Secrets of the Red Box

All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2012 Vickie Hall
Cover design by Vickie Hall

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means
including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without expressed written consent of the author except
in cases of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Lori – you’re more than a sister, you’re my best friend
To infinity and beyond
Gena – thank you for your support and encouragement
Anne – a big thank you for your insight and recommendations
Tristi – thank you for taking this to the next level

Bonnie pulled a
small suitcase from beneath her bed and flipped it open. Her heart pounded as
she turned toward the wardrobe and blindly grabbed two dresses. She didn’t care what color or style,
just something to wear. Her fingers trembled as she made an attempt to fold the clothes into the
suitcase, struggling to corral the bulky shoulder pads into submission. She cursed her shaking hands,
and the trendy fashion statement.

The radio in the apartment next door sounded through the wall, blaring out a lively Swing tune
by Benny Goodman. The whining pitch of Goodman’s clarinet seemed to set her teeth on edge, and
Bonnie wished for silence so she could think.

Her head pivoted toward the dresser. She picked up a small red leather-covered box with a gold
lock and tossed it into the suitcase. Some underwear, toothbrush, comb, a pair of shoes, some
stockings, and a nightgown followed. She crashed the lid down and snapped the locks of the suitcase
closed.

Bonnie took a cursory look around the one-room apartment and knew that whatever she left
behind would be gone forever. She snagged her coat from the back of a chair, tugged the suitcase
into her hand, and left.

A heavy fog caressed the apartment building with cool, milky fingers. Bonnie slipped into its
murky cover, thankful for the mask it provided. Pulling the collar of her coat up around her neck,
she kept her head lowered. Quick, heavy footsteps carried her toward the bus depot. The clicking of
her heels against the sidewalk seemed to echo
faster, faster, faster
.

Inside the bus depot, she approached the counter and tried to squelch the panic rising in her
voice. “When does the next bus leave?”
The man behind the counter arched his brows. “That depends on where you want to go.”
“Anywhere,” she said. “I don’t care.”
The man glanced up at the large illuminated clock on the wall. “There’s a bus bound for Omaha
leavin’ in about fifteen minutes.”
“Fine,” Bonnie said, reaching into her purse for some money. “Give me a one-way ticket.”
The man consulted his rate book and took her money without question.
She palmed the change and grabbed the ticket without a “thank you.” Taking a seat on a hard
wooden bench, she waited for the frozen hands of the clock to move. The air in the depot swirled
with clouds of cigarette smoke and foul dampness. She opened the top button of her coat.
I can’t
breathe…I can’t breathe…
She peered up at the depot clock and then at her watch. There was a five-minute difference. She
felt as though her heart would stop before the minute hand made any motion to advance.
Bonnie closed her eyes and clasped her fingers over the purse in her lap.
Get hold of yourself…no
one knows…no one will ever know.
Only when she took a seat on the bus away from the window, and the release of the air brakes
signaled the start of her journey, did Bonnie feel herself breathe again. She leaned her head against
the back of the seat and closed her eyes.
We’re leaving…I made it…
She gave no thought to where she was going or what she would do once she got there. It didn’t
matter. At least she would be out of San Diego. She could start over, she thought; no one had to
know…ever.
After several minutes of travel, Bonnie began to relax, but just slightly. Her nerves were bundled
between her spine like a twisted rubber band. Periodically, she glanced over her shoulder out the
rear window of the bus, just to be sure—of what, she wasn’t certain. It just seemed to offer her a
note of comfort that she was putting distance between herself and San Diego.
Bonnie took the silk scarf from her blonde hair and folded it neatly into her purse. Her hands
were no longer shaking, but they felt sticky and cool. She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly
through her nose, the sound of it rushing from her nostrils in a steady stream of relief.
A man sat across the aisle from her. When she turned her face in his direction, he smiled.
Bonnie’s emotions iced over and she quickly turned from his gaze, offering no acknowledgement.
She burrowed herself deeper into her seat as if she could become invisible. She wanted no attention
from a man,
any
man.
The journey soon became tedious, broken only by occasional stops along the arid landscapes of
Route 66. Hours and hours of travel unwound before her like an endless tongue licking the dry
desert sands. Small towns and ranchland speckled the vistas, and then there were vast stretches of
nothing for miles and miles.
Bonnie kept to herself, reading magazines she purchased along the way, keeping her face buried
in the boring articles to avoid conversation with anyone on the bus. She even feigned sleep when
new passengers boarded just to avoid talking to them. For two days she ate hamburgers and cheese
sandwiches in greasy diners and slept in the unaccommodating bus seat. And through the endless
hours she thought about the red box, about the secrets it held—the secrets that had her running for
her life.
The bus veered from the highway and slowed dramatically as it entered Oklahoma City, leaving
Route 66 behind. Bonnie felt as if the bus was scarcely moving now compared to its speed as it had
rolled along the highway. The constant hum of the tires left her ears ringing, a noticeable whine as
they inched along the city streets. The bus came to a stop in front of the depot, the hissing brakes
announcing its arrival with a gush of compressed air and a high-pitched squeal.
Bonnie slowly came to her feet. She stretched to her full height of five foot six inches, her legs
feeling permanently rubberized from sitting so long. She gathered her coat and purse and waited to
slip into the stream of bodies filing toward the front.
The driver split the door and announced a two-hour wait before the bus to Wichita would be
leaving. Bonnie was grateful for the delay. Her cramped limbs ached to unwind and she began to
walk up the block from the depot. The fresh air felt exhilarating, pushing away the lethargy and
boredom from her mind.
She only walked to the end of the block, not daring to venture far from the depot in a strange
town. Turning to head back, she spotted a café across the street. She stepped from the curb and
trotted toward it, her eyes darting about ever conscious of her circumstances.
The café door screeched on rusty hinges. A waitress looked up from the counter and jerked her
head toward some cozy booths. “Sit anywhere,” she said, grabbing a menu and a glass of water.
Bonnie chose a booth away from the window and sat down on the cracked leather seat. She
tucked her purse beside her and unbuttoned her coat. The table felt greasy as her hands came to rest
on it. She took a paper napkin from the dispenser and opened it on the table.
The waitress handed her the menu and set down the glass of water. “Come in on the bus?”
Bonnie nodded and opened the small menu.
“Where ya from?”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” Bonnie said, ignoring the woman’s question, “and give me the pot
roast.”
The waitress snagged the menu from Bonnie’s hand and disappeared. Bonnie stared into the
glass of water, feeling a rush of freedom. She lost herself in another time, another place where she
had savored freedom for the first time.
She remembered how her father’s knotted fist crashed into her face as the California sun began
to set. She could still taste the blood in her mouth, and feel the throbbing swell against her cheek.
Something in her had been ignited with that final blow, something that had lain dormant for sixteen
years. A flash of rage spiraled up and out of her like nothing she’d ever felt. She glowered at her
father, her hatred for him finally shredding the surface of her submission. Standing in the k itchen,
she found the butcher knife in her hands before she knew what had happened. She wanted to
plunge the cold steel into his heaving chest, to hurt him more than he’d hurt her. She’d almost
laughed at the staggering look of incredulity on his face as she held him in check with the blade.
She had finally won, and she knew it.
She stormed upstairs, the knife still in her hands, to get what little money she had stashed in her
dresser drawer. When she returned to the kitchen, her father was gone—only the shriveled husk of
her mother sat at the table, silent and numb. Bonnie saw the empty look on her mother’s face. It had
been a pretty face once, she recalled, but now it was flattened and lopsided and vacant. A crushed
eye socket and a nose that had been broken at least four times had disfigured her into another being.
“Come with me, Mama.”
The woman’s eyes clouded with pain. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Bonnie reached for her wrist, took hold of it, and pulled. “Yes, you can. Come with me!”
Her mother leaned back and twisted her hand until she pulled free from her daughter. “I can’t
leave, baby. You know that.”
Bonnie gritted her teeth and backed away. When she reached the door, she looked at her mother
one last time, not with pity, but with disgust for her weakness.
“Here you go,” the waitress said, setting the plate of pot roast in front of Bonnie.
Bonnie’s eyes refocused and she drew herself back to the present. There was a throbbing ache in
the back of her throat, as though she had swallowed something large and hard. She pushed the
vision of her mother’s broken face from her mind and took up her fork.
///////
The only thing she’d known of Nebraska was corn and cattle, endless stretches of farmland, the
tidbits of information she had picked up from somewhere. She imagined little towns with tiny main
streets where the locals gathered at the feed store and talked about the weather. She conjured up
pictures of the Oklahoma dust bowl and wondered if it would be like that in Nebraska, too.
But entering Omaha, her eyes widened with surprise. She was greeted by towering buildings
several stories high, busy streets, congested traffic, people bustling to reach their desired
destinations. This was a city as big as San Diego, a city that seemed to call to her, a city she could
meld into, become absorbed into its way of life. She was excited by the possibilities as she caught
glimpses of J. C. Penny and Woolworths, a prominent store called Brandies that seemed to occupy
an entire city block. There were office buildings, restaurants, and shops—all places new and
exhilarating. Her destiny had been decided by an illuminated clock on the bus depot wall and the
next available bus leaving San Diego. It seemed predestined, as it was meant to be.
No one will find me
here
, she thought.
She waited impatiently for her suitcase to be birthed from the swollen belly of the bus. All she
could think about now was a hot bath and a cool bed. Three days on the road had drained her of all
her energy.
When her suitcase emerged, she gripped it and asked for the nearest hotel. She didn’t care about
the cost. She had plenty of money. In fact, she had more money than she’d ever had in her life.
“Can’t get much closer than the Rome,” said the man unloading the suitcases. “Just outside—ya
can’t miss it.”
Bonnie shifted the weight of the suitcase to her left hand and exited the depot. The Rome Hotel
was a five-story building with an arching canopy over the entrance. She walked the short distance,
paused outside the door, and squared her shoulders. A new beginning lay before her, a new life. She
could become anyone she wanted, create any persona she wished. With renewed confidence, Bonnie
walked through the doors of the Rome Hotel and was reborn.
///////
She slept late, the noonday sun illuminating scattered dust in its stream of light through the halfopened blind. Bonnie rolled onto her side and reached for her wristwatch, tipping it up from the
nightstand. Her brows arched in surprise, then she rolled back and stretched leisurely against the
warm sheets.
Bonnie began a mental list of plans for the day: buy a new dress and matching shoes, get her hair
done, look in the paper for an apartment, check the help wanted section, then enjoy a good evening
meal. Tomorrow, she thought, everything would begin to fall into place; her new life would truly
begin.
She got up and looked at the two dresses she’d brought with her: a tailored burgundy crepe with
faux pearl buttons down the front, and a flowered cotton print trimmed in lace. She shook her head
at the selection, neither of them very remarkable. But what had she expected? She’d only grabbed
what was nearest, too terrified to stay one minute longer than necessary in the apartment, too
panicked to stand and contemplate her wardrobe. It didn’t matter. She’d throw the old dresses away
as the reminders of her past that they were.
Bonnie dressed, fixed her hair, applied some lipstick, and went downstairs. She raised her chin,
just slightly, as if to show her confidence, and entered the hotel’s Vineyard Café.
The waiter seated her, and Bonnie placed her flat, rectangular handbag in her lap and kept one
hand anchored to it. She felt uncomfortable with so much money in there.
The waiter took her order, and she sipped on a cup of coffee while she waited. Her eyes grazed
over the café with its white cloth-covered tables and moody atmosphere. Dark latticework covered
the walls and ceilings, scrolled with artificial grapes and greenery interlaced throughout, giving it the
look of a vine-covered cave.
She drank her coffee and tried to relax. San Diego felt as close as ever, tension still twisting her
gut no matter how often she reminded herself she was safe. A woman sitting alone a few tables away
made eye contact with Bonnie. She smiled and motioned with a gloved hand, indicating her desire
for them to sit together. Bonnie was skeptical. What did the woman want? She didn’t know a soul in
Omaha, and yet this woman was waving at her like a long-lost friend. Bonnie clutched the purse of
money in her lap and tried to smile. On the receding end of mistrust, Bonnie motioned for the
woman to join her.
The woman seemed to giggle in response. She picked up her coffee and started toward Bonnie.
She wore a gray suit, fitted at the waste, the jutting shoulder pads angular against her rounded face.
Brunette colored hair curled from beneath a broad-brimmed felt hat, decorated with a twist of
feathers around the crown. Her hazel eyes glistened as she joined Bonnie at the table. “I hope you
don’t think this is too forward,” she gushed in a high, airy voice. “I just saw you sitting alone, and I
was sitting alone, and well, why sit alone?” She laughed with a little shrug and adjusted her position
in the chair. “I just hate eating alone, don’t you? I’m Christine Burgess.”
Bonnie extended her hand. “Bonnie Cooper. Are you staying at the hotel?”
Christine laughed. “I’m not a guest, I work a couple of blocks down the street,” she said. “I eat
lunch here on occasion, that’s all. Ijust love it here.” She craned her neck to survey the
surroundings. “It’s a bit shabbier than it used to be, but the food is decent.”
Christine’s eyes settled on Bonnie’s. “How about you? Are you visiting?”
Bonnie smiled and patted her side-swept bangs, making sure they were still in place. “Actually, I
just arrived yesterday. I’m planning on staying, if things work out.”
“If things work out?” Christine asked curiously. “Did you come here with some sort of promise
or something? From a man, I mean? Oh, that was probably too personal, wasn’t it?”
Bonnie traced the rim of her coffee cup and let out a small chuckle. “It’s all right. It’s nothing
like that.” She smiled and tugged on her earlobe as she thought of an answer. “I was born here, and
my parents moved away when I was two years old. They’re both dead now, and well, it seemed like
as good a place as any to start over after my husband died.”
Christine’s gaze darkened. “Was it the war? I mean, did he—”
Bonnie nodded slowly, and her lips tightened into a thin line. “My husband’s submarine was
torpedoed by the Japanese. No one survived.” She swirled the last few drops of coffee in the bottom
on the cup and then looked at Christine. “I just couldn’t stay in that house.”