Secrets of the Red Box

by Vickie Hall

  She used her hands to mimic the actions as she continued. “I daubed some glue on the spout and the teapot and pushed them together with a prayer. I held it together for a while and tested it by inching my fingers away. It looked like it was going to hold. I was elated. You could hardly tell where it had broken, so I put it back in the cabinet and never said a word.”

  “And?” Glen asked with a smirk.

  “And the next morning I saw that the teapot was missing from the cabinet. My heart just sank and I knew I had to tell her what I’d done. I found her in the kitchen trying to glue the two pieces back together. I was just about to tell her when she looked up and said, ‘This is the third time this things come unglued. I guess I should just give up and throw it away.’”

  “You’re kidding.” Glen laughed. “You mean it had been broken before?”

  “Yes! She told me she’d bought it from a flea market years ago and it had been broken then. Here I am thinking I’ve destroyed an heirloom or something and it’s just a piece of junk.”

  Glen laughed and continued to drive as they talked, sharing stories and memories. There was an easy patter between them, a connection that had Glen feeling as though he wanted to see Bonnie again and again. He couldn’t wait to kiss her, to see if the chemistry he felt between them was as real as he thought.

  When he finally pulled the car up to the curb of his aunt and uncle’s house, it was nearly eleven o’clock. He shut off the engine and came around to Bonnie’s door. She stepped out with the paper bag filled with garbage. He took it from her and put it on the seat. “I’ll take care of that. I’m sorry time got away from me,” he said, glancing at his watch beneath the street light. “I should have stopped and bought you a decent dinner.”

  Bonnie shook her head and turned toward the house. “I didn’t even notice,” she said, walking slowly as he drew up beside her. “I really enjoyed tonight.”

  “Me too,” he said, taking her hand as they strolled to the front porch.

  They stood beneath the glow of the porch light and Glen took hold of Bonnie’s other hand. She smiled. Glen’s heart began to pound. He let go of her hands and slipped his fingers into her silken hair, pulling her close as his lips pressed against hers. He felt her yield to him as her arms came up around his neck to pull him in tighter. He slowly deepened the kiss, lingering as he tasted her. She slid her hands down to his chest, then up to the back of his head, urging him to take her with more hunger.

  Glen’s blood was racing through his veins like a rocket. He lost the feeling in his legs, and his knees felt as if they might buckle. Before he lost control, took more than he should, he drew back, peered into her eyes, then kissed her softly on the lips. “Good night,” he whispered.

  “Good night,” she whispered back.

  Glen opened the front door and took Bonnie by the hand. He escorted her inside, kissed the back of her hand, and closed the door behind him. An expansive smile split his face, tethered by the two dimples as he returned to the car. All he could think was, wow.

  ///////

  Bonnie leaned against the closed door and tried to catch her breath. What had he done to her? She’d never felt anything like it before. She was smiling, and no matter how she tried to remove it from her lips, it remained, as if her mouth would never do anything else ever again. When she pushed away from the door, Bonnie felt as though she were floating, her steps effortless. She’d always thought feeling like this belonged in the movies, that it didn’t happen in real life. But she was feeling it, wasn’t she? Glen Taggart had made her feel it.

  Turning off the lamp in the living room, she went through the kitchen, the ridiculous smile still stretched across her face. She felt a giddy laugh rise in her throat and had to choke it back for fear of waking Irene and Don. As she crept downstairs to her bedroom, Bonnie pondered these strange feelings rising within her, the sense of euphoria, the exhilaration pulsing through her body. It was wonderful and she never wanted it to stop.

  Irene had left a light on in Bonnie’s bedroom, and Baby Girl roused at the sound of Bonnie’s footsteps. She greeted her with a squeaky meow and pranced over to her. Bonnie picked up the cat and pressed her face to hers. “Oh, Baby Girl, I’ve never felt like this,” she whispered. “Never, never, never…”

  The cat squirmed to jump free. Bonnie laughed and let the cat leap from her arms toward the bed with a muffled thud. As Bonnie began to undress, the elation began to wane, a voice of warning rising in her ears. And yet she’d spoken the truth to him, hadn’t she? She told him about her father, her early life, about running away, and it didn’t seem to matter to him. Wasn’t that a good sign? Didn’t that prove that he could look beyond her difficult past and like her anyway? And yet she knew that no matter how much she revealed, she could never tell him about San Diego, what she’d done there, done for money—how she’d broken the law, had left a wake of destruction in her departure. No, that above all else needed to be kept secret. She rationalized that if she was honest about everything else but that, it would be enough. Didn’t people keep some things hidden from everyone, things they were too ashamed of or embarrassed to bring into the light? Wasn’t that true for everyone?

  Bonnie undressed and slipped beneath the covers, her smile coming back as she thought about Glen. As she lay there entranced by the purr of the cat, she relived Glen’s kiss over and over. That giddy feeling he’d stirred in her rose up and took control, overshadowing any sense of cauti on lurking there to return her to reason. Bonnie relived the entire evening again and again until she fell asleep to dream of Glen.

  ///////

  As soon as Bonnie was ready for work the next morning, she hurried upstairs to tell Irene about her date. When the door swung open and she rounded it into the kitchen, Irene stood there with an expectant look on her face. “I thought you’d never come up,” she said with exasperation. Irene arched a brow and fought back a smirk. “Though I can see by the look on your face that you must have had a good time.”

  Bonnie felt her cheeks heat with a blush. She smiled, the same broad smile she’d found last night after Glen’s kiss. “You might say that,” she said coyly.

  Irene poured them each a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “Okay, spill it,” she said, motioning for Bonnie to sit down. “What happened? Where’d you go? Is he going to ask you out again? Did— ”

  Bonnie held up her hands and laughed. “Okay, okay, give me a second.” She cleared her throat and reached for the sugar. She began to relate the entire evening, excluding the actual content of their discussion—at least hers, anyway. She ended with a grin and lowered her gaze to the cup of coffee. “I’ve never felt anything like this in my whole life,” she said. “I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Anyway, Ihope it is.”

  Irene couldn’t seem to hold back her gleeful smile as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, Bonnie! I couldn’t be happier for you or for Glen. You’re already like my own family now. Just imagine if you and Glen—”

  Bonnie hunched her shoulders as if she could block out Irene’s words. “Don’t jinx it, Irene! Don’t say it out loud.”

  Irene pursed her lips. “So, you admit you’ve thought this might go somewhere, too.”

  Bonnie stood up from the table and went to the sink. “I admit nothing,” she said, filling the sink with hot water.

  “Still,” Irene said, coming up behind her, “it would be something, wouldn’t it?”

  Bonnie stared out the kitchen window, over the red-and-white gingham curtains to the turning leaves outside. It would be something, she thought, if they found themselves falling in love. It would be something she never expected to happen, never hoped for. It would be something she’d have to weigh very carefully against the secrets in the red box, against the things she’d done—the things that made her skin crawl now.

  Chapter 20

  Glen sat at the kitchen table, searching the help-wanted section of the newspaper. He’d still need at least a part-time job while he was in school. Even
if he would receive a stipend, he’d want pocket money to take Bonnie out. And that was something he planned to do on a regular basis. At least, he hoped she would continue to see him.

  He felt a bit foolish at the strange evening they’d shared the night before. It was certainly an unorthodox date, he mused. But deep down, he was glad they had just spent time together. He felt comfortable talking to her, more so than with any other woman he’d met. He felt as if he could talk to her about anything, even those things that were very personal to him, and somehow she’d understand. It seemed to him that she wouldn’t judge him, or didn’t judge him, that there was a level of acceptance between them.

  Glen knew by the heat they’d exchanged during their kiss that Bonnie was incredibly different. She was able to make his blood simmer, and without doubt could fan it to a full boil with little effort. But it was more than just sexual attraction he felt. It was everything about Bonnie that had his gears turning. He loved the color of her hair, that silky blonde that looked like a pool of honey. The sight of her full lips drove him mad, and when she laughed a shiver of delight pierced his soul. She’d revealed a part of her difficult past and that had made him feel protective of her, as if he wanted to keep other bad things from happening to her. And she looked just a little bit sad sometimes, just behind the eyes, and it made him want to hold her. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

  Glen heard his father pull into the driveway and folded the paper into a neat rectangle. He got up and checked the pot of canned soup he’d opened to heat on the stove. He cranked open a can of tuna fish as Al came into the house. “Hey, Dad,” he called. “Ihope soup and sandwiches are okay tonight.”

  “Sure,” Al replied as he hung his hat by the back door. “You were still asleep when I left this morning. How was your date last night?”

  Glen grinned and pried the drained tuna from the can with a fork. “She’s really something, Dad.” He looked at his father, the fork poised in the air. “I had a great time.”

  “Good, good,” Al said. He smiled and took a loaf from the bread box. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her on Sunday, but your aunt Irene sure thinks the world of her.”

  “I’m going to ask her out again,” Glen announced.

  Al leaned toward his son and gave him a nudge with his shoulder. “She must be pretty special, huh?”

  Glen paused a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

  Al got a sudden look of alarm on his face, patting his pockets with both hands. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, handing Glen a rumpled note. “I was talking to one of the guys at work—I don’t think you know him. He came on about two years ago. His name is John Bloomington. Anyway, his son Andrew is in the insurance game and is looking for someone to help him out. He says the business has grown so much he can’t handle all the clients by himself. I told John you were looking for something and he told me to pass this on to you.”

  Glen looked at his father’s poor penmanship and tried to make out the phone number. “I’ll give him a call in the morning. You said his name is Andrew?”

  “Yeah,” Al replied. “Andrew Bloomington. He can tell you all about what he’s looking for.”

  “Insurance, huh?” Glen nodded and stuffed the note into his shirt pocket. “Great. Thanks, Dad.”

  The two men worked together to complete their tuna sandwiches without much conversation. When they sat at the table, Al gave his son a serious look and the atmosphere between them changed. “How are you doing, son? I mean, really. Are you feeling settled yet? Have you been able to leave the war behind?”

  Glen wasn’t sure how to answer. Yes, he was settling in as best as he could, but how could he ever leave the war behind him? He didn’t want to tell his father that he often felt haunted by what he’d seen and done, that visions of bloody bodies crept into his dreams, that he’d ducked yesterday when he heard a car backfire.

  Glen didn’t really want to talk about it, either. All he wanted to do was forget. If he talked about it, everything would remain fresh in his mind. It would be like reliving it again and again. It was better to leave it alone until it remained muted in the past.

  “I’m doing okay,” Glen said, pressing his lips together as he nodded. “I just take it one day at a time, but I’m doing okay.”

  Al bit into his tuna sandwich. “You know, my brothers never really talked about what they went through in the Great War. But I could tell it wasn’t easy for them.” He chewed, swallowed, and looked at his son. “I know it might be tough to talk about, Glen. And maybe you won’t. That’s okay too. I just want you to know, that if you want to, I mean…”

  Glen placed his hand on his father’s arm. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t really need to talk about it. It’s all in the past now.”

  Al looked relieved. Glen withdrew his hand and picked up his spoon. He stirred the hot tomato soup, thick and red. A torrent of memories came crashing back like heaving ocean waves pounding against his mind. The soup became blood. He could smell it, see it everywhere, feel the blood on Charlie’s face as he tried to wipe it away. He felt his hands begin to tremble, could see the spoon quivering in his fingers. He lifted the sandwich and plunged it into the soup as if to disperse the memories. He bit off the corner of the sandwich and forced the tide back from his thoughts.

  Glen got up from the table and went to the refrigerator as a distraction. He didn’t want his father to see his shaking fingers, or the look on his face that might betray his feelings. Gazing inside the fridge, Glen tried to think of something else, something to clear his mind. He thought about Bonnie. He thought about her beautiful blue eyes, her translucent skin, the feel of her lips on his. In moments, all the ugliness of war ceased to exist. He saw only Bonnie, and knew she could be his salvation.

  Glen hooked the slender necks of two beers between his fingers and closed the fridge door. “Beer?” he asked his father. “I got the old car running this afternoon.”

  Al seemed surprised and took one of the beers. “Really? For how long?”

  “Very funny,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of the kitchen chair to take a seat. “I drove it around for about a half hour and it seemed fine.”

  “What are you going to do with the hole in the floor?” Al had an amused grin on his face.

  “Well, I’ll figure that out later.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s only bad when it rains or snows.”

  “Which should be starting any week now,” Al said with a laugh.

  “It beats sleeping on the ground with a foot of snow beneath you, or walking through mud up to your ankles.” Glen pried off the bottle cap and handed the opener to his father. “And it’s sure better than sitting in some foxhole while it rains all day while some brass up the line—”

  Glen saw a wince cross his father’s face. He wished he hadn’t said anything. “Well, you get my meaning. I can handle an eight-inch hole in the floorboard.”

  Al nodded and spooned up some soup. “All the same, if the weather gets bad and you want to take Bonnie out, you can use my car again.”

  A tender feeling toward his father pricked his heart. He was lucky to have a father like Al Taggart. It made him wonder about Bonnie’s father, and what kind of man could beat his wife and child. It made him sick to think of Bonnie being treated like that. He looked at his father and offered an affectionate smile. “You know something, Dad? You’re a pretty great guy.”

  ///////

  Two days had passed and Bonnie had time to clear her head. She couldn’t possibly see Glen again. There was too much at stake. She’d known the moment she’d left San Diego that her loyalty was to her secrets, and nothing else. If she wanted to protect herself she needed to live a solitary life, taking her secrets with her to the grave.

  As Bonnie sat on the sofa while Irene and Don tuned in to the Kraft Music Hall program, she let out a long sigh. She usually enjoyed the easy patter of Bing Crosby as host, and tonight’s program featured the Andrews Sisters. But she couldn’t focus with the barrage of t
houghts ricocheting through her mind. She sighed again and pushed herself up from the sofa. “I think I’ll go downstairs and read,” she said softly.

  Irene looked over her glasses as her fingers worked the knitting needles and the pale pink yarn. “Everything all right?”

  Bonnie nodded and turned just as a knock came at the door. “I’ll get it,” she said, motioning for Don to remain seated. “You listen to your program.”

  Bonnie flipped on the porch light and opened the door. Glen met her with his dimpled smile and a bouquet of violets in his hand. “Glen,” she breathed in surprise as he held out the flowers.

  “Hi, Bonnie,” he said, stepping into the house. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Her resolve eroded again as she took the flowers from him. They were beautiful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received flowers. “Thank you, Glen. They’re lovely.”

  Don heard Glen’s voice and came to his feet. “Come in, Glen,” he greeted with a broad smile. “Come in and sit down.”

  “Glen?” Irene said, folding her knitting together. “How good to see you!”

  Don turned off the radio and motioned for Glen to sit down.

  “I don’t want to interrupt your program,” Glen said. “I just came by to say hello.”

  Irene craned her neck toward Bonnie and saw the violets. “How beautiful.”

  “I’d better put these in some water.” Bonnie started for the kitchen.

  Glen trailed after Bonnie. “Turn the radio back on,” he said to Don and Irene. “I’ll just be in the kitchen…”

  Bonnie heard Don chuckle as she went to the kitchen cupboard in search of a vase. Glen came up behind her. “I hope you like violets,” he said. “They have an intense color, like your eyes.”

  Bonnie held her breath. This was going to be difficult, especially because she liked Glen. Her emotions began to well in her throat. “You’re very thoughtful,” she managed to say, her voice low and soft.