Bombshells (30 page)

“I’ll make sure the foreman gets the message, Miss Carter,” the perky receptionist says. “You take care of yourself now. Get some Coca-Cola syrup from the drug store. That’s what my mama always gave me when I got sick.”

“I will. Thanks for the tip.” The thought of uncarbonated Coke syrup sends me back to bathroom. This time I shower.

Aches radiate from head to toe, like I’ve tumbled through a grist mill. Now I remember the other reason I wanted to die.

The cop.

The washcloth brushes across the tender area between my legs.

The heavy stone of shame weighing on my heart bursts into flame, a hot coal of disgust and anger burning within me. I can’t believe I didn’t fight the S.O.B. Why didn’t I hand over the few dollars I had in my purse? Why didn’t I beg him to take me to the police station?

Instead, I took the punishment. I’d acted like a whore with Clay. What was the difference? I scrub harder at my skin. I lather the wash cloth again, and bathe my whole body once more. Another glob of shampoo, and my fingers attack my scalp, scrubbing away the stench of stale cigarettes, the liquor oozing from my pores.

I will be clean.

It’s seven o’clock when I wake up, clean and dry in my own bed. I go to my kitchen, slather a slice of white bread with peanut butter, and drink a glass of water. I’m so thirsty. After gulping another glass of water by the sink, I put ice cubes in the glass and add more water, to drink slowly this time.

I turn on the television. President Kennedy is talking.

Jacksonville, Florida

MELANIE

After dinner, we all gather around the television to hear what President Kennedy has to say. The president’s handsome face looks tired and worried.

After saying, “Good evening, my fellow citizens,” President Kennedy talks about the
unmistakable evidence that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation
in Cuba. He tells us that some of the missiles have ranges of 1,000 miles and others more than 2,000 miles. The Russians could wipe out the whole southeastern United States.

The president has a plan, though.

“
First: to halt this offensive buildup, a strict quarantine on all offensive military equipment under shipment to Cuba is being initiated.”

I glance at Daddy. His jaw is clenched tight. Mama is frowning while she pats DC on the back. Birdie is sitting so still I’m not sure she’s even breathing.

“Second: I have directed the continued and increased close surveillance of Cuba and its military buildup.

Third: It shall be the policy of this Nation to regard any nuclear missile launched from Cuba against any nation in the Western hemisphere as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union.”

My stomach is in knots.

“Fourth: As a necessary military precaution I have reinforced our base at Guantanamo, evacuated today the dependents of our personnel there, and ordered additional military units to be on standby alert basis.”

Of course, we knew this when Mrs. Mayfield called on Sunday. In fact, they’ll probably arrive tomorrow. Daddy’s still mad about it, but he’s not saying much. He’s focused on the television.

I can’t help but wonder if Caroline and John-John are scared like me? Do they have their toys in the bomb shelter that must be somewhere in the White House?

I wonder what Mrs. Kennedy is telling them.

Mama and Daddy aren’t telling me anything but what I hear on the news. That’s enough to scare me.

Last night, the only way I could fall asleep was with my favorite stuffed toy, Heidi the rabbit, resting on my chest, her floppy ears lightly brushing my cheeks. When I closed my eyes, I pictured Heidi as a real rabbit hopping down a curving path. Butterflies danced over brightly colored wildflowers and bluebirds sang in the weeping willows that trailed their branches in the bubbling silver stream.

Yes, it’s like something out of the movie
Bambi,
but it’s better than what I saw on the news. Walter Cronkite said that most Americans believe World War III will start soon.

I’ll sleep with Heidi again tonight.

The phone rings and I answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mellie. It’s Lola.”

“I’ll get Mama.”

“Wait a second, okay?” Aunt Lola’s voice sounds different, kind of scratchy like she’s sick, soft like she’s whispering.

I don’t want to talk to her. There’s nothing to say.

“Mama’s right here.” I hand the phone to Mama when she walks in. “It’s Aunt Lola.”

Tuesday, October 23, 1962

NORAH

Last night, Lola asked me and the kids to come stay with her until this Cuban stuff is over.

Looking at Melanie’s worried expression and Birdie’s raw, chapped mouth was enough to make me seriously consider it. Maybe the kids could relax a bit if we were further away.

But then, if the unthinkable happens, if the missiles are fired, we’d be away from Clay.

I shiver.

The decision is made. We’re staying in our home. I’ve already told Myra they are welcome to stay with us. I can’t change my mind now.

Lola wasn’t happy about that. In fact, she began to cry. Once more, we assured each other that nothing would happen, that the whole thing would blow over.

We said we loved each other again, and hung up.

I’m in the utility room beside the carport, putting dirty diapers in the washer, when a shiny car pulls into the driveway. Sticking my head around the door, I see Myra Mayfield step out of the car dressed in a straight pink skirt with matching jacket and hat,
à la
Jackie Kennedy. Her ever-present cigarette dangles from the corner of her mouth.

“Norah!” she shouts, clicking up the driveway in her high heels. She looks so sophisticated and neat. I must look like something the dog dug up in comparison.

“Myra! I’m glad to see you. I was hoping to have a chance to change clothes before you arrived, though.”

“You look fine.” Myra takes the cigarette out of her mouth and kisses my cheek. “I’m sure our barging in on you has increased your work load about a hundred percent, especially after having a baby. Is he sleeping now?”

“Yes, thank goodness. I was just getting a load of laundry started. Let’s go in the house.”

Brooke, Myra’s beautiful daughter, climbs out of the passenger door. She’s so grown up now, I just can’t believe it. Her curvy figure is belted into a pretty blue shirtwaist dress.

“Hi, Mrs. Adams,” Brooke says, patting her blonde, flip-styled hair.

“Hi, Brooke. Don’t you look pretty?” I clap my hands to my cheeks. “This can’t be Kevin. He hardly looks like the boy who lived next door just a year ago. My lord, he’s so tall.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Myra says with pride. “Say hello to Mrs. Adams, son.”

Kevin gives his mother a sulky look then mumbles, “Hello.”

I smile at both of the children. “Hi, Kevin. I know it must be hard having to leave your school and your friends. We’ll do our best to make you both happy while you’re here. Now, come on, let’s go in.”

Myra turns to Brooke and Kevin. “Bring in the suitcases, children.”

“It’ll be a couple of hours before Melanie will be home from school. Would you like some iced tea?”

“Actually, do you have something a little stronger? My nerves are worn to a frazzle. I just hate to fly.”

When I open the door, the odor of burning rubber nearly knocks us over. Myra covers her mouth and coughs. Smoke rises from the bottle sterilizer on the stove. The burner is glowing red hot, and the bottom of the pan is turning black.

I’ve almost burned the house down. I grab a towel, pull the big pan off the burner, and turn the control knob to off. When I lift the lid, I see the rubber nipples have melted and dripped in contorted shapes over and through the metal rack to drape onto the glass bottles below. There’s no water left in the pan at all.

Myra stands beside me. “I remember how it was, Norah.” She pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. I’ll stop at Woolworth’s and pick up another bottle sterilizer and a set of bottles for you.”

“No, Myra. That’s too much.”

“Pshaw. I’ve got to take Kevin to the school to get registered, anyway. It won’t be any trouble at all.”

It would be nearly impossible for me, so I have to give in graciously. “That would be a big help, Myra, if you wouldn’t mind.”

MELANIE

The afternoon air seems heavy when I get off the school bus. It’s almost enough to choke me. Maybe it’s just the apprehension that’s been growing in me all day. The Mayfields might be at my house when I get there, and who knows how that’s going to be.

Like Daddy, I have a feeling it’s not going to be good.

“I just had a great idea,” Steph says. “Kevin. He can give you your first kiss.” She grins like she just won a prize or something.

“Are you crazy?”

“Like a fox. Think about it, Mel. It’s perfect. Kevin’s going to be hanging around your house. He doesn’t really have any friends here anymore, except you and me. And you like him, don’t you?”

“Like him? We played kickball together. It’s not the same thing.” My patience with Stephanie gets thinner every time we talk about this kissing stuff. The whole country is going to hell in a hand basket—yes, I can think that, even though Mama would wash my mouth out with soap if I said it out loud—on the verge of possible total destruction, and Steph’s worried about kissing. I wish she would just give up.

“I’ll bet you’d rather kiss Kevin than that ugly boy who has his locker next to yours.” Her grin turns wicked. “All I have to do is hint to him that you think he’s cute, and you’ll be lip-locked, for sure.”

Sometimes Stephanie’s grin is just plain evil. This is one of those times.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

She wags her fingers my way and waltzes up her driveway. “You know I’m just looking out for you. You’ll never get kissed on your own.”

Under my breath I mutter, “The things you don’t know, Miss Smarty Pants.” I’m tempted to tell her about the night of Robert’s going away party. It would save me a lot of trouble.

But I won’t. Robert’s kiss is still the most precious thing that’s happened to me the whole year. I know Steph looks at kissing like wearing your first pair of stockings or something. It’s just one of those things a girl does as she’s growing up.

When I open my front door, I feel like I walked into somebody else’s house. Instead of cartoons on the television, “Big Girls Don’t Cry” plays on the record player. Instead of Birdie playing with Tinker Toys, Brooke Mayfield lounges on the sofa.

She looks up from the magazine she’s reading. She’s wearing her black, rhinestone-trimmed glasses. “Hi, Melanie.”

“Hello, Brooke. When did you get here?”

She flips a page. “After lunch. The flight from Cuba isn’t very long, but we had to rent a car.”

Since lunchtime, she’s been sprawled on my sofa? Instead of being happy to see her, all I can think of is the photo of her and Robert on the beach. I want to say something mean to her, but instead I ask, “Where’s Kevin?”

“He and Mom went to the school to get him registered.”

I’d forgotten about Brooke’s soft lisp until she said
thool
. She pronounces every
s
like a soft, furry
th
sound. That makes her words like a whisper, and her lips pucker into a little pout.

The record stops and Brooke sits up.

Waving her off, I say, “Never mind. I’ll get it.”

“Just thart it over, okay?”

I
thart
the record at the beginning. Through the back window, I see Mama hanging diapers on the line. I guess DC’s napping. “Since Kevin’s registering for school, I guess y’all are going to be here a while.”

Brooke pushes her glasses up on her nose. “I hope not. I only have a few more weeks until I graduate from the base high school.” She sits up, smoothing her hands down her skirt. “Does your mom have any soda pop?” She strolls to the kitchen and opens the fridge. She’s made herself right at home.

I have an ugly premonition that this is going to be a long visit from the Mayfield’s, even if it only lasts a few days.

Mama comes in with the empty laundry basket. “Hi, Mellie. How was your day?”

“Pretty good. What smells so funny?”

“Did Brooke tell you what a stupid thing I did?” Mama shakes her head. “I let the water boil all the way out of the sterilizer.” She puts the basket on the table. “If these clouds and humidity don’t clear up, I’ll need to use the dryer at the laundromat tonight.”

“Mrs. Adams, when Mom gets back with car, I’ll take those to the laundromat for you. You won’t have to wait until tonight.”