Secrets of the Red Box (18 page)

Randy kissed his wife on the cheek. “Now, honey, that’s not true,” he argued. “You’d be every
bit as lovely in that dress as Bonnie.”
Doris pursed her lips and shoved her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. “See why I love
him?” she said teasingly.
Irene linked her arm through Bonnie’s. “Come on—Mr. Hammond has some hot dogs cooked.
Are you hungry?”
Bonnie nodded. “I am. I only had toast and coffee this morning.”
“See?” Doris protested. “She only ate toast and coffee this morning. And what did I have? Eggs,
bacon, hash browns, toast
with
jelly, and coffee. If I stopped with just toast and coffee every
morning, I’d fit into that dress too.” Doris turned and walked to the pavilion.
Irene laughed. “Don’t mind Doris,” she said. “She’s always been weight conscious.”
“I think she’s perfectly lovely,” Bonnie replied. “She has a wonderful figure.”
“I think so too, but try to convince
her
of that.”
One of Irene’s granddaughters came up to Bonnie, her head tilted back so she could look into
Bonnie’s face. “I’m Peggy,” she announced. “I’m four years old.”
Bonnie smiled. “Who do you have with you there, Peggy?” she asked, pointing to the doll in the
girl’s arms.
“This is my baby,” she said.
“Does your baby have a name?”
Peggy looked thoughtful, then looked at her grandmother. “What was it again, Grandma?”
“
That
doll?” Irene said, thinking. “Wasn’t her name Shirley?”
Peggy squealed out a laugh. “No, Grandma it’s not Shirley.”
“It’s not?” Irene asked, feigning concern. “Then it must be Esmeralda.”
Peggy giggled again and took hold of Irene’s hand as she twirled from side to side. “It’s Betsy,”
she announced.
Irene smiled and glanced at Bonnie. “Yesterday, it was Sally,” she said under her breath. She
swung Peggy’s arm back and forth. “Oh, that’s right. It
is
Betsy.”
Peggy held up the doll to Bonnie. “Do you want to hold her? She won’t spit up on you.”
Charmed by the little girl, Bonnie took the doll and cradled it in her arms a moment. She kissed
the doll’s cheek and handed it back to Peggy. “Thank you. You have a very good baby.”
“I know,” she said, then skipped off.
Irene shook her head. “Couldn’t you just eat her up?”
Something tugged at Bonnie’s heart, something that reminded her she would probably never
have children of her own. “She’s adorable.”
Irene looked at Bonnie. She must have seen something in her expression. “Don’t worry. You’ll
have your own someday.”
“Sure,” Bonnie managed to say.
Don arrived with a plate full of hot dogs, and the family gathered on both sides of a wooden
table fitted with long benches. “Now take your plates and get in line before all your mom’s potato
salad disappears.”
Bonnie took a plate and followed Irene as the others straggled in behind. She saw Mr.
Hammond standing behind the table that held all the food and waved at him. His eyebrows went up
and he waved back. “Good to see you, Bonnie,” he shouted over the noise. “How do you like it so
far?”
Bonnie nodded. “Just fine,” she called back. “You really put on a great picnic.”
“Be sure you get a partner for the sack races,” he said with a jovial smile. “We have prizes for
the winners!”
Bonnie nodded again and waved. She wasn’t planning on staying long enough to get involved in
the activities. As she filled her plate, Irene called out and waved to various people, introducing
Bonnie again and again until her head was swimming with names she couldn’t remember. Then she
saw a familiar face as Beatrice nudged her way through the crowd. “Beatrice, hello!”
Beatrice smiled and waved excitedly. “Bonnie! Irene!” Beatrice took the hand of the man beside
her and forged ahead.
“Did you get some of my potato salad?” Irene asked as Beatrice came to a stop.
“You bet I did,” Beatrice replied, nodding toward her filled plate. “Bonnie, this is my husband,
Martin.”
Martin reached for Bonnie’s hand. “Hi, Bonnie. Welcome to the Kirkendall family. I’m the
distribution manager. I think I’ve spoken with you on the phone already.”
Bonnie shook his hand. “Oh, sure. You must be Martin Adamson, extension 244.”
He laughed. “That’s the one. Are you having fun at the picnic? Is Irene taking good care of
you?”
Bonnie had to admit she was having fun, more so than she’d had in a long time. “I am, and yes,
Irene is taking very good care of me.”
Irene looked embarrassed. “We’d better get moving or Bonnie won’t get to taste my potato salad
before it’s all gone.”
“All right,” Beatrice said. “We’ll see you later.”
Bonnie took her place at the table surrounded by the Orton family. She listened to their playful
conversation, harmless teasing and sharing entertaining memories that seemed to flow out of them
with ease. They were connected—no, it was more than that, Bonnie thought. They were united in a
way she’d never seen before. If one of them laughed, they all laughed. If one of them hurt, they all
hurt. There was something miraculous in it, she observed, something warm and comforting about
their interaction, their consideration, their love for one another. That’s what it was, she decided.
They truly loved one another. And here she was in the middle of all of it, their love spilling onto her
as well.
As they finished up the meal and the family began drifting from the table to join in the games,
Bonnie waited until only Irene and Don remained. The three of them began gathering the plates and
paper cups half full of lemonade. “Irene, do you know of any apartments that allow pets? A cat?”
“I don’t think so. Don?”
Don thrust out his lips and peered up at the roof of the pavilion. “Well, not that I can think of.”
Irene faced Bonnie, a stack of empty cups in her hands. “Why do you ask?”
Bonnie didn’t want to burden them with her troubles. She just wanted to know about an
apartment. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, stacking plates together.
Irene put the cups back on the table and placed her hand on Bonnie’s arm. “It’s not nothing or
you wouldn’t have asked. Now tell me what happened.”
Bonnie sighed, her eyes gliding from Irene to Don and back again. The looks on their faces
mirrored concern and it touched her, made her want to tell them. “I found this little kitten. She was
trapped in a drain pipe.”
“Oh no,” Irene gasped, bringing her hand to her lips.
“I got her out and took her home and I’ve had her ever since. I just learned that my apartment
building doesn’t allow pets and the manager told me I had to get rid of the cat or leave. Ijust can’t
give her up now—I love her too much.” Bonnie sniffed back a tear, somewhat perturbed that her
emotions were rising to the surface. “That’s why I need to find a new place to live, and I only have a
week to do it.”
Don glanced at Irene. She nodded, and Don looked back to Bonnie. “We have a basement with
two bedrooms in it. Why don’t you stay with us until you find a new place? There’s just Irene and
me now, so there’s plenty of room.”
Bonnie shook her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. “No, no, I couldn’t do that—”
“You sure
can
,” Irene insisted. “And I won’t take no for an answer. You and your kitty are
welcome at our place.”
“Darn right,” Don added. “You can move in tomorrow. I’ve got a pickup truck at home. I’ll
bring my sons with me and we’ll have you moved in before you know it. Heck,” he said as an
afterthought, “we could move you today, if you want. We can get some boxes from the grocer and
swing by after the picnic. We’ll make it a family affair.”
Overwhelmed, Bonnie covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. She didn’t deserve
their kindness, their generosity. She wasn’t worthy of it. Bonnie felt Irene’s arms slide around her as
she would one of her own children. Tears kept falling—she couldn’t control them.
“Here now,” Irene said softly, rubbing her hand along Bonnie’s arm. “There’s no need for tears.
It’s a tiny bedroom, I’ll admit, but you’ll be comfortable in it.”
Bonnie felt a laugh escape at Irene’s attempt at humor. She leaned back and wiped her face with
the back of her hand. “But why would you do this for me?”
Irene smiled and cupped Bonnie’s chin. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s what friends do for each other.”

Bonnie stood
in stunned astonishment as Don orchestrated his family. There was no
questioning, no complaining, no turning away. All Don had said was that Bonnie needed their help,
and it was as if a light switch had been turned on. Everyone delegated themselves to a task. Doris
would take all the children to Irene’s house and keep an eye on them. The men were to round up
boxes and Don’s pickup truck, while the rest of the women would head to Bonnie’s apartment to
begin packing.

Bonnie couldn’t believe what was happening, that so many strangers would come together to
help her. She felt truly humbled by their generosity. They all had lives of their own to lead, families
to care for, things she was certain they’d rather be doing. And yet, here they were, stopping
everything to help her as though she was the most important person in their lives.

Irene drove her sedan from the park with her daughter Ann in the front, Bonnie and Candy in
the back seat. “Mom,” Ann said during a lull in the conversation, “do you remember that cat we had
when I was really little?”

“You mean Mr. Digit?”
“Mr. Digit?” Candy exclaimed. “What kind of name is that?”
Irene laughed. “The kind six-and eight-year-old boys come up with. The cat had extra toes on

“Found it?” Ann laughed. “Knowing Randy and Ralph, they probably
found
it on someone’s
front porch and coaxed it home.”
Irene extended her arm out the open window, signaling for a left turn. “No, I really think it was
lost,” she said, bringing her arm inside to turn the oversized steering wheel. “I asked around the
neighborhood before I let them keep it.”
“So you’ve had cats before?” Bonnie asked.
“Cats, dogs, hamsters, parakeets, turtles,” Ann replied, turning her head back to Bonnie. “Have I
forgotten anything, Mom?”
“I don’t think we can count the garter snakes and frogs your brothers used to bring home,”
Irene said, smiling. “I made them let those loose in the back yard.”
After a few minutes, Irene pointed to the apartment complex up the street. “Is this it?”
“Yes,” Bonnie said, leaning over the seat. “I’m in that building there.”
Irene parked, set the brake, and turned off the engine. “The men should be here shortly,” she
said, opening the car door. “Let’s get organized before they come.”
Bonnie led the women upstairs to the fourth floor. She pushed the key into the lock and eased
the door open, looking for the cat. Irene, Ann, and Candy hurried in so Bonnie could close the
door.
Irene saw Baby Girl sleeping in Bonnie’s chair. She picked up the yawning cat, held her out, and
inspected her. “You little troublemaker,” she said jokingly. Irene turned to Bonnie. “Oh, she’s
darling, Bonnie.”
Ann approached and started petting the kitten’s head. “Look how cute she is,” she gushed.
“What’s her name?” Candy asked, taking the cat from Irene to hold it.
Bonnie couldn’t believe how the women oohed and ahhed over the kitten, making such a fuss
over it. Somewhere deep within her, though, Bonnie felt a sense of pride, knowing her cat could
illicit such responses. “I call her Baby Girl. That’s what my mama called me.”
“That’s sweet,” Irene said. “Now you’d better get Baby Girl locked in the bathroom while we
pack the rest of the apartment.”
“I’ve got to go down and speak with the manager, but before I do,” Bonnie said, taking the
kitten into her arms, “I just want to say something to all of you.” She paused a moment and looked
at each of the women. She swallowed and battled against feelings of insignificance. “Iwanted to
thank you for doing this for me. I really didn’t know what I was going to do…”
“You’re more than welcome,” Ann said as if it was no big deal. “Any friend of Mom’s is a friend
of ours.”
Again tears welled in Bonnie’s eyes, but she didn’t want to unleash them. She already felt foolish
enough for making such a scene earlier with Irene and Don. Bonnie wondered what her life would
have been like if she’d been raised by people like the Ortons. Who would she have been? Of course,
she would never know that. She was who she was. But
had
it been different, she knew San Diego
would never have happened.
“Where have you been?”
Bonnie froze in the doorway of the apartment at the sound of her father’svoice. “I was working.”
He came forward, his eyes narrowed with accusation. His hand swung back, then came crashing toward her,
landing against her face with a sharp blow. “Liar! You should have been home an hour ago.”
Bonnie gritted her teeth against the stinging pain. She refused to crumble, refused to let him see her suffering. “I
worked an extra hour,” she said, her insides quaking with mix of fear and rebellion.
“Liar!” he yelled, towering over her sixteen-year-old frame. “You were out whorin’ around! Weren’t you!”
Bonnie shook her head. “No. I was working. You can call Mr. Gowan, and ask him.”
His meaty fist struck her again and Bonnie collapsed to the floor with its force. She glared up at him, compelling
her tears to remain unshed. “Believe whateveryou want,” she snarled.
He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her toward him. “Don’t you talk to me like that,” he roared, jerking her
head back and forth. Bonnie flinched and wrapped her hands around his wrist in a vain attempt to minimize the
agony. Her scalp felt as if it were ripping free of her head. She buried the pain and swallowed down her cries. Hatred
welled up in her with such vehemence she began to lash out at him, swinging her fists wildly, but his hold only tightened
as he yanked her off the floor by the hair. Bonnie scrambled to gain a footing. Another blow knocked her senseless.
She crumpled to the floor once more as his booted foot plunged into her stomach.
“You whore! You little whore!”
Bonnie heard the accusation ringing in her ears and saw her mother come in from the kitchen. Her mother’s
misshapen face mirrored a look of sorrow and guilt as she stood helplessly in the shadows, offering nothing to save her
daughter. Bonnie’s world began to slip away, a darkness descending over her with sweet, welcomed oblivion.
///////
It was nearly eight in the evening when everyone finally left the Orton home. Don had cleared
out one of the two bedrooms in his basement. Bonnie had her bed, dresser, the overstuffed chair,
lamps, and end table in her room. Everything else was boxed up and stored in the garage, along with
the small drop-leaf table and chairs.
Baby Girl seemed undeterred by the move, snooping around in her new room with interest as
Bonnie hung up her clothes. She was tired and anxious, wondering if she had done the right thing in
coming to the Ortons. She felt stressed sharing their home, uneasy about feeling so exposed. It
wasn’t comfortable—it was probably dangerous. She was used to being on her own, liked not having
to answer to anyone. But this had been a rushed answer to a dire situation, and the only one she had
at the moment. She promised herself she’d move as quickly as possible, get out before she said or
did something she’d regret.
Irene’s voice floated down the back stairs. “Bonnie? Come on up, will you?”
She dreaded the thought, but felt she owed them for their generosity. She shut the cat in the
bedroom and went upstairs. Forcing a smile to her lips, she entered the kitchen. “Whew! We’ve had
quite a day.”
Irene went to the stove and turned off the gas as the tea kettle whistled out a high-pitched
screech. “I’ll say. I thought you might join us for some tea.”
Bonnie hesitated, but there was something about Irene that had her nodding her head. “Sure,”
she said, pulling up a chair at the table beside Don.
Irene placed another cup on the table. “I know it’s still a little hot outside, but Don and I have a
cup of tea every night together. We have all our married lives.”
Bonnie couldn’t imagine any such domestic moment shared between her parents. Her memories
entailed wondering if she’d get to finish her meal before her father threw the plate of food across
the room, blaming her mother for burning the meat, even when it wasn’t. She remembered her
father hunched over the tailgate of the truck, slurping coffee from a tin cup, complaining her mother
couldn’t brew a decent cup if her life depended on it. And the time in Long Beach when he’d
thrown a cup of hot coffee in her mother’s face because he claimed it was bitter tasting.
Shaking her memories to the back of her mind, Bonnie smiled at the Ortons. “I still don’t know
how I’ll ever repay your kindness. You and your family are just amazing. I’ve never seen anything
like it, how you all pulled together to help me. You were so…so,” she struggled for the right word,
“organized.”
“That’s Irene’s doing,” Don said, grinning. “She’s the queen of organization. She raised all our
kids to know that there’s a place for everything and everything in its place. She taught them to pitch
in together with chores and never let them miss an opportunity to help others.”
Irene poured the hot water on the waiting tea bags. “Many hands make light work, I always say.”
“And as to repaying us,” Don said, reaching for the sugar bowl, “you’ll do no such thing.
Allowing us to help you is its own reward.”
Bonnie looked at Irene when she joined them at the table. “Well…thank you.”
Irene covered Bonnie’s hand with her own. “You’re welcome. And now that topic is closed.”
She pulled back her hand to stir her tea.
“I’ll find a place as soon as I can,” Bonnie said. “I don’t want to trouble you more than
necessary. And I want to pay you for the room and—”
Irene cocked her head and drew her brows together. “Bonnie, stop. You are our guest, and
you’ll not pay us a dime.”
“But I can’t just live here for free—”
“Tell you what,” Don said. “You help Irene with the laundry and shopping and cleaning, help
me a little with the yard work, and we’ll call it even. How’s that sound? Deal?”
Bonnie smiled and placed her teaspoon on the edge of the saucer. “Deal.”
“And you take whatever time you need to find a new place, too,” Irene said. “Don’t just take the
first thing you find. Make sure it’s what you want and can afford and lets you keep Baby Girl.”
Bonnie nodded and sipped her tea.
“That Baby Girl,” Don mused, “she sure is one cute cat.”
“She’s lucky you found her in that drain pipe,” Irene said.
“No,” Bonnie corrected with a smile, “I’m lucky she found
me
.”
They sat for a moment in the quiet of the evening, tired and worn out from the picnic and the
move. It was relaxing to sit and sip the tea, letting the day come to a lazy close. Bonnie imagined
Don and Irene sitting together every night, drinking their tea, sharing the quiet. It must be
comforting to know someone was there at the end of the day.
“So where were you born, Bonnie?” Don asked over his raised cup.
Bonnie saw Irene shoot him a look she could only interpret as one of disapproval. A thousand
different answers raced through Bonnie’s mind. What should she say? What answer should she
choose? She decided she owed them the truth, or at least as much of the truth as she dared reveal. It
seemed wrong to lie to them after they’d been so good to her. “I was born in Kentucky. That’s
where my mama was from. I don’t remember it, though,” she said. “We moved around a lot.”
“So how did you end up in Omaha?” Don continued without looking at his wife.
Bonnie sipped at her tea while she thought. How could she tell them her destination had been
random, a quickly purchased bus ticket meant to facilitate her escape? How could she tell them
why
she had to leave, about the secrets she kept that drove her to anonymity? “Just seemed like a good
place to come,” she said with a shrug. “And I’m glad I did. Glad I’ve met people like you and your
family.”
“So do you have brothers and sisters?” he asked.
“Don,” Irene said under her breath.
Bonnie swallowed hard. What should she say? She’d been so careful around Irene, so cautious
about letting things slip, about lying. Now it seemed she owed them some sort of truth, something
real she could share about herself. “No,” Bonnie said looking at Irene. “It’s okay. I know I don’t talk
much about myself at work.”
“And you don’t have to,” Irene said firmly. “You have a right to your privacy, and I respect
that.”
Bonnie smiled and turned to look at Don. “No brothers or sisters. My mama died recently of
cancer, and I don’t have a relationship with my father.”
Don’s expression changed, darkened somehow. “I’m sorry about your mom. Mine died last year.
She was eighty-two years old. Stubborn and independent to the day she died. We tried to get her to
move in here with us, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I still miss her.”
Irene covered Don’s hand with hers and squeezed his fingers. “Enough for now,” she sa id.
“We’re all tired, so I say we get ready for bed and call it a night.”
When Bonnie went downstairs, undressed, and crawled into bed, Baby Girl jumped up and sat
on her chest. The cat was purring and happy to see her. Bonnie stroked the cat’s silky fur and Baby
Girl lay down on Bonnie’s chest, curling her front paws back to back on Bonnie’s softly rising chest.
There was something cathartic in telling the truth about her life, as if it had opened a locked
door, giving her a sense of freedom she’d not felt in years. She began to comprehend she used her
lies as a barrier, a shield against intimacy. There was nothing like that with the Ortons. They were
open to each other, without the secrets and lies that had imprisoned her in darkness.
Tears flooded Bonnie’s eyes as she continued to caress the kitten’s head with the tips of her
fingers. She’d never realized how profound the void in her life was until now. Seeing what good
parents could be like, how family could really mean something, could love each other, made her own
emptiness feel like a crushing weight. She’d been cheated and now she knew it, and the pain of that
knowledge wrapped her in a blanket of sorrow.
///////
Glen Taggart stepped from the train and onto the platform with a small satchel in his ha nd. He
glanced up at the depot and saw a sign that read Helena, Montana, Elevation 4,090 feet. He was
bone-tired from the long trip, and he felt as if he’d been traveling for months. He was anxious to get
this part of it over with so he could go home and stop all the traveling. Living on the move during
the war, the voyage back to the U.S., then the extensive train trip to Helena had Glen vowing he’d
never leave home again—once he finally
got
home.
Glen stretched his aching back and stifled a yawn. He was still wearing his uniform, finding it
allowed him a great deal of attentive service and special treatment. People were quick to offer him a
seat, pour him a drink on the house, or give him a free sandwich as a token of their gratitude. He felt
a bit guilty about that, but wasn’t entirely willing to change into civvies just yet. When he got home,
he thought, when he at last stepped foot in Omaha, he’d give up the uniform forever. But just now
it afforded him some much appreciated consideration.
He stopped at the information desk and pulled off his cap. “Can you recommend a good hotel?”
The man behind the counter straightened and cleared his throat. “Yes, there are a number of
good hotels in town. There’s the Grandon, the Denver Hotel, the Placer, the Harvey—”
Glen held up an impatient hand. “Okay, the Harvey. Where’s that?”
The man smiled, took a small copy of the city map from behind the desk, and pushed it in front
of Glen. “This is Main Street, or Last Chance Gulch, as we call it,” he said, placing an “X” on the
map. He skimmed the pencil further across the map. “Now over here is the Civic Center, a must -see
while you’re in town. This is the location of the State Capitol building—”