by Vickie Hall
“Fine,” Bonnie said with a cool stare.
“I’ll leave then,” he said, backing up a step.
“I think you should.”
She noticed him staring at her now, that he wasn’t making any effort to leave. A charge of electricity tingled at the base of her neck as she stared back. She felt her resolve melting, felt his gaze penetrating her defenses. “Really,” she said, her voice considerably softer now. “You’re the guest of honor. You’d better go.”
Glen came forward, took the tray from her and placed it on the table. He held out his hand to her. “I’d like to start over if you’ll let me. I’m happy to meet you, Bonnie.”
Bonnie’s heart tripped and struggled to right itself. The look on his face had her feeling flushed, as though he could see through her somehow, could read her thoughts. She inched her hand forward and clasped his. When their fingers touched, Bonnie felt a flush consume her cheeks and spread to her neck and shoulders. This can’t be happening, she thought. She forced herself to focus, broke eye contact with him, and glanced at the table. “Welcome home, Glen.”
Glen withdrew his hand slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier. It just seemed a little too convenient—well, Aunt Irene’s been a mother to me since I was ten years old. I thought she was—” He paused, and for the first time appeared nervous. “Just for the record, Bonnie, if this had been a set-up I couldn’t have asked for a more lovely companion.”
Bonnie blinked and took a step back. She hated that her heart was pounding, that she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “You’d better get back out there.”
Glen smiled, his dimples flashing at her like two neon lights. “All right.”
Bonnie turned to the stove as Glen left the kitchen. She stirred the spaghetti sauce and swallowed down the feelings he’d aroused in her. She prayed she’d be able to get out of the Orton’s house soon—away from everything it represented.
Irene came up behind her. She reached for a hot pad. “How’s that sauce coming?”
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder. “It’s ready,” she said.
Irene took hold of the pot and poured the sauce into a bowl. “Bonnie,” she said without looking from her task, “I hope you didn’t take to heart what Glen said—”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Iknow you weren’t trying to throw us together. I think he just jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
Irene placed a ladle in the sauce. “Can you take this to the lowboy in the dining room? We’re ready to serve.”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing a crocheted pot holder to carry beneath the bowl.
“Tell Don to make the announcement,” Irene added as Bonnie headed to the adjoining dining room.
Bonnie threaded her way through the crowd, careful not to spill the hot sauce. She placed it on the cloth-covered lowboy and told Don it was time to start. As she turned to go back for another bowl of sauce, Glen was there, greeting her with a smile. “Let me help. Do you have more to bring out?”
“Uh, that’s okay,” she said and side-stepped around him. “I can manage.”
Bonnie’s heart hammered in her ears. She became perturbed by the effect he had on her. He shouldn’t have any effect on her, she thought. Back in the kitchen, Bonnie tried to stay busy with other tasks, sliding hot dogs into buns, straining pasta, pushing plates of food out to others. She didn’t want to see Glen Taggart again, didn’t want to feel that pulse of lightning charge through her body when she looked at him.
She managed to remain in the kitchen while everyone else was busy eating. She kept pasta warmed, hot dogs at the ready, and stirred spaghetti sauce on the stove. When someone came to the kitchen, she gladly refilled a dish or poured more water into a pitcher. She’d even started a sink-full of dishes just so she could keep her thoughts occupied.
Bonnie rinsed a washed pot and placed it on the drain board to dry. She heard footsteps behind her and only turned slightly, her hands dripping with rinse water. “What can I get you?”
“I noticed you haven’t eaten,” Glen said. “Ithought maybe I could coax you out of the kitchen for a few minutes.”
Bonnie felt a stammer teeter on the edge of her tongue and she had to swallow before she spoke. “No, it’s all right. I’m fine…”
Glen took hold of a dishtowel and picked up the clean pot. “All right, then I’ll keep you company.”
Bonnie didn’t know what to do. She squelched down the urge to run and plunged her hands back into the dishwater. “I’m sure there must be more exciting things to do than dry dishes.”
“Maybe, but you make it look appealing.” He smiled at her, and the dimples winked again.
Bonnie turned her eyes to the sink. Okay, she thought, I’ve controlled conversations before—I can do it again. “So, now that you’re home, Glen, what are your plans?”
He held out his hand for the rinsed lid to the pot. “Well, I’ve been giving that a lot of thought. I know I don’t want to do what I was doing,” he said, wiping the towel around the rim of the lid, “working at the stockyards. I’m thinking I’ll take the government up on the GI Bill and start college next semester. I can attend Omaha University here, or maybe go to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln…haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“What would you like to study?”
“There’s the problem,” he said, placing the lid onto its matching pot. “I’m good with numbers, so maybe something to do with mathematics.”
Bonnie nodded and kept her gaze on the dishes. “Like an accountant or a mathematics teacher?”
Glen raised a shoulder. “Maybe. I just know I want to make something out of my life. I was kind of aimless before the war,” he said, taking the next pot from Bonnie. “I never really had much focus, I guess. But things are different now. I came home when a lot of my friends didn’t. Kind of makes a man think about what he’s been doing and what he should be doing.”
Bonnie noticed her heart had calmed, the tone of his voice soothing her as he spoke. She felt as if she knew him, but she attributed that to Irene and the fact that they were related. His mother had been Irene’s sister. There must be some of that in Glen, too, the same thing that made her like Irene. “I can understand that.” She rinsed a platter and handed it to him. “When your life can be taken at any minute, you begin to figure out what really matters and what doesn’t.”
He turned his face to her, but she didn’t look at him. “Yeah, that’s it exactly.” He was still looking at her when he continued. “Most people don’t seem to get that.”
Bonnie drew her gaze to him now. “It just seems logical, that’s all.” She saw him move to ask another question and interjected her own before he could speak. “So, what was Italy like? I mean, aside from the war.”
“Parts of it—”
“Here you are,” Irene said, bustling her way to the table with a handful of dirty dishes. She went to the sink and shooed Bonnie from it. “It’s time for you to go and enjoy the party. You’ve done enough in here.”
“No,” she protested, trying to nudge her way back to the sink. “You go back—” She gave Glen an exasperated look. “Take your aunt and you two go enjoy.”
“Oh, no,” Irene said, taking the dishcloth from Bonnie. “You’ve done more than your share. It’s time for you to step out of the kitchen.”
“I don’t mind,” Bonnie protested.
“And that’s just the point,” Irene said. “You’d work in here all day and never complain.” She looked at her nephew. “Be a good soldier and take her out of here, Glen.”
Bonnie felt trapped. She didn’t want to go with anyone. She just wanted to disappear. Without thinking, she rushed to the back door, opened it with a wide swing and ran into the back yard. She stopped beside a large elm tree and leaned her shoulder against it. Tears began to sting her eyes, but she couldn’t explain why. She only knew that she couldn’t stay in the house, couldn’t be a party to the normal life of the Ortons an
ymore. She was an interloper, a fraud, and she didn’t deserve their kindness.
Bonnie drew in a deep breath and walked through the yard until she came to a gate in the fence. She opened it and saw that it led to an alley where trash cans stood lined up from house to house. Turning onto the gravel road, she started walking, putting distance between her and the Orton household.
When she heard a scuffle of footsteps behind her, Bonnie turned to find Glen. She sighed and held up her hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, Glen, really. But I just want to be left alone right now.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said.
Bonnie shook her head. “No. It isn’t you. Please, just go back.”
He didn’t, instead he came toward her. “To be honest, I don’t much want to go back. I can’t explain it—I know they love me and care about me, but I didn’t really want a big fuss made on my account in the first place.”
Bonnie folded her arms and started walking again. He caught up to her and she felt herself wince. Why couldn’t he just leave her as she’d asked? Why did he have to follow her? Bonnie felt her belly lurch again. If he stayed he’d ask her questions, wouldn’t he? He’d want to know about her, who she was, how she came to work at Kirkendall’s. She didn’t want to answer any of those questions.
“How long were you overseas?” she heard herself ask before she could stop herself.
“A little over three years…seems like a lifetime.”
Bonnie clasped her hands behind her and walked through the alley. She turned at the end of it and strolled along the sidewalk. Maybe if she ignored him he’d turn back.
They walked a few more steps, and then Glen looked at her. “Tell me about your cat. How did you come to lose an apartment over it?”
Bonnie resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t going to leave. But he’d struck a chord with her on the topic of Baby Girl. She explained how the cat came into her life and how she’d been evicted. She told him about the kindness of the Orton’s and how they’d rallied around her without hesitation. “I just don’t know how I’ll ever repay Irene and her family,” she said, shaking her head.
A strand of her hair came loose from her comb and fell over her face. Glen casually reached over and tucked the curling lock behind her ear, as if he’d done so a hundred times. She touched the back of her ear where he’d placed the hair and smiled softly at him. Why had that felt so natural? She should have recoiled or pushed his hand away. That’s what she should have done—but she didn’t.
“My mother died when I was young. Aunt Irene has sort of been my mom ever since,” he said, picking off a leaf from an overhanging tree branch. “She was a godsend after Mom’s death. She has a way about her…like she instinctively knows what you need or how you feel. She doesn’t say it in words so much, but she knows.”
Yes, Bonnie knew. She’d felt it too. “My mother died this summer,” she said. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry. It’s tough losing your mom no matter how old you are. After all these years, when I walk through my parents’ kitchen, Istill see her sometimes…making breakfast, or washing dishes. I used to help dry. We were like a team, ya know? She’d wash and I’d dry. My younger brother is real close with my dad, but I was closer to my mom. I really miss her.”
“I wasn’t there when my mother died,” she said softly. “She died in California. I didn’t even know she was sick. I think she was trying to protect me—didn’t want me coming home to take care of her, to see her so sick…”
“Then it must have come as a real shock to you.”
Bonnie nodded. “I didn’t even know about the funeral. I’m not on the best terms with my father—I called to talk to mom one day and he answered the phone. That’s when I found out.”
Glen flicked the leaf from his fingers. “You must have felt really cheated that you weren’t there to say goodbye to her.”
Bonnie paused beside an ancient oak, the afternoon sun elongating its shadow over the sidewalk and spilling into the street. “Maybe we should go back.” She was afraid of him, afraid of how easy it was to talk to him, how comfortable she suddenly was with him. She wanted to go back before she was forced to start lying to him.
He turned to face her, his deep brown eyes focused on hers. “You’re probably right. Folks will want to start leaving soon, and I should be there to say goodbye.”
Bonnie felt something odd building within her, something rising up and curling through her insides like hungry tendrils. Feelings she’d never known before, never wanted to know, began gnawing at her resolve. She wanted to taste his lips, feel his hands on her. Those were dangerous feelings, ones she wasn’t sure she could control or overcome. And worse, she wasn’ t sure she cared to.
She tore herself away from his gaze and headed back the way they’d come, swallowing down her thrashing heart. Bonnie was afraid to speak, afraid if she opened her mouth he’d hear the sound of her beating heart.
“You know, Bonnie,” he said as they neared the house, “I learned a valuable lesson from the war.” He stopped and fixed his gaze on her again. “You can’t take one minute for granted. One minute could be the end of everything.” Glen smiled softly. “Before the war, I wouldn’t do thi s, but now…everything’s changed…I’ve changed.” Bonnie held her breath, braced herself for what was to come next. “I’d like to see you again,” he said.
Bonnie rejected the idea for the briefest of seconds before she nodded. “I’d like that.”
His smile broadened and the dimples revealed themselves again. “Great. I’ll call you this week.”
They turned and retraced their steps into the back yard of the Orton home. When Glen went inside, she paused on the back steps and pinched the bridge of her nose. What had she just done? ///////
The women cleaned the kitchen, did the dishes, and put away leftover food while the men ordered the dining room once more, put away chairs, and took out the garbage. Eventually family groups began to peel away, gathering children and bidding goodbye to Glen, who stayed until everyone else was gone, then he and his father went home.
Bonnie busied herself vacuuming the rugs, picking up bits of discarded hot dog bun from the dining room floor, and making certain everything was tidy. As she put the vacuum away, the quiet seemed pronounced now that everyone was gone, the noisy laughter and conversations subdued for another day.
She took out the combs from either side of her hair and remembered how Glen had tucked the loose strands behind her ear. A tiny smile touched her lips. Bonnie went to the kitchen and found Irene putting her habitual nightly teapot on the stove. Irene swiveled her head and smiled. “Quite a day, wasn’t it?”
Bonnie let out a sigh. “It was. I’m glad it’s over.” She looked around. “Where’s Don?”
“Oh, he’s out in the yard talking to the neighbors about cars or something,” she replied with a waving hand. “Sit down, the tea’s almost ready.”
Bonnie folded herself into a chair and leaned an elbow against the table. She hesitated before asking Irene a question, wasn’t sure why she should even ask it. Then quietly she said, “How did Glen’s mother die?”
Irene’s brows arched as she brought the tea to the table. She hesitated a moment, as if it was still a painful memory. “My sister fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Glen always blamed himself—still does, I suppose.”
Bonnie felt herself grow a little sick as she envisioned the scene. “How awful…but why would he blame himself?”
Irene sat down and ran her finger around the rim of the empty cup. “She’d asked him to clean out the clinkers from the coal furnace before he left for school one day. He balked at the request and told her he’d do it later. When he came home, he found her in the cellar. She’d probably been dead for some time.” Irene drew her eyes to Bonnie. “Anyway, he’s always believed she’d gone down to do his job, and he’s never quite forgiven himself for it.”
Bonnie felt a twinge of sorrow for him. “But she could have gone downstairs for lo
ts of reasons.”
Irene nodded. “That’s what we all told him, but he wouldn’t believe it. He was convinced she was dead because of him, convinced that if he’d done as she’d asked she wouldn’t have died.” Irene sighed heavily and got up to fetch the sugar. “After that, Glen never seemed to care about much of anything. He’s carried that burden all these years, and it just breaks my heart.”
“That’s so sad,” Bonnie said just above a whisper.
“He’s very tender-hearted…too much so I think.” She began to stir her tea.
Bonnie spooned some sugar into her cup. “He asked me about Baby Girl—well, actually he asked me how I came to be evicted over a cat.” She smiled and stirred her tea.
Irene drew the cup to her lips. “He has a soft-spot for animals—always has had. He was always bringing home some stray creature of one kind or another. I used to tease him that he should become a veterinarian because he loved animals so much. But he said he couldn’t—didn’t want to have to put them down when they were too sick or injured to save.” Irene was thoughtful a moment. “I can’t imagine how he was able to—” She stopped herself. “Well, never mind.”
Bonnie knew what Irene meant to say—that she couldn’t imagine how a tender-hearted soul like Glen could go to war and kill human beings when he couldn’t stand the thought of watching an animal die. But Bonnie understood. When her back had been against the wall she’d done what she’d had to do—she’d picked up a knife and held it out to save her own life. And she believed that was what Glen had done too.
///////
Bonnie went downstairs, undressed and got ready for bed. She sat in her chair and patted her lap for Baby Girl. The cat obediently jumped into the chair with Bonnie and began purring. The kitten sat facing Bonnie, her little paws kneading her nightgown with a look of delight on her whiskered face. Bonnie stroked the silky gray fur and smiled. “I missed you, too, Baby Girl,” she murmured.
The basement was cool. She reached for the throw over the end of her bed and draped it across her legs. With her head against the chair, Bonnie closed her eyes and listened to the cat’s soothing purr. She let her mind drift, wander to the moment she saw Glen Taggart for the first time. She liked his rugged good looks, his ready smile, and especially his dimples. His dark eyes had a way of penetrating deep into her soul, leaving her breathless.