Secrets of the Red Box

by Vickie Hall

  “Mom, where do you want the salad?” Ann called on her way in.

  “Put it on the table,” Irene answered.

  After a minute, Ann came into the kitchen. “Iwasn’t sure how close you were to being finished.”

  Bonnie turned from the beans and smiled. “Hi, Ann,” she said. “Your mom’s teaching me how to cook.”

  Ann kissed her mother on the cheek. “No better teacher.” She snagged a bean from the bowl and popped it into her mouth. “George is talking to Dad,” she said, nudging her way in to help with the beans.

  Irene lowered her gaze a moment and kept her focus on the last of the beans. “How are the dreams?” she asked quietly. “Are they getting any better?”

  Ann glanced at Bonnie. “George has been having nightmares…about the war,” she explained. “He won’t talk about them. He says he can’t remember them after he wakes up, but I don’t really believe him.”

  Irene lit the gas flame of one of the burners and dumped the beans into a pot of water on the stove to cook. “I wish he could forget,” she said with a sigh. She turned to Bonnie. “Would you get the celery from the refrigerator?”

  Bonnie nodded while Irene opened the oven door to check on the enormous pork roast inside. “Doris is bringing the mashed potatoes, right?”

  “I think so. I had salad, and Candy got desert this time,” Ann replied.

  Bonnie suddenly felt embarrassed and looked at Irene. “I feel terrible. I didn’t know you assigned . . . I should have brought something . . .”

  “You did,” Irene smiled. “You brought two hands.” She took the celery from Bonnie and turned back to the sink.

  A burst of noisy children exploded through the house. “Grandma! Grandma!” they shouted as they ran into the kitchen. “Hi, Aunt Ann. Hi, Bonnie.”

  “Hi, girls,” Ann replied.

  Bonnie smiled at the flurry of little girls beaming with light and innocence. “Hi.”

  Irene turned and smiled adoringly at Candy and Ralph’s three daughters. She wiped her hands on her apron, then kissed each one. “How are my angels today?”

  “We brought a chocolate cake for desert,” the oldest said, her eyes filled with pride.

  “And Mom let us stir the batter,” the second one said.

  The youngest one held on to her grandmother’s apron. “I got to lick the spoon.”

  Irene chuckled. “Go help Grandpa set the table,” she said. “And be careful with Grandma’s dishes.”

  The three little girls scurried away just as Doris came in with a pot cradled in a cushion of hot pads. “Move aside,” she called with a smile in her voice. “Hot food coming in.”

  The women parted as Doris put the pot on the stove and stepped back. “I hope that’s enough,” she said. “I thought I had a few more potatoes than I actually did.”

  “It’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Irene said.

  Doris smiled at Bonnie. “Are you doing all right? Settled in and everything?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Doris’s children raced into the kitchen, hollering for their grandmother’s attention. “What’s the rule about the kitchen?” Doris asked, fisting her hands to her hips.

  Her oldest son came to an abrupt stop and gave his mother a sheepish look. “If you’re not helping, get out?”

  Doris suppressed a smile. “Not exactly. If Grandma’s in the kitchen, go help Grandpa.”

  “Oh, they’re all right,” Irene said with a laugh. She handed the boy a plate of cut celery. “Go put this on the table for Grandma.”

  Bonnie stood back and drank it all in. She’d never met her own grandparents, didn’t even know their names or where they were, or if they were still alive. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of people they were and what they’d done to make their children who they were. It made Bonnie speculate about what kind of mother she would have been. Not that it made any difference now, but if she could, she’d want to be like Irene.

  ///////

  Monday morning, Bonnie went upstairs dressed and ready for work. Irene greeted her with a cheery hello and instructed her to sit at the table. The smell of frying bacon perfumed the air and a cup of coffee waited for her. “What’s all this?” Bonnie asked.

  Irene turned and looked at her with a mild frown. “It’s breakfast, of course. The Orton way, you know.”

  Bonnie shook her head dolefully and stretched out her hands. “Irene, it’s more than thoughtful of you, but I don’t expect you to feed me. I was just going to look up the bus schedule and head out.”

  Irene stood there, her hip cocked, the bacon fork pointing in Bonnie’s direction. “Now don’t be silly. You’re not taking the bus. You’ll ride in with me, and I don’t want any argument.”

  Bonnie sighed. “Irene, this is too much. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. And besides, I need to stop at the pet shop after work and pick up some more food for Baby Girl, then I—”

  Irene narrowed her eyes. “See that cup of coffee? It’s getting cold. Now sit down and start drinking it.”

  “But, Irene—”

  “But nothing. I’ll run you to the pet store on the way home from work. Then we’ll swing by the market and pick up some lamb chops. Do you like lamb? Don just loves them. I think he’d eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.”

  Bonnie sank into the kitchen chair, feeling like a huge imposition. She had to get her own apartment as soon as she could. She hated feeling this way, hated putting Irene and Don to extra trouble. She put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee and stirred it. Her gaze fixed on the colorful red apples that decorated the table cloth. She noticed they matched the cheerful wallpaper motif of tiny red apples and roosters dotting a white background. Red-and-white gingham café curtains hung in the window over the sink and across the window of the back door. Sun from the eastern sky glinted off shining light-gray countertops and a sparkling black-and-white linoleum tiled floor. The room made her feel cozy and comfortable. Or maybe it wasn’t the room at all, but Irene who had her feeling that way.

  “How do you like your eggs?” Irene asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “I wish you’d let me help.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Why don’t you get the jam out of the refrigerator and start some toast? I think there’s some strawberry in there Ann and I put up this summer.”

  Bonnie went to the fridge and opened it. Peering inside, she asked, “You make your own jam?”

  “Sure do, and we can peaches, cherries, apricots, beans, corn, carrots, tomatoes—oh, I guess just about everything that grows.”

  And I harvested about everything that grows…but nevergot to eat much of it.

  “You never told me how you like your eggs,” Irene said, an egg poised in her hand.

  “Over easy.” Bonnie placed the jam on the table. “Where’s Don? Isn’t he eating?”

  “He left almost an hour ago. Poor guy. He puts in over a twelve hour day,” Irene commented as she cracked an egg into the sizzling bacon grease. “Ever since the war, there’s been a shortage of workers at the stockyards. Of course, now that the war is over and soldiers are starting to come home, I’m sure he won’t have to put in so many hours.” She spooned grease over the eggs. “But I can’t say we haven’t enjoyed the extra money.”

  Bonnie put two slices of bread in the toaster and pushed down the handle. “Do you want me to freshen your coffee?” she asked, peering into Irene’s near empty cup.

  Irene held out a hand, palm down, and stared at it. “Not shaking yet,” she said under her breath. “Sure, go ahead and hit me again.”

  Bonnie chuckled and took the coffee pot off the stove. “I just love your home, Irene. It feels so…I don’t know—lived in, I guess.”

  Irene paused over the eggs. “Lived in? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  Bonnie smiled and returned the coffee pot. “It’s a good thing. What I mean is, the house has a good feeling about it, like people belong here, like they enjoy living here.”<
br />
  Irene dredged up a prideful smile. “Well, that’s the way a home should feel. At least, I’ve always hoped mine has.” She sighed, and her eyes traced the contours of the kitchen. “Heaven knows we’ve done our share of living in this house.”

  “I can tell…the family dinner last night, the way everyone gets along. You’re really lucky, Irene,” Bonnie said, bringing their plates to the stove.

  Irene shoveled an egg onto each plate. “By the sound of your voice, I guess you weren’t so lucky.” It wasn’t a question as much as an observation, as though she knew Bonnie’s life had been a hard one.

  The toast popped up and Bonnie put a slice on each of the plated eggs. Irene served up the bacon. “Let me just say,” Bonnie began, “I’d have given most anything to have lived in a house like this, with a family like yours.”

  Irene sat down, smiled, and patted Bonnie’s hand. “Well, we don’t always get to choose, do we? But life is what you make of it, Bonnie, and there’s no reason in the world why you can’t have a lived in home of your own someday.”

  How Bonnie wished that were true. But she’d sealed her fate back in San Diego, hadn’t she? She’d crushed any hope of ever living a truly normal life, one that could be lived above board and without secrets. She’d always need to be wary, protective of her past. And that was another good reason why she had to get out of the Orton’s home. She felt too at home here, too comfortable. She’d already found herself letting her guard down around Irene, had intimated things about her life. The longer she stayed, the more difficult it would be to keep from slipping up or revealing too much.

  Irene spread some strawberry jam on her toast. “I’ll show you how to can, if you like,” she offered. “The peaches are coming on now.”

  Bonnie smiled. What a normal thing, she thought—canning vegetables like an ordinary person. She could imagine Irene and her daughter standing in the kitchen together, working together, laughing and talking over old times as they filled jar after jar. “Sure,” she said, but she knew she didn’t really mean it.

  ///////

  Bonnie spent her lunch hour on the phone calling apartments listed in the phone book. After making several calls without success, she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

  “No luck?” Irene asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Not yet,” she said with an edge of irritation in her voice. “What do people have against a little cat?”

  “Take heart,” Irene offered. “Something will come up.”

  Bonnie sighed again and ran a hand over her hair. “I hope so.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, Bonnie said little between calls, allowing Irene to fill the void with her pleasant chatter. Bonnie often wondered why she didn’t find it annoying. Normally she would, but there was something endearing about Irene that made her endless dialogue quite acceptable.

  When it was time to leave, the two women bundled into Irene’s car and drove to Edna’s Pet Shop. “Do you mind if I come in?” Irene asked as she parked the car.

  Bonnie smiled. “No, of course not.”

  When they went inside, Edna looked up from the counter with surprise. “Hi, Bonnie, I wasn’t expecting you this early in the day.”

  “Edna, this is my friend Irene,” she said. “She was kind enough to drive me over after work.”

  Edna looked thoughtful a moment. “You look a little familiar…Iwent to school with an Irene…Irene Badger, I think her name was.”

  Irene’s eyes widened. “That was me. Omaha High School?”

  Edna smiled. “Yes. I was Edna Wilde back then.”

  “Sure, I remember you. We had English class together, and there was another one,” Irene said tapping her temple.

  “Biology,” Edna said.

  “Mr. Huggins,” they said together, and laughed.

  “That’s right! Poor old Mr. Huggins,” Edna said shaking her head. “He was something.”

  Irene turned to Bonnie with a mischievous grin on her face. “Mr. Huggins had crossed eyes, and they seemed to move independently of each other. You could never quite tell just where he was looking.”

  Edna laughed again and shook her head. “He was the best at catching cheaters, wasn’t he?”

  Irene looked at Bonnie again. “We’d be sitting in class taking a test,” she said with a grin, “when all of a sudden he’d whack a yardstick on someone’s desk and exclaim, ‘Ah Ha! Caught you!’ Then he’d take hold of the cheater’s ear and pull him to the classroom door with an order to the principal’s office.”

  Edna chuckled. “I remember every time we took a test I hoped someone would get caught. It was such a hilarious thing to watch.”

  Irene shook her head. “I hadn’t thought of that in years. It’s so good to see you again, Edna.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Edna said, glancing up at the ceiling. “What, over thirty years?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Irene chuckled. “I feel every one of those thirty years.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m a grandmother now. If that doesn’t make you feel old…”

  “Me, too. Six.”

  “Seven and one on the way.” Edna turned her attention back to Bonnie. “Well, enough about us. What do you need today, Bonnie? The usual?”

  “Yes, but I think I’ll take an extra pound of kibble so I won’t have to come back as often.”

  Irene made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Bonnie, don’t worry about it. I’ll bring you over as many times as you need.” She shook her head at Edna. “Bonnie’s staying at my house for a while. She was evicted for having a cat.”

  Edna gasped and clutched at her bosom. “You mean Baby Girl? You were kicked out of your apartment for that?”

  “I didn’t know when I signed the lease,” she explained. “Anyway, I’m looking for a place that allows pets.”

  Edna tapped her chin and walked toward a bulletin board she kept near the bird cages. “I think there was a card on here…” She scanned the board, removed a pin, and handed the card to Bonnie. “Here’s a place for rent.” She pointed to a line on the card. “It says pets are welcome.”

  Bonnie felt a squeal rise in her throat. “Oh, Edna! I’ll call on it first thing in the morning.”

  “What’s the address?” Irene asked, peering over Bonnie’s shoulder.

  Bonnie looked at the card and turned it over in her hand. “It doesn’t say.”

  Irene made a humming sound. “That could be bad.”

  “How?” Bonnie asked, looking back and forth between the two women.

  “Well, it might be located in a part of town where no sane person would want to live,” Edna suggested.

  “Hard to say,” Irene said. “We’ll call when we get home and see what it’s all about.”

  Bonnie paid Edna and turned to answer Chester’s little noises. “Hi, Chester. You thought I’d forgotten you, didn’t you?” She extended her hand to him. The monkey jumped to the edge of the metal tank and made a grasping motion. “This is my friend Irene.”

  Irene looked at the creature and adjusted her glasses. “Does he bite?”

  “He might gum you to death,” Edna said. “He doesn’t have teeth.”

  Irene reached toward Chester just as Bonnie had done. He pulled back his diminutive ears and started screeching, then suddenly jumped into the tank and grabbed a fistful of his droppings. He flung them at Irene, who screamed and skittered away, flapping her hands in the air. Chester tugged against his chain, jumping from the lip of the tank to his pole and back again.

  “Why, you little—” Bonnie approached the tank, shaking her finger at him. “You’re naughty, Chester. That wasn’t a nice thing to do to my friend.”

  Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or perhaps her wagging finger that had Chester cocking his head from side to side as though trying to interpret Bonnie’s words. He made a squeaking noise, jumped into the tank and went to his little bed.

  “I guess he wasn’t expecting a scolding,” Edna said, laughing.
>
  Bonnie looked down at the little monkey and felt sorry for him. He appeared dejected and sad. She reached for him again and his eyes darted about as he eased his way up the pole. “Still friends?” she asked.

  Chester put out his arm and wiggled his tiny fingers. Bonnie touched his hand and smiled. “Good. Still friends. But from now on, you better be nice to Irene.”

  ///////

  Bonnie’s heart was pounding as she reached for Irene’s telephone. She looked at the card in her hand and began dialing. The phone rang and Bonnie crossed her fingers. She heard a click.

  “Hello? I got your card from Edna’s Pet Store. Can you tell me a little more about the apartment?”

  Irene stood beside her with a notepad and pencil in her hands.

  “I see,” Bonnie said, looking up at Irene and shaking her head. “Well, thank you anyway.” She hung up. “It was rented day before yesterday.”

  Irene sighed and lowered her hands, the notepad and pencil returned to the telephone table. “Oh, darn the luck,” she said, patting Bonnie’s shoulder. “Well, we’ll just have to keep looking.”

  Bonnie got up from the little stool beside the phone table and hunched her shoulders. “I guess so.”

  Irene’s hazel eyes glimmered behind her glasses. “Why don’t you come bowling with Don and me tonight?” Before Bonnie could object, she added, “There’s a community bulletin board. You might find an apartment listed there.”

  Bonnie smiled. “And I don’t suppose you could just check the board for me while you’re there?”

  Irene tilted her head. “I could, but it would be more fun if you came with us.”

  Bonnie didn’t want to venture out. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt safer in Irene’s basement. When she was among strangers she was more tempted to lie about herself. It was Irene who made her feel grounded, made her want to tell the truth. Why would she want to risk that? “I’m not a very good bowler.”

  “You don’t have to be,” Irene said, heading for the kitchen. “Neither am I.”

  “But you bowl every week,” Bonnie countered.

  Irene laughed. “And I cook every day, but that doesn’t necessarily make me a gourmet chef, now does it?”