by Vickie Hall
Her fingers traced the dimpled line in his cheek and she smiled. “I love you.”
///////
With the cat crisis handled, Glen stayed to help Bonnie unpack the boxes. She worked on organizing the kitchen as he emptied boxes and placed their contents on the drop-leaf table. When he’d finished that, he wandered to the bedroom to see what he could do there. He wasn’t sure he could do much with clothing, especially since he didn’t know just where she’d want things. On the floor beside the bed was a box, its flaps loosely folded. He opened it and saw a red leather box inside. Lifting it into his hands, he examined it, turning it from side to side. Glen walked into the living room, the red box grasped between his hands.
“Where do you want this box?” he called as he neared the kitchen.
Bonnie turned from the sink where she was washing the unpacked dishes. Her eyes filled with panic and the color drained from her face. She grabbed a dishcloth to dry her hands and came toward him. “Here, I’ll take that,” she said, her voice a bit unnerved.
Glen saw the flash of anxiety on Bonnie’s face. “What’s in it?” he asked curiously.
“Oh, just stuff,” she said, relieving him of the box. “You know—keepsakes, mementos, nothing important.”
Glen’s brows arched. “Like what?” he teased, reaching for the box. “Letters from old boyfriends?”
Bonnie sidestepped his reach, her eyes narrowed. “It’s private! Leave it alone,” she snapped. “It’s none of your business!”
Glen recoiled as if he’d been bitten. “Okay, geez.”
Bonnie looked as though she regretted her reaction. Her face softened slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said to him. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
She set the box on the kitchen table and turned back to Glen. “Why don’t we call it a night? With the move and losing Baby Girl and everything, I’m done in.”
Glen nodded. It had been a long day, and he conceded that Bonnie was probably tired. But there was something in her voice that sent a shiver down his spine. “Okay, sure. I’ll come back tomorrow and take all the empty boxes away, help with whatever’s left.”
Bonnie clasped her hands together, but Glen saw that her fingers were trembling. He wrapped his hands around hers. “What’s wrong, babe? You’re shaking.”
She attempted a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed when you leave.”
Glen didn’t like the way Bonnie looked, her quivering hands, the coolness in her voice. It was as if a curtain had dropped between them, separating them from their usual intimacy. “Did I say something wrong? What happened?”
Bonnie swallowed and pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Just go, Glen,” she huffed with exasperation. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
He’d never seen her like this before. She seemed agitated and disturbed, but he didn’t understand why. Maybe it was the red box. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched it, but how was he to know? He was only trying to be helpful.
“Sure, you’ve been through a lot today.” He walked to the door, but Bonnie didn’t follow him a s she usually did. There would be no good night kiss. His brows drew together, interlaced with concern. “Good night,” he managed to say.
Closing the door behind him, Glen walked down to his car, perplexed and worried. ///////
Bonnie locked the door, her fingers numb. She turned and stared at the red box. Her heart rose in her throat, beating out a rhythm that clattered against her jaw. What if Glen had managed to open it? The thought paralyzed her. She knew it was locked. If it hadn’t been, there would ha ve been a very different end to the evening.
Bonnie took the box into her hands, holding it gingerly as if it would burn her skin, and went back to the bedroom. Just to be certain, she tested the lock. Yes, it was still sealed. She should have felt some sort of relief at that, but it didn’t alleviate her earlier alarm.
As if driven to do so, Bonnie retrieved the key from the little silk purse and unlocked the box. She raised the lid, her fingers trembling. She looked inside, reached in, and riffled through the items from her past. She surveyed them all, took a photograph between her fingers, looked at the faces— faces that seemed distant and yet amazingly vivid in her memory. Pieces of paper, lists of details, proof of her guilt all ran together as she relived each appalling detail. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop from sifting through the box, dredging up each ugly memory in her mind.
Bonnie closed her eyes against the painful reminders. She drew in a breath and knew she should get rid of the box once and for all. There was no sense in risking the discovery of her repulsive past, a past that could send her to prison. She couldn’t bear the thought of Glen knowing what she’d done. It would crush him, and in turn destroy her. But she was so tired, so emotionally drained that she decided to set it aside and deal with it later.
Bonnie went to the closet and opened a hat box. She removed the hat, shoved the red box inside, and crashed down the lid, then placed it on the top shelf. When she closed the door, she was relieved she could no longer see it.
Chapter 22
Bonnie had always been good at pretending. She’d spent the last few years projecting deceptions, forgetting what was real. Now she worked that ability in reverse, suppressing the reality of her secrets from her conscious mind. Whenever they surfaced, she tamped them down, focused her attention on work, Baby Girl, and Glen, blinding herself with happiness as if the red leather box no longer mattered.
Bonnie and Glen continued to meet with the Orton family each Sunday, sharing dinners with them. Bonnie loved going to Irene’s house, becoming a part of her family every week. She’d finally succumbed to Irene’s constant urging to pick her up for work. The rides to and from Kirkendall’s had become one of the best parts of her day. They talked about the family and Glen, about Baby Girl and the future. Bonnie actually felt she had a future now, one that filled her with delight.
As Thanksgiving neared, Bonnie received her food assignment—pumpkin pie. She was elated and frightened by the task. She’d never made a pie before in her life, and Irene had told her that if she thought it was too much, she could bring something else. Knowing that pumpkin pie ran second only to turkey as the epitome of Thanksgiving dinner, she was worried about the results. But she was also determined to conquer every culinary test that came her way. She wanted to be a good cook.
Bonnie purchased a cookbook titled Pies-A-Plenty that covered everything from how to make pie crust to making the perfect meringue. She purchased all the ingredients she’d need to practice her pie making a week in advance of the holiday. Nothing would prevent her from presenting perfectly made pumpkin pies for the family dinner.
The Saturday before Thanksgiving, she was on her third attempt at making a flaky, golden crust. Her first two attempts had resulted in one burned crust and one crust so tough she couldn’t cut it. The pumpkin pie filling didn’t seem as daunting. She felt more confident in that aspect of her baking, but it wouldn’t matter if it the crust had failed.
A knock on the door drew her away from her rolling pin, and she wiped her floured hands on her apron. “Coming,” she called cheerfully.
If anyone had told her a year ago that she’d be baking pies and enjoying it, she’d have laughed at them. Yet, here she was doing things she never expected to be doing for people she loved.
When she opened the door, Glen was there, grinning, his dimples pitching her heart out of rhythm. Glen always had that effect on her. Whenever he came into view her pulse went racing. Hearing his voice gave her chills, and when he took her in his arms she melted into a helpless puddle.
“What are you up to, babe?” he asked, giving her a quick peck.
“Making pies,” she replied, closing the door. “Well, practicing to make them, anyway.”
“Can we talk while you practice?” he asked, draping his arms around her waist.
Bonnie studied him a moment, taking him in, relishing how she felt in his presence. She
kissed him and stepped away from his embrace. “Sure, pull up a chair. I’m going to get this crust right this time.”
“How many crusts have you made?”
“This is the third, but I think I’ve figured it out.”
Glen grinned and pulled out one of the chairs tucked beneath the drop-leaf table. “You’re determined, I can see that.”
Bonnie floured her rolling pin and nodded. “This is my first Thanksgiving, and I don’t want it to be my last,” she said with a light-hearted laugh.
“No, it won’t be your last,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Far from it.”
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked without lifting her eyes from the pie crust.
“I’ve got Coke and Pabst in there.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she pried her eyes from her work and looked at him. He sat there staring at her, smiling. “What?” she asked self-consciously. “Do I have flour on my face?”
His smile broadened and he got up from the chair. “I was just thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and how lucky I am.” On his way to the refrigerator, he kissed her. “You even keep my favorite beer on hand, which you don’t even drink. And yes, you have flour on your face.”
She tried to scrub her cheek with the back of her hand. “Where?”
Glen took a bottle of Coke from the fridge and turned back to her. He lifted the corner of her apron and daubed at her chin. “Right there.”
She held up her hands as if she was a surgeon who’d just scrubbed in for surgery. “There’s bound to be more on me before I’m through.”
Glen dropped the apron corner, but didn’t remove his gaze from her. “Marry me, Bonnie.”
She blinked, feeling a groundswell of emotion. Among the flurry of thoughts that sprinted through her mind, those that would keep her from accepting his proposal vanished in an instant. She wanted Glen Taggart, wanted to be his wife, wanted to linger in his love forever. Nothing she’d done before could keep her from the happiness she’d found. In a flash she flung her arms around his neck, heedless now of the flour. “I will,” she squealed.
He took hold of her floured hands and held them tight. “I’d planned a more romantic proposal,” he began with a sheepish look. “I’d wanted it to be really special, with a ring and everything, but looking at you just now, and seeing how much you care about a stupid pie for Thanksgivi ng, and knowing how much I love you…it just came out.”
“You’re not sorry, are you?” she half-teased. “That you asked me?”
He shook his head slowly, his dimpled creases lengthening along his cheeks. “Not on your life,” he said, taking her in him arms. “I’ve wanted to ask you for some time, but I needed to get some things in order first.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not going to school,” he said. “I’ve been offered a position with Andrew as an underwriter. He says I’m a natural and I think I’ll really like it. The point is, I’ll be working full time and making decent money. We can start off right, Bonnie…you and me and Baby Girl.”
She kissed him now, her soul aching for him. She wondered why he didn’t press her for more intimacy. Not that she necessarily cared, but it did seem odd. Other men she’d known had always wanted more from her. She glided her hands along his shoulders, pulled him into her kiss.
Glen gently pushed her back, his expression almost painful. “Whoa,” he whispered. “I can’t…I can’t…”
“It’s all right,” she said, tasting him again, her voice deepening with desire. “I want you, Glen…”
His hands slid down her back, grasping her hips to pull her in. “Bonnie…I want you so much…”
She was surprised when he stepped away, panting. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes misted with rejection.
“I…I want it to be the right way, Bonnie.”
He looked at her now, and she understood what he was trying to say. No man had ever cared enough about her to consider such a thing. Her heart welled with love for him. He made her feel incredibly special and prized, as though she was worth waiting for. She knew she could weaken his resolve, push him over the edge, but she didn’t want to spoil his vision of her. She had earned his respect, his admiration, and she valued that far too much to throw it away for a few minutes of passion.
She peered into his dark, penetrating eyes, feeling her love for him rise up with such intensity she feared she couldn’t contain it. “You are a sweet, wonderful man, Glen Taggart,” she said softly, caressing his check with her dusty hand. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”
Glen took her hand from his cheek and kissed her palm. Bonnie laughed, the flour now covering his face and lips. “What?” he asked with a crooked smile.
Bonnie took her apron and wiped his face. He grinned. “I can’t wait to tell Irene we’re getting married,” she said with a girlish giggle.
“When do you want to get married? What kind of wedding do you want?” He picked up his neglected Coke and drew off a long swallow.
Bonnie didn’t have to think long. “As soon as we can arrange it, and I don’t want a fancy wedding, not a church wedding. Just something simple, maybe in Irene’s living room.”
Glen considered her a moment. “Are you sure about that? Don’t most women want something more elaborate?”
“Maybe most women would, but not me. I just want to be Mrs. Glen Taggart, and I don’t care if we’re married in our underwear.”
Glen laughed, swept her up in his arms, and whirled around the kitchen. “Okay, but let’s make it new underwear.”
///////
They were about to be married in the Orton living room on Saturday, December 1, 1945 by Irene and Don’s pastor. Glen wore his dark gray suit and sported a white carnation boutonnière. Bonnie bought a new wool suit of robin’s egg blue with a scalloped neckline and white pearl buttons at the sleeves and down the front. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, threaded with a delicate crescent-shaped headpiece of white toile and seed pearls. She held a simple bouquet of white carnations and pink rosebuds that matched the blush in her cheeks.
Don busied himself snapping pictures with the Kodak. The living room had been cleared of furniture, except for the piano, so everyone could squeeze in. Irene scurried about organizing people so they could best see the bride and groom. Bonnie and Glen stood near the piano, with the pastor waiting behind them.
Bonnie had insisted on simplicity—no decorations or additional flowers, not even a wedding cake. In her mind, the event of most importance was the marriage itself. She’d also instructed the family not to give presents, and that their attendance at the wedding was gift enough.
For a moment, she wished her mother were there. She knew it would please her mother to see her so completely happy, something Jean Murphy might have wished for her daughter but probably never expected.
The pastor checked his watch and announced they were ready to begin. Ann sat at the piano. She smoothed open the sheet music and started to play (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons, a song that Bonnie had requested. Bonnie hummed quietly to the beginning of the song as everyone gathered into position. I love you for sentimental reasons. I hope you do believe me. I’ll give you my heart…Bonnie took Glen’s hand and peered into his eyes as the music played. She sang quietly to him as if there was no one else there. I think of you every morning, dream of you every night. Darling, I’m never lonely whenever you are in sight…
She saw how his eyes took in every nuance, every moment she offered him, as if she could burn them into his memory forever. He held her hands and she felt his strength, his desire burning her skin. I love you for sentimental reasons…. I hope you do believe me… Glen leaned forward and kissed Bonnie’s cheek. I’ve given you my heart.
Bonnie was suddenly aware of the quiet, that the music had stopped and everyone was watching. She blushed and glanced about the room with an embarrassed smile. Glen grinned and pulled her close, kissing her temple,
then turned her toward the waiting pastor.
Irene and Don were to Bonnie’s left, standing in as her parents, and Al Taggart to Glen’s right. The pastor offered some words of advice, then read from the book in his hands. The couple exchanged gold wedding bands with inscriptions on the inside that read: Forever yours, Bonnie; Forever yours, Glen. Silent tears trickled down Irene’s face as she watched the couple kiss as husband and wife.
An eruption of cheers filled the house as Bonnie and Glen turned to greet the family as a married couple. Bonnie hugged Irene and Don, then her new father-in-law, Al. With shouts of congratulations, the newlyweds waded through the family to the cold winter’s day outside. They were showered with rice as Glen led Bonnie to the car, a heavy blanket of snow clouds obscuri ng the sun.
“I gave you the key to the apartment, didn’t I?” Bonnie called to Irene with a sudden look of worry.
“Yes, yes,” Irene said, blotting the tears from her face. “I’ll take care of Baby Girl. Don’t you worry about her.”
Glen opened the car door for his wife. Bonnie turned back and waved goodbye to the happy crowd. This is my family now, my real family…She had to push back her tears as she took Glen’s hand and slid into the car. He closed the door, jogged around to the other side, and got in beside her.
“Happy?” he asked.
Bonnie moved close to him, linked her arm through his, and rested her head on his shoulder. “More than you can ever imagine.”
///////
Bonnie parted the curtains from the window. The view from the tenth floor of the Hotel Fontenelle lay before her like an offering, as if she could take the entire city for her own. Snow fell from a milky sky as she stood fingering her wedding band. She could feel the cold throbbing against the window, chilling her slender frame. It didn’t matter. She loved the beauty of the plump flakes drifting down in gentle free fall.
As she looked down on the city below, she felt as new and clean as the swathed streets quilted in snow. She had been washed clean now too, with Glen’s love, her past erased with his accepting heart.