Bombshells (37 page)

“Oh, Mellie, baby. Why did you leave like that? What were you thinking?” I pull her into my arms, squeezing and hugging and kissing her, but she doesn’t say a word.

Clay stands beside us. He kisses my cheek, then Mellie’s. “The Mayfields have to leave.”

I nod, tucking a stray hair into Mellie’s ponytail. “They’re packing right now. They’ll leave in the morning.”

Clay stuffs his fists into his pants pockets. “Norah, I was going to tell them.”

“You were right from the beginning, but I wouldn’t listen to you. I made the mistake. It was my place to tell them.”

“We just can’t handle it anymore.”

I lift Mellie’s chin with my fingers so I can study her. She doesn’t seem to be hurt, but her eyes have a haunted look to them.

“What happened, sweetheart? Why did you leave like that?”

Clay puts an arm around the both of us. “It was just too much, Norah. The Mayfields, the missiles, everything. Too much for a girl to handle.”

Melanie is looking over my shoulder. I turn to see Kevin leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. Birdie shoves past him and runs outside to squeeze between Clay and me. She grabs Mellie’s hand and says, “You didn’t really run away, did you, Mellie?”

“Of course, she didn’t run away, Birdie.” I smile and run my fingers through her hair, but on the inside I’m a bundle of doubts. Did Mellie actually run away, or did she just need some time alone? That’s a fine distinction to make, but somehow in my mind, the two things are worlds apart.

And why did she go to Flossie’s house?

I shudder to think of her on the bus alone, all way over in that part of town. I don’t let any of this show, though. Putting on a big smile, I say to Birdie, “Only people who are very sad or very mad or in a lot of trouble run away. Melanie just went to visit with Flossie.”

The words spill out of me in a rush, like I needed to say them before they change to mean something else. I’m scared. My daughter didn’t run away. My daughter isn’t sad or mad or in trouble.

Is she?

The four of us walk inside, and Kevin closes the door behind us. Myra and Brooke are doing the dishes. Kevin returns to his place at the table, and finishes his bowl of ice cream.

“Melanie, dear,” Myra says, while she dries her hands. “I know how difficult this has been for all of us. I’m so sorry you got upset.” She puts her hands on Mellie’s shoulders and lowers her voice a touch, like she’s telling my daughter a secret. “It’s always hard when there’s a new baby in the house. But your mother needs you to be a big girl now. No more of these tantrums. They don’t help anyone.”

How dare she accuse my Mellie of behaving like a spoiled brat? I want to shout that my girls don’t throw tantrums like her spoiled brats. I remind myself that Myra and the kids will be gone in the morning. There’s no need to make things worse. Calmly, I say, “Myra, thanks for taking care of the dishes. I’m going to put the girls to bed now. It’s been a busy day.”

I close the girl’s bedroom door behind us and lift my face to the ceiling. “Well, I never heard such in my life. The nerve of that woman. To think that you would throw a tantrum over DC. You would never do something like that,” I sputter. “Melanie, you are nothing like her stinking, rotten kids, you hear me?”

Melanie and Birdie both look at me with wide eyes. Melanie whispers, “Yes, ma’am.”

I pull Birdie’s bedspread back with such force, the ballerina pictures on the wall shake. I am so furious that I want to break something. With more force that I intend, I yank Mellie’s bedspread back. It seems to take forever for the curtains to settle back against the window frame. I look over at Birdie. Her bottom is lip trembling. Now, I’ve frightened her.

She tugs on the bottom of my blouse. “Mama, it’s all right. I’ll never throw another fit.”

“Oh, sweetie.” I hug her. “I’m sorry. I’m just, just…” I can’t find the words to explain to my six-year-old what I’m feeling. We all three begin to cry in each other’s arms. In the distance, I hear the whine of a jet and we brace for the roar and the boom. Soon, the windows rattle. DC wails. I hear Clay trying to soothe him.

“Time for bed, girls.” I tuck Birdie in bed and give her a quick kiss.

I sit down on the side of Melanie’s bed and hold her hand in mine. Her eyes look full of dark secrets. I won’t try to pry them out of her tonight. I’ll wait until she wants to talk. Surely, tomorrow, when the Mayfields are gone and we have our home to ourselves, she’ll feel better.

“Mama?”

“What, Sweetie?”

“Can I stay home from school tomorrow?”

I put my hand on her forehead, checking to see if she has a fever. Her skin is cool. She’s not physically sick, but a day home from school wouldn’t hurt her. “Sure. Do you feel okay?”

She nods. “I’m just really tired.”

“I understand.” I kiss her, and she rises up and hugs me hard. “Sleep well, sweetheart. I love you. Everything will be better in the morning.”

MELANIE

I lay on my back with the sheet tucked tight under my arms, stiff like a statue. At least I don’t have to worry about facing Kevin at school.

I think about how mad Mama was that Mrs. Mayfield said I ran away.

She didn’t even let me explain why I went to Flossie’s house. She just took Daddy’s word that the problem was tension about the missiles and the Mayfields.

I understand now. I’ll never tell Mama what Kevin did. I’ll never tell Mama about Aunt Lola and Daddy, either. I have two things to protect Mama from, two dark secrets that she’ll never hear from me.

I have to save Mama from being hurt in a way I know will change her forever. I don’t want Mama to change anymore than she has already. I don’t want her to think that she can’t keep me safe any longer, that she can’t keep me from being hurt or sad or mad.

It seems like hours later I’m still awake, even though I’m tired. I concentrate on breathing. Soon my belly rumbles. My mouth feels hot and dry, like it’s stuffed with wads of cotton. I’m hungry and thirsty. I think of the ice cream Kevin had been eating earlier.

After what he did, he ate ice cream, my ice cream, in my house. Anger and frustration flare through me until sweat beads under my arms and behind my knees.

I fling off the sheet and sit on the side of my bed. I want ice cream. I deserve ice cream.

Like Flossie said, I didn’t do anything wrong.

Thinking about the taste, so cold and sweet and creamy, makes my stomach rumble more. I open the bedroom door, careful not to let the hinges creak, and tip-toe into the hall. I freeze.

Kevin is sleeping on the sofa, a lumpy shadow in the dark room.

The ice cream is in the freezer, in the kitchen.

I will have to pass Kevin. I’ll have to get a bowl out of the cabinet. I’ll have to lean against the counter. I’ll have to feel the sharp edge knife into my skin like it did earlier today.

I can’t feel that again. I can’t go in there.

In the bathroom I lower my head, turn on the water, and drink out of the faucet.

Back in my dark room, I reach under my bed and tug out Heidi the rabbit. Buttons slide on the tile. The hard little sound sends new shivers through me. My torn shirt.

My secret seems to want to escape from hiding, to run from the darkness. I stuff the shirt back under the bed and wedge myself against the mattress. Gnawing uncertainty growls like a monster in my stomach.

I close my eyes and wait for the magic vision of Heidi to appear. It doesn’t. Instead, I see Kevin’s face looming over me. I feel the bruised mark on my breast. There is still a raw sensation between my legs.

I shiver as I imagine Flossie’s boyfriend, beaten and bleeding, dying. Dead. I wonder how Flossie’s lost baby might have looked.

I toss and turn until the sheets twist around me like ropes. My hands clutch Heidi’s patched fur, my fingers digging into the softness, until I feel threads pop and stuffing ooze up to snag on my nails. Now Heidi is hurt, too.

Furiously, I work my fingers back and forth, trying to repair the tear, but I can’t. Hot tears stream from my eyes until my pillow is wet.

I don’t make a sound.

Tuesday, October 30, 1962

MELANIE

In the morning, Birdie gently wakes me up. “Mellie. Breakfast is ready. Mama wants you.”

I pull on some clothes and drag the brush though my hair. In the kitchen, Daddy is pouring a cup of coffee. “Morning, sweetie.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

Mama reaches over and pats Birdie’s hand. “Are you excited about school today?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Birdie’s face lights up. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, and Mrs. Blake said we were going to start learning our Thanksgiving play. I want to be an Indian.”

Kevin keeps his eyes focused on his plate while he shovels eggs into his mouth.

This morning, I can look at him. In fact, I stare at him until he darts a glance at me and squirms in his chair.

It feels good to see him squirming with nerves. Does he think I told Mama what happened? Is he scared? I continue to look at him until he shoves his chair back.

He stands. “I’ve got to pack a couple of things. Thank you for the breakfast, Mrs. Adams.” He nearly runs from the dining room.

Filled with a sense of power, I take Rachel Winston’s key from the miniature pegboard next to the telephone. “Mama, I forgot to get the Winston’s mail yesterday. I’m going to put it in their house.”

The Winston’s house is as dim and quiet as a tomb. I straighten the stack of mail on the table and noticed the film of dust. I get a paper towel from the kitchen and begin wiping off the table. The front door clicks, and I spin around. Kevin is standing in the open doorway.

I freeze, my hands clutching the paper towel. Slowly, he closes the door behind him. He tugs a girly magazine out of his notebook and holds it up for me to see.

Kevin glances from my face to the magazine cover. “Why are you so shocked? Everybody reads these.” He steps closer to me, reaches out as if he’s going to touch me.

I shove the dining room chair in front of me. My heart pounds, and I hear the blood rushing in my ears. I hate that he can make me feel this way.

He grins like he knows I’m frightened, then walks down the hall to the Winston’s bedroom.

I drop my head and suck in a deep breath. Flossie’s words come rushing back to me. He can only change me if I let him. His words can’t touch my soul.

I feel my courage rising.

I shove the chair back under the table and wait for him to come back to the dining room.

Whistling through his teeth, he stops beside me. “Waiting for me, huh?”

“I have to lock up.”

His grin turns evil. “I think you’re sorry I’m leaving. I’ll bet you want a good bye kiss.” He reaches out to touch the hair that’s fallen over my shoulder.

“Get your hands off me,” I hiss. I’m steaming mad that he’d even think to come near me. Fury flares in my belly, burning and urgent. I want to spew flames at him. I want to sear him with the anger I feel. “Don’t you dare even think about touching me again like that, Kevin. Don’t you touch me again, ever.”

Kevin shifts his feet like he wants to move away, but he keeps that bully look on his face. “Don’t be so dramatic, you sissy baby. We just fooled around a little. That’s all. Everybody does.”

“You’ve turned into a mean bully, Kevin Mayfield.”

“Oh, come one. You wanted it. You know it.”

“All bullies blame someone else. Well, I won’t take the blame for the meanness inside you.”

His mouth stretches into a sneer. “You can’t tell anyone, you know. They’ll never believe you.”

He’s sweating.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” I’m certain I’m right.

“I’m not scared.”

“You are. You’re scared right down to your toes.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m so scared.” He puts his hands out in front of him and makes them shake like he’s trembling with fear. “The guys will really like hearing all about how much you liked it. They’ll be eager to have their chance.”

“Your lies can’t change me. I won’t let them. You should’ve stopped when I told you to. You had no right.”

“Oh, you liked it.”

“No, I didn’t,” I almost shout. I pick up his notebook from the coffee table and shove it at him. His arms wrap around it on reflex. I stride to the front door and swing it open. “I hope you decide to change and grow up.”

“I’ll see you at school, you know.” He saunters out the door.

I slam the door behind him, flop down on Mrs. Winston’s gold velvet chair, and press my fingers over my eyes. Unfortunately, Kevin is right. I will see him at school.

But Flossie is right, too. Kevin’s lies are never going to change me. Not deep down in my soul, where it counts. It might not be easy, but there is strength in me.

A sense of freedom washes over me.

I finish dusting the table, straighten the stack of mail, turn off the lights, and go home.