Lily of the Springs (41 page)

Chad’s conversation was littered with “Patty this” and “Patty that,” and with a little shock, I realized he spoke about his wife with genuine affection. Why, it was almost as if he’d fallen in love with her!

“Well, speak of the devil,” he said in the soft, Carolina drawl he’d acquired, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Hey, Patty, you remember Lily Rae Foster, don’t you? It’s Tatlow now, though.”

I turned to face Chad’s wife, steeling myself for an ugly scene. I’d never forgotten that night over 10 years ago when I’d caught the two of them kissing in Katydid’s living room—the mocking smile on Pat-Peaches’ face as she clearly enjoyed my pain.

But when our gazes met, Pat-Peaches’ face revealed nothing but warmth. She extended a slim hand to me and smiled, exposing a mouthful of even, white teeth. Hadn’t they been
decaying
in high school?

“Hello, Lily. You’re just as beautiful as you were in high school,” Pat-Peaches said in a rich southern accent, sounding more like the genteel mistress of a South Carolina plantation than a little gal raised in the hills of Kentucky. But there wasn’t a hint of snobbishness in her manner, I realized. And if she felt threatened by Chad talking to an old girlfriend, she sure didn’t show it.

“Thank you,” I said, my gaze sweeping over the woman. “And you look just…” I shook my head, searching for the right word. “Drop-dead gorgeous.”

The last time I’d seen Pat-Peaches had been in Grider’s Drug Store the winter Jake had gone off to boot camp, and she’d been as big as Mammoth Cave in her maternity dress. I’d taken a lot of satisfaction in that, sure that once she had the baby, she’d be a fat old housewife forever. But not only had that not happened, Pat-Peaches, after giving birth to
three
babies, was as slim as a young willow tree, and absolutely radiant. Gone was the thick pancake make-up and over-done eyes. The trampy clothes were a thing of the past, too. Instead, standing there at Chad’s side, Pat-Peaches…Patricia Nickerson (nee) Huddleston…looked like the ideal wife of a successful young businessman in a silver-blue pleated dress of Tricel with a blouson bodice and banded waist. Her hair, russet-red as when she’d been a teenager, was caught up in an elegant French roll, revealing a long, slender neck that reminded me of an elegant swan.

Chad smiled down at his wife, and my heart gave a twinge at the obvious adoration in his eyes. “She
is
drop-dead gorgeous, isn’t she?” he said softly, devouring her with his gaze.

Pat-Peaches blushed and with an abashed smile, gave him a playful swat on the bicep. “Oh, stop it, you Irish devil! Look! They’ve opened the buffet line. Shall we go fill our plates?”

He nodded, and then turned to me. “Will you join us, Lily?”

“I…uh…” My gaze darted around the room, searching for Katydid or Daisy—
anyone
that could rescue me. I couldn’t take another moment of this, watching those two together. Dealing with the feelings triggered by their happiness.

It could’ve been me. It
should’ve
been me. If I had stayed with Chad…if I’d given in to him and let him make love to me, I’d be where Pat-Peaches is now
.
In a happy marriage. With a man who loves me.
Really
loves me
.

“I can’t,” I said, then rushed on to cover my bluntness, “I came with Katydid, so I’ve got to find her. We promised to sit together.”

Chad glanced at Pat-Peaches. “Hon, go on and get in line. I’ll get us a table.”

“Okay, baby.” With another warm smile at me, she turned to go, then hesitated and added, “It was lovely seeing you again, Lily.”

I watched her move through the crowd, smiling graciously at everyone and engaging them in conversation just as if she’d never been the class whore at all. And the way everyone was responding to her, it was like
they
hadn’t remembered it, either.

“Lily,” Chad said.

He reached out and took my hand, sending electric sparks skating up my arm and straight into my heart. I gazed up at him, my throat tightening. For a long moment, he stared down at me, a solemn expression on his face.

“Are you happy?” he asked, his voice graveled with emotion.

The knot in my throat began to swell. I was seconds away from tears, from falling apart.

Happy? How can I be happy when I’m supposed to be the one you love? The one you were supposed to live your life with
?

What would he say if I just blurted that out? I imagined him sweeping me up in his arms and strolling out of the Holiday Inn, away from Pat-Peaches and the life he’d built with her. Walk away from it all, from his wife, his kids, his golf courses.

He squeezed my hand, still peering deeply into my eyes. “I know it’s none of my business,” he said. “But I think about you a lot. I mean, it’s funny how life worked out, isn’t it? I always thought you and I…well…” He gave a shrug. “I know I was the one who screwed things up between us, putting pressure on you, and then turning to Patty because you wouldn’t…” He shook his head. “All water under the bridge, isn’t it? And you know, I can’t imagine life now without Patty and the kids…” His voice trailed away. He held my gaze for a long moment.

I managed to bring a smile to my lips. “Of
course
I’m happy,” I said, hoping the catch in my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Everything worked out
exactly
as it was meant to.”

November 1963

D
ear Lily,

Can you believe it’s been
nine years
since we’ve seen each other? It’s a damn shame, isn’t it? You’d think Eddie could get transferred to Fort Knox, wouldn’t you? But
no
. I swear the Army searches out the most
god-awful
places they can find to send us. Except for Germany, it’s been one hell-hole after another—Fort Sill, Oklahoma…Fort Polk, Louisiana. Not to mention
Texas
, for God’s sake. And now, here we are at “Fort Lost in the Woods.” That’s what everyone calls Fort Leonard Wood. And believe you me, that’s
not
an exaggeration. We are deep in the boonies out here. Not a decent department store within a hundred miles, I tell you!

Well, enough about my incredibly boring life these days. At least,
Davy
seems to like it here in the boondocks. He’s playing Little League on post, and as long as he’s got some kind of ball in his chubby little hands, he’s happy as a pig in shit.

So…I guess you’re wondering about the book I’ve sent you-- Betty Friedan’s “The Feminine Mystique.” Honey, it will
blow your socks off!
Talk about a wake-up call for American women! This Friedan chick tells us we don’t have to settle for being just a housewife or mother anymore. Not that I have, of course. You know me…I’ve always been something of a rebel, and thank God, Eddie has never tried to force me to be something I’m not, but I couldn’t help but think of you as I read this book. If any woman in the world needs to read it, it’s
you
, my dear, Lily. I kept thinking about that letter you wrote me a few years ago when you’d started writing that romance novel. And then that idiot-husband of yours said something to make you shove it into the trash or something. That’s such
bull-shit
! I get furious all over again, just
thinking
about it. I mean it, Lily, you
need
to read this book!!! I’d bet my eye-teeth that as you’re reading this letter right now, you’re ironing clothes or changing a diaper or washing dishes…something like that, anyway. Well…maybe not changing a diaper…unless you’ve got news you haven’t shared with me. Anyway,
whatever
it is you’re doing for that husband of yours, stop it, sit your ass down on the sofa and start reading Betty Friedan’s
hot damn
good book.

Seriously, Lily, you owe it to yourself to go after your dream, hon. And if that dream is to be a romance writer, more power to you. I promise, when your first book comes out, I’ll be
first
in line to buy it. XOXOXO

Love ya,

Betty

I smiled and shook my head. That Betty! She hadn’t changed a bit. Such a know-it-all! I folded up the letter and tucked it into the pocket of my jeans, then turned back to the ironing board, my gaze skating over the laundry basket of clothes to rest on the book on the coffee table.

Betty’s letter
had
aroused my curiosity. I’d dearly love to sneak in a chapter right now, but it was going on one o’clock, and Jake, on the day shift now, would be home shortly after four. Half of what was in the basket were his work clothes, and I had to get them done. If I hurried, maybe I could find time to read a few pages before the girls got home from school at four. If not, who
knew
when I’d get any free time? There was supper to prepare and the grocery list for Thanksgiving I needed to start on.

For the first time since we’d moved back to Kentucky, Mother and Daddy were coming to Bowling Green for Thanksgiving dinner. It was going to be extra special because my brothers and Norry were coming, too. Landry had called from Louisville last night, and said he was bringing his girlfriend, Annette. And even before he told me his exciting plans, his voice had said it all. My big brother was in love. And about time—he would soon be turning 32.

With one more longing glance at the book, I turned back to the basket of wrinkled clothes. “Well, Betty—
both
Bettys--you’re just going to have to wait.” I grabbed one of Jake’s tan work shirts and placed it on the ironing board.

The hot iron hissed as I moved it over the dampened collar, and the starchy-pleasant scent of cotton floated up from the board. Actually, if I were to be honest, I sort of liked ironing because it was a good to watch television while I worked.

I’d become hooked on “As the World Turns,” and faithfully watched it every day. Keeping my gaze fixed on the TV screen, I deftly flipped over Jake’s shirt to iron the back.

On the TV screen, Nancy was sipping tea with Grandpa in their living room. “I have some very interesting information,” she said.

I sighed. I knew what was coming. Bob had invited Lisa to Thanksgiving dinner, which meant nothing but trouble for the Hughes family.

“I’d rather entertain a rattlesnake,” I muttered, pressing the iron over a particularly stubborn wrinkle in the tail of Jake’s shirt.

Suddenly, an odd whistle cut off Nancy’s voice, and startled, I looked up to see the soap opera had been replaced by a CBS News Bulletin. A male voice began speaking—Walter Cronkite, it sounded like.

“Here is a bulletin from CBS News. In Dallas, Texas, three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas…”

I gasped, clutching my stomach as it dropped in free-fall to my feet.

“…the first reports say that President Kennedy has been seriously wounded by this shooting.”

Walter Cronkite appeared on the screen. “This is Walter Cronkite in our News Room. There has been an attempt, as perhaps you know now, on the life of President Kennedy…”

Oh, no
!
Not our young, handsome JFK
! Walter Cronkite went on to talk about the few facts they knew, which wasn’t much. Governor Connelly of Texas, had also been wounded, and both he and the President had been taken to Parkland Hospital.

I shook my head, tugging anxiously at my pony-tail, my stomach churning as I waited for more news. But then, incredibly, CBS returned to “As the World Turns.”

As if everything was still normal. As if nothing had happened to rock the world on its atlas.

On wooden legs, I walked over to the sofa and sank into it, my gaze fastened on the television screen where the soap opera continued. Cold, despite the heat of the wood stove and the knitted wool cardigan I wore, I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. Tears blurred my eyes.
Dallas
. It figured something like this would happen in Texas. Those hotheads down there had hated JFK from the get-go.

The phone shrilled out, and I jumped. It was Jinx. “Oh, God, Lily, did you hear?”

“Yes, I just can’t believe it. It’s just so awful! Why would anyone want to kill JFK?”

“The Communists are probably behind it,” Jinx said grimly. “Cruel bastards! Have you heard from Jake? Do you think he knows?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Unless the foreman heard and told the guys in the factory. Maybe I’d better call him?”

“Yes, I would. This is a national crisis. He needs to be home with you. I wish…” She stopped, and I sensed she was choking back a sob.

“Jinx, bring the kids and come over here,” I said. “You shouldn’t have to watch this alone. And if he…” I stopped myself.
No, JFK won’t die. He’s
got
to be okay. He’s our president
.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Jinx asked, her throat sounding thick with tears.

“Of
course
I don’t mind. Come on over as soon as the kids get off the school bus, okay? I bet they’ll be let out early.”

When I hung up the phone and turned back to the TV, I saw that the soap opera had been interrupted by taped footage of JFK’s motorcade leaving Love Field in Dallas. Probably just moments before the shooting happened. Jackie looked so pretty in her light-colored suit and boxy hat. And they both looked so happy.

Oh, poor, poor Jackie
.

***

Just as I reached for the phone to call Jake again—the lines had been busy when I’d tried before--Walter Cronkite slipped his glasses on and read from a sheet of paper, “From Dallas, Texas…the flash, apparently official…President Kennedy died at…” He took off his glasses. “…one p.m. Central Standard Time…” He glanced up at an unseen clock on the wall. “…two o’clock Eastern Standard Time…some…” He glanced up again. “…38 minutes ago.” He then put his glasses back on, and seemingly overcome with emotion, looked down with a slight shake of his head.