by Vickie Hall
“You’re sure?” he asked, glancing around. He noticed Charlie’s letter resting on the little end table that stood in the corner unmoved. Amy had opened it, probably read it, he thought. “I’ll move anything you’d like until it’s just the way you want it.”
Amy grazed the room with her eyes, then settled them on Glen. “Nope, I think it’s done. Thank you for your help.”
Glen nodded and shrugged. “I didn’t do anything, really.” He wondered if she’d gone into a furniture-moving mood to combat her emotions. He vaguely remembered his mother doing the same thing any time she’d been upset or stressed. He could always tell something had happened when he’d come home from school to find the living room rearranged.
As he rolled down his sleeves, he kept his eyes lowered. “Listen, Amy, I came back, well, I wanted to…” He looked at her now, his fingers working the cuff buttons. “I thought maybe I could take you to dinner tonight…if you’re free, I mean.”
Amy’s brown eyes softened. “I’d like that, Glen. I really would.”
“Good,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t mean to run out like that—I—”
She smiled. “It’s all right. I think I understand. Charlie was your friend—you’ve lost him too.” She headed for the kitchen. “I’ve got some lemonade. Let me pour you a glass.”
Glen licked his parched lips. “That’d be good.” He followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have family around here?”
She turned from the cupboard. “My folks live in Missoula, but Charlie’s parents aren’t too far from here.”
“What about your sisters?” he asked, remembering what Charlie had shared with him. “Wasn’t one of them in Iowa or something?”
Amy cocked her head and smiled. “Yes, Des Moines. How did you know that?” Then she gave out a little laugh. “Charlie told you.”
“Yeah, he talked about you a lot,” he said. “I even know you have a scar on your left knee from falling off your bicycle when—let’s see,” he said, squinting up at the ceiling. “You were eight years old.”
Amy took down a glass and slowly shook her head. “That’s right. It seems kind of strange that you fellas would talk about things like that. I mean, there you were, fighting a war…trying to figure out how to stay alive…”
Glen leaned his hip against the counter and folded his arms. “You’d be surprised. Talking about home, about normal things, seemed more important sometimes. It sort of helped us stay sane, you know? Thinking about home, about people we love, it gave us purpose, I guess, sometimes even the courage to keep fighting.”
She nodded as she filled the glass with lemonade. “Charlie would ask me in his letters what I was doing, who I’d visited, what I’d eaten for dinner, that sort of thing. I think it helped him to know I was okay—doing the everyday things I’ve always done. And there he was eating C rations and dodging bullets and…”
“We always got chewing gum or chocolate in our rations,” Glen said with a positive inflection in his voice, hoping he could head off her sadness. “Charlie loved to hand out gum to the kids we’d come across. Or he’d save up his chocolate and give it to a family. He was great about doing that.”
Amy’s face became drawn, her brow slightly furrowed. “He never mentioned that.” She was silent a moment. “I guess I never thought about children being a part of the war, I mean…victims of it, anyway…Isuppose families were victims. I’d seen some of the bombed-out buildings in the news reels, but, well, I never put two and two together. Someone was living in those buildings, working there, whole families…” Amy placed her fingertips to her temple and massaged. “When you look at it that way, I guess we were sort of lucky, not fighting the battles over here.”
Glen swallowed some lemonade and let out a satisfied sound. “That’s why we went over there…to keep it over there.”
Amy’s frown deepened. “Did a lot of children die?”
Glen pushed himself away from the counter and turned toward the kitchen window. He sipped on the lemonade and kept his gaze fixed on the view outside. “Bullets, hand grenades, and bombs don’t care if you’re wearing a uniform or not, or whose side you’re on. If you get in the way, you get killed. War is about the ugliest business there is, Amy, and thousands and thousands of innocent people die because of it.”
“Charlie never talked about that,” she said, her voice quiet and shaking with emotion. “He never mentioned it, but I guess I was being a little naïve to think…that…”
Glen turned from the window and placed the empty glass on the counter. “Look, the main thing now is that it’s over, Amy. They’ll pick up their lives over there and go on, just as we will. Everyone paid a price in one way or another.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she murmured. “Charlie did…”
Glen placed his arm around Amy’s shoulder and nudged her back to the living room. “Let me tell you about something that happened on the ship,” he said with a smile. “Charlie and I were some of the luckier guys who weren’t too seasick going over. Men were hanging over the sides of the ship, you know, green at the gills. Anyway, Charlie gets this idea, so we filled a hot water bottle with some stew we’d been served for chow. He opens his shirt and puts the hot water bottle inside and we go on deck.” He paused and held back a smirk as they sat on the sofa together.
“We find a big group of guys sicker than dogs.” He started to laugh. “Charlie leans over and pushes on the hot water bottle so the stew splashes all over the deck while he’s making puking sounds. I pull out a fork and start stabbing the chunks of stew, and I say to him, ‘You shouldn’t waste good food like that’.” Glen caught the somewhat disturbed look on Amy’s face, but continued to laugh. “Man, you should have seen them run to the rail of the ship!” He shook his head and clapped his hands together. “Charlie and I laughed for days over that.”
“Oh, those poor men,” Amy said with sympathy. Then she grinned. “Charlie could be a bit of a joker,” she admitted. “He could always make me laugh. But he was sweet and tender-hearted, too. That’s what attracted me to him, I guess.” She smoothed down her skirt and looked at Glen. “Did he ever tell you how we met?”
In fact, Charlie had, but Glen shook his head. “Tell me.”
Amy’s face transformed with a wistful look. A brief sigh passed her lips as she began. “It was at a Valentine’s Day Sweetheart Dance. Iwas sixteen and still a little shy. I hadn’t been asked to dance, so I went over to the refreshment table to get some punch. I saw this boy standing by some chairs, and he seemed to be looking for something or someone. I watched him for a minute, and as I did, I saw something in his eyes, something warm and deep…he was handsome and had all that thick hair, and I remembered thinking to myself, I’m going to marry that boy.” She looked at the floor, and then up at Glen. “I just knew somehow that we were meant to be together, and it didn’t even seem remotely strange. Charlie finally looked my way and his face lit up. He smiled at me as if we were old friends, even though we’d never met. He walked over and asked me to dance, and then he said, ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’” A soft smile trembled on her lips. “I fell in love with him that very moment.”
A silence fell between them, with only the sound of their breathing and the ticking of a clock to fill the void. Glen shifted his position on the sofa. “He told me about that time you two ran off to Missoula—what was it? To a rodeo?”
Amy laughed. “That’s right. We got lost and it started to rain. We were on a dirt road, heaven knows where, and Charlie slid off into a ditch.”
“Yeah, and you had to spend the night in the car, and that old farmer pulled you out with his tractor the next morning?”
“And that was before we were married,” she said, with widened eyes. “You can imagine my parents didn’t take too kindly to the story.”
Glen chuckled. “Charlie said he expected your dad to come out with a shotgun and march the two of you to the justice of the peace.”
She sighed. “Dad wasn’t too p
leased, no. But Charlie was a complete gentleman. He slept in the front seat and I slept in the back.”
“That’s what you told your folks,” Glen said with a grin. “Charlie tells it a different way.”
Amy suddenly blushed and covered her face. “I can’t believe he told you.”
Glen wanted to kiss her. In that moment, the way she looked, so abashed and pretty, he struggled to keep his thoughts on Charlie. “When things were quiet we played cards, smoked, drank some when we could find it, and talked about girls. Except for Charlie. He only talked about you.”
Amy looked thoughtful. “He never mentioned you had anyone special back home. Do you?”
The familiar ache began to throb inside him. Amy’s nearness only added to its intensity. He slowly shook his head. “No.”
She placed her hand on his knee and gave it a motherly-like pat. “Don’t you worry, Glen. There’s a girl out there just for you. You just haven’t found her yet.”
Glen wanted to tell her he had found a girl, but that she belonged to someone else—she belonged to Charlie.
“You should have seen his face light up when he’d get one of your letters. Once he got two in the same day,” Glen chuckled. “Ithought he was going to float right off the ground.”
“Did he?” She laughed. “You know all he ever wrote about was coming home, about how he was going to build me a house…nothing about how much he might have been suffering, about the horrors of war, what he must have seen and done—”
Glen pressed his hand to her arm. “He didn’t want you to worry, Amy. He thought—we all thought, that if we told the truth it would be too much for the folks back home. It was better to let them believe we were okay, that we were getting by.”
“And were you?” she asked, turning her face to him, her eyes glistening with tears.
Glen felt a knot rise in his throat. “We did what we had to do, that’s all. Charlie was a great guy. He really was. I tried so hard to get him home to you…”
Amy leaned her head on his shoulder. “I know you did, Glen. And he knows it too.”
He reached up to caress her hair but pulled back his hand, his fingers trembling. The room had gradually darkened with subtle shades of pale gray. The sun was giving way to twilight. He looked at his watch. “Maybe we should leave.”
“Leave?”
“I promised you dinner.”
Amy smiled and a gentle look of affection crossed her face as she got up. “I’m okay now, Glen. You’ve helped me a lot. Why don’t you go on back to your hotel and get some rest? You’ve got a long journey back home, and you need to get started on it.”
She held out her hand to him and Glen took it, pushing up from the sofa. “Are you sure? My invitation still holds.”
Amy rose on her toes and kissed Glen’s cheek. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done, Glen, never. Not for me or for Charlie.”
Glen slid his arms around her slender frame and buried his face against her, against the lavender smell of her hair. “Take care of yourself, Amy.”
“You too.”
Glen leaned back and cupped her face in palms. “As lucky as you think you were to love Charlie, believe me, he counted himself a thousand times more so.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, then eased back and turned for the door.
///////
“I know what you’ve done. I’ve seen it all, and I know.”
Bonnie shook her head and backed away. “No you don’t,” she countered, her pulse racing in her veins like bottled lightning. “You can’t know.”
“But I do.”
Bonnie’s heart beat madly in her chest as she edged away, backing up until she felt a door behind her. Her fingers splayed against the door, sliding along the roughened grain until she felt the knob. She tried to open it, but found it locked.
“You must pay for what you’ve done, Bonnie.”
“No!” Bonnie shouted, her fingers fumbling blindly to open the door. “Stop it, stop it! You don’t know anything!”
“I know everything…everything…”
Bonnie turned to face the door and found two locks bolted in place. Her fingers trembled like aspen leaves in the wind as they reached to slide back the bolts. She had to get out, had to get free. Her ears started ringing and the sound of her pounding heart echoed in her heaving chest. She couldn’t budge the locks and felt panic rise in her mouth to choke off her cries.
“I know everything…”
Bonnie screamed and began pounding on the door with her fists. She tried the locks again, couldn’t budge them free. “Let me out!” she cried, pounding the door with desperation.
Bonnie awoke with a start, her body tense and coated in sweat. A sense of foreboding rose in her throat. She fought the urge to run, to leave the Orton house. The same feelings of panic she’d felt in San Diego began to control her. She threw back the covers and grabbed for her suitcase, threw it on the bed, opened it, and turned to the closet.
Just then, Baby Girl meowed and jumped onto the bed to inspect the suitcase with her feline curiosity. Bonnie stopped at the sound of the cat pawing against the satin lining. She looked at Baby Girl and knew the dream had stirred so many emotions, she couldn’t think straight. Taking the kitten into her arms, she cradled the animal against her, the gentle purring calming her fear and panic. Nobody knew, she told herself. No one knew anything about her, especially not the truth.
Baby Girl wriggled to get free and Bonnie let her jump onto the bed. After snapping the suitcase closed once more, Bonnie slid it beneath the bed and began getting ready for work. She had to get control, put the dream out of her mind. As she dressed, she realized just how enslaved to her past she still was, would always be. There was no escaping it, no pretending it didn’t exist.
Bonnie fed the kitten and started up the stairs to the kitchen. The door at the top of the stairs was slightly ajar and she could hear Irene and Don talking. She heard her name and paused on the steps, listening, her breath stilted.
“She looked half scared,” Don said quietly. “She wasn’t comfortable, that’s for sure.”
Bonnie heard a coffee cup clink into its saucer. “Maybe their relationship ended badly,” Irene suggested. “If there even was a relationship. I’d be a little uncomfortable too.”
“I guess.” Don sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I think Bonnie’s wonderful. She’s just a little…I don’t know. There’s just something different about her.”
“She’s very private,” Irene said as she tapped her spoon against the cup. “Almost guarded, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of people prefer not to talk about themselves.”
“Unlike you, who’d tell a complete stranger if you had a boil on your butt.” Don chuckled. “You’re a pretty open book.”
“Not that open,” she replied with a laugh.
“But what about that nursing school thing?”
“What about it?”
“She never mentioned it to you?”
“No. Does it matter? I mean, I never told Bonnie I didn’t finished high school. I’m not really proud of that—maybe she’s not, either.”
Bonnie eased up a step closer to the door and waited. She heard Don get up from the table. “I suppose,” he said, walking across the floor to the sink. “I’m just glad we’re able to help her out.”
Irene’s chair scooted across the floor. “Me too. There’s something about her that just stirs my maternal heart. I can’t really explain it. I just feel like she’s all alone in the world.”
Bonnie heard the rustle of clothes and a kissing sound. “You’re a good woman, Irene.”
Bonnie took her cue and finished climbing the last stairs to push the door open. “Good morning,” she called out as Don headed for the kitchen door.
“Gotta run,” Don said as he passed her. “Have a good day, you two.”
“Bye,” she said, then turned to the coffee pot.
Bonnie’s mind was filled with their conversation. She was alone in the world. Wheth
er by choice or circumstance, the result was the same. A familiar ache centered in her heart as she poured her cup of coffee. She’d always felt alone…every day of her life. And then there were Irene’s maternal feelings toward Bonnie, ones Bonnie had felt from her, that had reminded her of her own mother. That was dangerous too, she realized. She might be tempted to disclose something she’d regret later on.
///////
Bonnie was desperate now to find an apartment. She called every day during her lunch hour, checked the want ads, and asked people at Kirkendall’s if they knew of any availableplace. It wasn’t until she returned to Edna’s that she received some good news.
Edna waved a card at Bonnie as she and Irene entered the shop. “Bonnie! I’ve been waiting for you. Oh, I wish I had your phone number…” She rushed to meet the two women. “Remember the apartment that was for rent, the one you called on before?”
Bonnie nodded and glanced at Irene. Edna pushed the card into her hand. “It’s available again at the end of next month. I guess the renters need to move out of state or something. Anyway, when he came in to post the vacancy, Igrabbed it and didn’t let anyone else see it.”
Bonnie took the card and tapped it against her wrist. “The end of next month,” she said doubtfully, biting the inside of her cheek. “I was hoping to find something sooner.”
Irene pressed her hand to Bonnie’s shoulder. “You should grab it, Bonnie. You know how hard it’s been to find a place that allows pets. Next month will be here before you know it. And honestly, Don and I don’t mind a bit. We’ve enjoyed having you around. It’s been like having one of our own kids back home.”
Bonnie wanted the apartment—she wanted it more than anything—but waiting almost six more weeks seemed daunting. It was true, Irene and Don had been kind and enjoyable to be around, but the nagging need to get away precluded that.