” someone shouted.

  “Hey, J.T., hands off the family jewels!” called another.

  Coach rushed out onto the field and practically had to subdue J.T. with a headlock. Finally, he got him off the field and pointed toward the locker room, but by then all was in chaos. The teams had started slugging it out, and students poured out of the stands to join the melee. Both bands started marching and playing in an attempt to drown out the shouting, all the while bumping into each other. Becky and I had the good sense to sit tight. Someone could get hurt in the confusion, and we didn’t want it to be either of us.

  My view became obscured by people running past. Parents shouted for somebody to get the police. I couldn’t stop laughing, remembering the sight of J.T.’s impromptu war dance. Whatever in the world had happened? I turned in time to see Jason push away from the fence and cut through the crowds, going against the surge of bodies like a fish swimming upstream. He looked up, and for a brief moment our gazes locked. His eyes were cool, his expression satisfied. He nodded at me, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and disappeared into the parking lot. I watched him go, my brain on fire with curiosity, my heart aflame from the contact.

  The game wasn’t played that night and it took every cop in Redford and two Georgia state troopers to disperse the crowd. The story made the eleven o’clock news in both cities. The Saturday sports section alluded to a “vicious, unsportsmanlike prank perpetrated on J. T. Rucker, defensive center for the Conners Rebels.” And, “Inquiries are being made by police and school officials alike. When the culprit is apprehended, he will be punished.”

  I read the story several times, all the while chuckling at the memory of J.T. whooping and hollering and grabbing himself on the field with half the county watching. Of course, I knew that no one at school would dare tease him about it unless they had a death wish. Still, it was payback for the many times over the years that J.T. had bullied kids who couldn’t fight back.

  On Monday, our principal, Mr. Hagan, came on the PA and told the whole school that what had happened at the game wasn’t funny and that if anyone knew anything, blah, blah, blah. I tuned him out midway through his speech. By lunchtime it was all over school that the “prankster” had somehow managed to put itching powder on J.T.’s jockstrap, thus causing his odd behavior and war dance. Seems like it left burned patches on his delicate skin too. “A shame,” I said to Becky Sue while keeping a straight face.

  “A crying shame,” she said in agreement.

  My life fell into a pattern for the time that Mama was away receiving cancer treatments. Weekdays, Adel and Papa went to work and I went to school. On Saturdays we’d drive to Atlanta and visit with Mama. Papa had found her a nice private room with an elderly widow two blocks from the hospital, where Mama went daily.

  After our Saturday visits with Mama, Papa would drive Adel to the base, where Barry would meet her. Papa and I would come on home and Adel would ride home later at night with her friend Sandy, who also had a soldier beau at the base. On Sundays we’d go to church, then out to eat at the Southern Grille. Sunday nights, I’d attend teen group with Becky. Then it would be Monday, and the cycle would start all over.

  After school I worked in the gardens, digging up annuals, planting bulbs and deadheading spent blossoms from plants getting ready to cozy down for the winter. I also did my homework, including research for my special project. After talking to Barry, world events had a whole lot more meaning for me. The Irish Republican Army was blowing up buildings in Great Britain, the Palestine Liberation Organization was formally recognized, and fighting continued in Vietnam and also its neighbor Cambodia. Seemed to me like the whole world was at war.

  In the middle of October, Pastor Jim reminded us about the not-to-be-missed annual hayride.

  “Our group’s so large that we’re getting two trucks of hay this year,” the pastor announced. “Middle-schoolers in one, high-schoolers in the other. We’ll go along the Simmons property to their south field. It’s not planted this year and they’ve kindly said we can build a bonfire and raise our voices to praise the Lord.

  “And,” Pastor Jim added, “I expect all of you to come.”

  He looked straight at Jason when he said that, and my pulse raced, for I spent much of my free time daydreaming about Jason. He seemed mysterious to me, not needing or wanting anybody’s company or approval. If I saw him in the halls, my heartbeat went crazy and my breath felt knocked out of me. My reactions appalled me—hadn’t I teased Becky Sue about the silliness of such things? And yet now it was happening to me and there wasn’t a soul I’d dare tell. I decided that my feelings toward Jason were part of a conspiracy of nature to mess up teenagers’ minds. Trouble was, I couldn’t figure out why. What was the point in making us feel like we were going crazy? All I wanted was the safety of my old world. Instead, I was being dragged into this new one, where the water was deep and dark. And I didn’t know if I’d be able to swim.

  Seven

  “This one, or this one?” I asked Becky Sue, holding up two pullover sweaters for her inspection.

  We were in my room and she was helping me decide what to wear for the hayride on Saturday night.

  “It gets awful hot around that bonfire,” Becky Sue said.

  The weather didn’t turn really cold in our part of Georgia until near Thanksgiving, but I liked wearing loose-fitting sweaters because they hid my skinny body and flat chest. “Good point,” I said. “I’ll wear a long-sleeved shirt under the sweater, and if I’m burning up, I can strip.”

  “That will impress the church crowd.”

  “You know what I mean.” I pawed through my closet, looking for my favorite denim shirt.

  “Why are you trying so hard?” Becky asked. “It’s just the hayride. It’s not like we’ve never gone before.”

  That was true. But before, we’d just been kids and Jason hadn’t been on my mind morning, noon and night. I turned back to my closet. If Becky suspected for one second that I wanted to look good for Jason, I’d never live it down. “Are you saying you’re not planning what you’re going to wear?”

  “Why? Russell won’t be there.”

  Russell’s family attended the Second Baptist Church, so he wouldn’t be coming to our church’s activity. “You could ask him,” I suggested.

  “Are you crazy? Then he’ll know I like him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t seem to be catching on any other way.”

  Becky Sue flopped backward dramatically. “Don’t you know anything about snagging a guy? I want him to figure out that he likes me. I can’t go throwing myself at him. He’ll think I’m desperate.”

  “Aren’t you?” Her logic escaped me.

  She threw a bed pillow at me. “You just wait until you have the hots for some boy, then we’ll see how you go about making him notice you.”

  I picked up the pillow. “Well, if I ever do, what advice would you give me?”

>   “I’d tell you to ask your sister. If her soldier boyfriend is as good-looking as you say he is, then she sure knows more about catching boys than I do.” Becky boosted herself up on her elbows. “You sure you’ll be back in time for the hayride on Saturday?”

  “Papa says we’ll be home by six.” Dropping Adel off at the army base was taking less time because Barry met us at the guard gate.

  “Come straight to my house and Mom will run us up to the church together.”

  I agreed readily, because I really didn’t want to show up alone. “You never did tell me which sweater you liked best on me.”

  Becky Sue pursed her lips, pondering the choices. “The blue one,” she finally said. “It matches your eyes, which, by the way, are your best feature.”

  I held the blue sweater under my chin and checked out my reflection in the mirror over my dresser. The color did complement my eyes. I wondered if Jason had ever noticed the color of my eyes. Suddenly I remembered that by the time he’d see me on Saturday night, it would be dark. He wouldn’t be able to see the color of my eyes.

  The house where Mama rented a room had been built in the 1930s and was located on a quiet tree-lined street. I thought the place depressing but kept my opinion to myself. Mama’s room held a bed and a dresser, an overstuffed chair and a braided rug. There was a white-tiled bathroom across the short hallway, and Mama had free use of the living room, where the furniture lay wrapped in slipcovers and the windows were masked by heavy floral-print drapes. Pictures of people none of us knew lined the end tables. There was an old black-and-white TV set in one corner, with rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil for better reception.

  When we came to visit, Papa toted in chairs from the kitchen so that we’d all have a place to sit. If the weather was pretty and Mama was feeling up to it, we’d sit out on the old porch.

  I was hoping that Mama’s treatments were doing her a powerful lot of good on the inside, because they weren’t doing her any favors on the outside. She looked pale and thin, and she had taken to wearing a bandana because her once shiny auburn hair was falling out in clumps. Her arms were bruised from the IVs. Dark circles under her eyes seemed to grow deeper each week. We never asked how she was feeling, because any fool with half a brain could tell she hurt.