Secrets of the Red Box (20 page)

Bonnie went to the closet where she’d placed the sack of food on the top shelf. She scooped out
a handful into Baby Girl’s bowl and saw that the cat had tipped the water dish upside down. “Look
what you did,” she said with a mock scolding. “I’ll get you some fresh water and clean this up.”

The cat was oblivious as Bonnie slipped into her robe and picked up the empty bowl. She
climbed the stairs and gradually opened the door into the kitchen. She was grateful no one was there
and went to the sink. Just then, she heard a rustling noise and turned to see Irene coming in from
the living room.

“Good morning,” Irene said, smiling. She was already dressed, had her hair done and a splash of
lipstick on. “How did you sleep? I hope it wasn’t too strange for your first night.”
Bonnie turned off the water and faced Irene. “No, it was just fine. You’re up early,” she
commented.
“Church,” Irene said, opening the refrigerator. “Don and I go to church every Sunday. Would
you like to come with us?”
Bonnie held up her hand to fend off the idea. “No, thanks. I’ll get dressed and take a walk or
something.”
Irene rooted around in the fridge and came out with a package wrapped in butcher paper. “I’ve
got sausage today,” she said, wagging the wrapped package in the air, “ground fresh. Why don’t you
get dressed and at least join us for breakfast?”
Bonnie started back for the basement. “Oh, no thanks. I’m not much of a breakfast person. I’ll
just pick up something out later. I don’t want you to bother about me.”
Irene shook her head. “Now, Bonnie, that won’t do. Everyone needs a good breakfast. It’s the
Orton way. Around here, we eat breakfast in the morning, go to church on Sunday, and then Sunday
afternoon, the family comes over for dinner, the whole bunch. It’s a tradition my mother started
when I was a girl and I’ve carried it on with my children. No matter how old they get, I hope they’ll
always come home for Sunday dinner.” She approached Bonnie and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“And that goes for you, too. I want you to feel at home here and hope that you’ll feel comfortable
enough to join us, be a part of us.” She smiled and angled her head. “I bake a pretty mean pork
roast.”
Bonnie considered the offer. She’d enjoyed the interaction with Irene’s family the day before,
liked the way it made her feel normal. It would seem rude to turn down Irene’s offer, even if she
preferred to keep to herself. So long as she was living in Irene’s house, the least she could do was
participate when invited. “All right, thank you.”
“That’s a girl.” Irene grinned. “Now take the water to your kitty and get dressed. Breakfast will
be ready in a few minutes.”
Bonnie went to the door, stopped, and turned. “Irene?”
Irene paused in opening the butcher’s package. “Hmmm?”
Bonnie suddenly welled with tender emotion. She couldn’t explain the overwhelming sensation
of gratitude that had snagged in her throat. She saw Irene’s eyes soften and that only weakened her
tenuous self-control. “I just wanted to say…” She gritted her teeth and swallowed down her tears.
“Thank you…”
She didn’t wait for a response from Irene and hurried downstairs as fast as she could without
spilling the water. Irene’s kindness made her think of her own mother. She imagined her there in
Irene’s kitchen, cooking breakfast, wearing a brightly colored apron and a warm smile.
Why couldn’t it
have been like that? Why didn’t she save herself, save me?
Bonnie’s thoughts went dark with anger, anger at
her mother for lacking the courage to leave, to love her enough to take her away. Everything could
have been so different. Her tears turned bitter and stung her eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed
and hated herself for hating her mother.
Baby Girl trotted to her and began circling figure eights around Bonnie’s legs. She reached down
and picked up the cat. “I would have left him,” she whispered to the kitten. “I would have lived in a
cardboard box before I’d let him do to my daughter what he did to me…”
She stroked the kitten’s soft fur. “Why didn’t she love me enough…” Bonnie’s tears welled
again, spilled down her cheeks. “Maybe…maybe I wasn’t worth saving…”
//////
After Irene and Don left for church, Bonnie intended to take a walk. It was a comfortable
September temperature outside, and she thought the fresh air would do her some good. She made
sure Baby Girl was happy and went upstairs, through the kitchen, and into the living room.
There, Bonnie detoured to the old upright piano that stood against the far wall. She’d often
wished she could play the piano—or any instrument, for that matter. There had never been a time or
a place for music lessons, nor enough money—never enough money. She’d never even been offered
the opportunity. Her father thought of such things as a waste of time. Her fingers extended to the
ivory keys, cool and smooth beneath her touch. She pressed one key and a ringing note sounded
clear and bright through the room. The echo elicited a smile from her lips.
She looked up at a collage of picture frames resting on top of the piano, filled with photos of
Irene’s family. How happy they all looked, she thought as she studied each picture. There were
photos of Irene’s children at various ages, a family vacation shot of the kids lined up in front of a
mountain-top campsite, Ann dressed in a snowsuit making a snow angel in the front yard, Don
looking over the edge of the newspaper, caught in an unexpected moment, Irene holding a
grandchild in her arms. They were fragments of the past resting there to remind them of who they
once were, and who they were now to each other. Bonnie couldn’t recall one photograph of her
parents or herself, not even a picture of her parents’ wedding day. She sighed and struck another
piano key.
Her eyes wandered the room, saw the matching, well-worn chairs where Don and Irene sat to
listen to the radio, read, and talk, the coffee table nicked and scratched with use. A tidy pile of
magazines rested on the floor beneath a table between the two chairs, and a tatty braided rug
snuggled up against the fireplace hearth. The sofa sagged with its edges frayed from all the hands
and legs that had rested there, but none of that mattered. All Bonnie could see was a room filled
with the things that made a home, all of it well used, all of it well loved.
///////
Bonnie finished rinsing the green beans in a colander and wiped her hands on a borrowed
apron. “Now what do we do?”
Irene picked up a long bean. “Snap off one end like this. Then when you snap the other end,
don’t pull it all the way off so you can do this.” She showed Bonnie how she pulled the broken end
toward her, bringing the fibrous string from the center of the bean with her motion. “Do that and
then snap it in half.”
“Okay,” Bonnie said, picking up a bean and imitating Irene’s movement. “Like that?”
“Perfect. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
Bonnie grinned and threw the bean halves into a bowl. “I didn’t get a chance to do much
cooking,” she admitted. “I had a job after school and on weekends that kept me pretty busy. I
wanted to learn but, well, my mama had a tight schedule and didn’t always have time to show me.”
Bonnie didn’t mention the strict weekly schedule her father prepared for her mother to follow
once they’d moved to Long Beach. There was to be no deviation, no free time, nothing to do but
what the schedule allowed. He’d provided her an allotted amount of time to do each chore,
including preparing meals. Her mother never had time to take things at her own pace, or spend the
time to teach Bonnie how to cook.
Bonnie remembered the evening inspections her father performed when he came home from
work, how he criticized his wife’s poor performance, often forcing her to scrub the kitchen floor for
the second time that day. He regimented her life so completely that she never had time for friends or
rest, not a casual cup of coffee at the kitchen table, not a moment for herself. And her mother never
dared stray from the burdensome schedule, fearing what repercussions awaited her if she did.
Bonnie wasn’t immune to her tyrannical father, either. She had her own set of chores to perform
before school and after she came home from work. Saturdays and Sundays were worst of all, she
recalled, when he made her clean her bedroom floor with a toothbrush. Her knees ached even still
when she thought of the hours she’d knelt on the hard wooden floor, dipping and scrubbing, wiping
and cleaning every square inch of the room, even having to move furniture to clean beneath it. She
knew it wasn’t the cleanliness he cared about, but the control he exerted over her.
“Bonnie?” Irene’s voice was soft, like a gently opened petal. “Where were you just now?”
Bonnie felt her cheeks redden. She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. “Oh, I
was just thinking…wishing my mama had had time to teach me these things.” Bonnie hoped Irene
wouldn’t ask any further questions and was relieved when Ann and George came through the front
door.
“Mom, where do you want the salad?” Ann called on her way in.
“Put it on the table,” Irene answered.
After a minute, Ann came into the kitchen. “Iwasn’t sure how close you were to being
finished.”
Bonnie turned from the beans and smiled. “Hi, Ann,” she said. “Your mom’s teaching me how
to cook.”
Ann kissed her mother on the cheek. “No better teacher.” She snagged a bean from the bowl
and popped it into her mouth. “George is talking to Dad,” she said, nudging her way in to help with
the beans.
Irene lowered her gaze a moment and kept her focus on the last of the beans. “How are the
dreams?” she asked quietly. “Are they getting any better?”
Ann glanced at Bonnie. “George has been having nightmares…about the war,” she explained.
“He won’t talk about them. He says he can’t remember them after he wakes up, but I don’t really
believe him.”
Irene lit the gas flame of one of the burners and dumped the beans into a pot of water on the
stove to cook. “I wish he could forget,” she said with a sigh. She turned to Bonnie. “Would you get
the celery from the refrigerator?”
Bonnie nodded while Irene opened the oven door to check on the enormous pork roast inside.
“Doris is bringing the mashed potatoes, right?”
“I think so. I had salad, and Candy got desert this time,” Ann replied.
Bonnie suddenly felt embarrassed and looked at Irene. “I feel terrible. I didn’t know you
assigned . . . I should have brought something . . .”
“You did,” Irene smiled. “You brought two hands.” She took the celery from Bonnie and turned
back to the sink.
A burst of noisy children exploded through the house. “Grandma! Grandma!” they shouted as
they ran into the kitchen. “Hi, Aunt Ann. Hi, Bonnie.”
“Hi, girls,” Ann replied.
Bonnie smiled at the flurry of little girls beaming with light and innocence. “Hi.”
Irene turned and smiled adoringly at Candy and Ralph’s three daughters. She wiped her hands
on her apron, then kissed each one. “How are my angels today?”
“We brought a chocolate cake for desert,” the oldest said, her eyes filled with pride.
“And Mom let us stir the batter,” the second one said.
The youngest one held on to her grandmother’s apron. “I got to lick the spoon.”
Irene chuckled. “Go help Grandpa set the table,” she said. “And be careful with Grandma’s
dishes.”
The three little girls scurried away just as Doris came in with a pot cradled in a cushion of hot
pads. “Move aside,” she called with a smile in her voice. “Hot food coming in.”
The women parted as Doris put the pot on the stove and stepped back. “I hope that’s enough,”
she said. “I thought I had a few more potatoes than I actually did.”
“It’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Irene said.
Doris smiled at Bonnie. “Are you doing all right? Settled in and everything?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Doris’s children raced into the kitchen, hollering for their grandmother’s attention. “What’s the
rule about the kitchen?” Doris asked, fisting her hands to her hips.
Her oldest son came to an abrupt stop and gave his mother a sheepish look. “If you’re not
helping, get out?”
Doris suppressed a smile. “Not exactly. If Grandma’s in the kitchen, go help Grandpa.”
“Oh, they’re all right,” Irene said with a laugh. She handed the boy a plate of cut celery. “Go put
this on the table for Grandma.”
Bonnie stood back and drank it all in. She’d never met her own grandparents, didn’t even know
their names or where they were, or if they were still alive. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of
people they were and what they’d done to make their children who
they
were. It made Bonnie
speculate about what kind of mother she would have been. Not that it made any difference now, but
if she could, she’d want to be like Irene.

Monday morning, Bonnie went upstairs dressed and ready for work. Irene greeted her with a
cheery hello and instructed her to sit at the table. The smell of frying bacon perfumed the air and a
cup of coffee waited for her. “What’s all this?” Bonnie asked.

Irene turned and looked at her with a mild frown. “It’s breakfast, of course. The Orton way, you
know.”
Bonnie shook her head dolefully and stretched out her hands. “Irene, it’s more than thoughtful
of you, but I don’t expect you to feed me. I was just going to look up the bus schedule and head
out.”
Irene stood there, her hip cocked, the bacon fork pointing in Bonnie’s direction. “Now don’t be
silly. You’re not taking the bus. You’ll ride in with me, and I don’t want any argument.”
Bonnie sighed. “Irene, this is too much. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. And besides, I
need to stop at the pet shop after work and pick up some more food for Baby Girl, then I—”
Irene narrowed her eyes. “See that cup of coffee? It’s getting cold. Now sit down and start
drinking it.”
“But, Irene—”
“But nothing. I’ll run you to the pet store on the way home from work. Then we’ll swing by the
market and pick up some lamb chops. Do you like lamb? Don just loves them. I think he’d eat them
for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.”
Bonnie sank into the kitchen chair, feeling like a huge imposition. She had to get her own
apartment as soon as she could. She hated feeling this way, hated putting Irene and Don to extra
trouble. She put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee and stirred it. Her gaze fixed on the colorful red
apples that decorated the table cloth. She noticed they matched the cheerful wallpaper motif of tiny
red apples and roosters dotting a white background. Red-and-white gingham café curtains hung in
the window over the sink and across the window of the back door. Sun from the eastern sky glinted
off shining light-gray countertops and a sparkling black-and-white linoleum tiled floor. The room
made her feel cozy and comfortable. Or maybe it wasn’t the room at all, but Irene who had her
feeling that way.
“How do you like your eggs?” Irene asked, peering over her shoulder.
“I wish you’d let me help.”
“Sure,” she said. “Why don’t you get the jam out of the refrigerator and start some toast? I think
there’s some strawberry in there Ann and I put up this summer.”
Bonnie went to the fridge and opened it. Peering inside, she asked, “You make your own jam?”
“Sure do, and we can peaches, cherries, apricots, beans, corn, carrots, tomatoes—oh, I guess just
about everything that grows.”
And I harvested about everything that grows…but nevergot to eat much of it.
“You never told me how you like your eggs,” Irene said, an egg poised in her hand.
“Over easy.” Bonnie placed the jam on the table. “Where’s Don? Isn’t he eating?”
“He left almost an hour ago. Poor guy. He puts in over a twelve hour day,” Irene commented as
she cracked an egg into the sizzling bacon grease. “Ever since the war, there’s been a shortage of
workers at the stockyards. Of course, now that the war is over and soldiers are starting to come
home, I’m sure he won’t have to put in so many hours.” She spooned grease over the eggs. “But I
can’t say we haven’t enjoyed the extra money.”
Bonnie put two slices of bread in the toaster and pushed down the handle. “Do you want me to
freshen your coffee?” she asked, peering into Irene’s near empty cup.
Irene held out a hand, palm down, and stared at it. “Not shaking yet,” she said under her breath.
“Sure, go ahead and hit me again.”
Bonnie chuckled and took the coffee pot off the stove. “I just love your home, Irene. It feels
so…I don’t know—lived in, I guess.”
Irene paused over the eggs. “Lived in? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Bonnie smiled and returned the coffee pot. “It’s a good thing. What I mean is, the house has a
good feeling about it, like people belong here, like they enjoy living here.”
Irene dredged up a prideful smile. “Well, that’s the way a home should feel. At least, I’ve always
hoped mine has.” She sighed, and her eyes traced the contours of the kitchen. “Heaven knows we’ve
done our share of living in this house.”
“I can tell…the family dinner last night, the way everyone gets along. You’re really lucky, Irene,”
Bonnie said, bringing their plates to the stove.
Irene shoveled an egg onto each plate. “By the sound of your voice, I guess you weren’t so
lucky.” It wasn’t a question as much as an observation, as though she knew Bonnie’s life had been a
hard one.
The toast popped up and Bonnie put a slice on each of the plated eggs. Irene served up the
bacon. “Let me just say,” Bonnie began, “I’d have given most anything to have lived in a house like
this, with a family like yours.”
Irene sat down, smiled, and patted Bonnie’s hand. “Well, we don’t always get to choose, do we?
But life is what you make of it, Bonnie, and there’s no reason in the world why you can’t have a
lived in home of your own someday.”
How Bonnie wished that were true. But she’d sealed her fate back in San Diego, hadn’t she?
She’d crushed any hope of ever living a truly normal life, one that could be lived above board and
without secrets. She’d always need to be wary, protective of her past. And that was another good
reason why she had to get out of the Orton’s home. She felt
too
at home here, too comfortable.
She’d already found herself letting her guard down around Irene, had intimated things about her life.
The longer she stayed, the more difficult it would be to keep from slipping up or revealing too
much.
Irene spread some strawberry jam on her toast. “I’ll show you how to can, if you like,” she
offered. “The peaches are coming on now.”
Bonnie smiled. What a normal thing, she thought—canning vegetables like an ordinary person.
She could imagine Irene and her daughter standing in the kitchen together, working together,
laughing and talking over old times as they filled jar after jar. “Sure,” she said, but she knew she
didn’t really mean it.
///////
Bonnie spent her lunch hour on the phone calling apartments listed in the phone book. After
making several calls without success, she leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“No luck?” Irene asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Not yet,” she said with an edge of irritation in her voice. “What do people have against a little
cat?”
“Take heart,” Irene offered. “Something will come up.”
Bonnie sighed again and ran a hand over her hair. “I hope so.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Bonnie said little between calls, allowing Irene to fill the void with
her pleasant chatter. Bonnie often wondered why she didn’t find it annoying. Normally she would,
but there was something endearing about Irene that made her endless dialogue quite acceptable.
When it was time to leave, the two women bundled into Irene’s car and drove to Edna’s Pet
Shop. “Do you mind if I come in?” Irene asked as she parked the car.
Bonnie smiled. “No, of course not.”
When they went inside, Edna looked up from the counter with surprise. “Hi, Bonnie, I wasn’t
expecting you this early in the day.”
“Edna, this is my friend Irene,” she said. “She was kind enough to drive me over after work.”
Edna looked thoughtful a moment. “You look a little familiar…Iwent to school with an
Irene…Irene Badger, I think her name was.”
Irene’s eyes widened. “That was me. Omaha High School?”
Edna smiled. “Yes. I was Edna Wilde back then.”
“Sure, I remember you. We had English class together, and there was another one,” Irene said
tapping her temple.
“Biology,” Edna said.
“Mr. Huggins,” they said together, and laughed.
“That’s right! Poor old Mr. Huggins,” Edna said shaking her head. “He was something.”
Irene turned to Bonnie with a mischievous grin on her face. “Mr. Huggins had crossed eyes, and
they seemed to move independently of each other. You could never quite tell just where he was
looking.”
Edna laughed again and shook her head. “He was the best at catching cheaters, wasn’t he?”
Irene looked at Bonnie again. “We’d be sitting in class taking a test,” she said with a grin, “when
all of a sudden he’d whack a yardstick on someone’s desk and exclaim, ‘Ah Ha! Caught you!’ Then
he’d take hold of the cheater’s ear and pull him to the classroom door with an order to the
principal’s office.”
Edna chuckled. “I remember every time we took a test I hoped someone would get caught. It
was such a hilarious thing to watch.”
Irene shook her head. “I hadn’t thought of that in years. It’s so good to see you again, Edna.”
“It’s been a long time,” Edna said, glancing up at the ceiling. “What, over thirty years?”
“Don’t remind me,” Irene chuckled. “I feel every one of those thirty years.”
“I know what you mean. I’m a grandmother now. If that doesn’t make you feel old…”
“Me, too. Six.”
“Seven and one on the way.” Edna turned her attention back to Bonnie. “Well, enough about
us. What do you need today, Bonnie? The usual?”
“Yes, but I think I’ll take an extra pound of kibble so I won’t have to come back as often.”
Irene made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Bonnie, don’t worry about it. I’ll bring you over
as many times as you need.” She shook her head at Edna. “Bonnie’s staying at my house for a while.
She was evicted for having a cat.”
Edna gasped and clutched at her bosom. “You mean Baby Girl? You were kicked out of your
apartment for that?”
“I didn’t know when I signed the lease,” she explained. “Anyway, I’m looking for a place that
allows pets.”
Edna tapped her chin and walked toward a bulletin board she kept near the bird cages. “I think
there was a card on here…” She scanned the board, removed a pin, and handed the card to Bonnie.
“Here’s a place for rent.” She pointed to a line on the card. “It says pets are welcome.”
Bonnie felt a squeal rise in her throat. “Oh, Edna! I’ll call on it first thing in the morning.”
“What’s the address?” Irene asked, peering over Bonnie’s shoulder.
Bonnie looked at the card and turned it over in her hand. “It doesn’t say.”
Irene made a humming sound. “That could be bad.”
“How?” Bonnie asked, looking back and forth between the two women.
“Well, it might be located in a part of town where no sane person would want to live,” Edna
suggested.
“Hard to say,” Irene said. “We’ll call when we get home and see what it’s all about.”
Bonnie paid Edna and turned to answer Chester’s little noises. “Hi, Chester. You thought I’d
forgotten you, didn’t you?” She extended her hand to him. The monkey jumped to the edge of the
metal tank and made a grasping motion. “This is my friend Irene.”
Irene looked at the creature and adjusted her glasses. “Does he bite?”
“He might gum you to death,” Edna said. “He doesn’t have teeth.”
Irene reached toward Chester just as Bonnie had done. He pulled back his diminutive ears and
started screeching, then suddenly jumped into the tank and grabbed a fistful of his droppings. He
flung them at Irene, who screamed and skittered away, flapping her hands in the air. Chester tugged
against his chain, jumping from the lip of the tank to his pole and back again.
“Why, you little—” Bonnie approached the tank, shaking her finger at him. “You’re naughty,
Chester. That wasn’t a nice thing to do to my friend.”
Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or perhaps her wagging finger that had Chester cocking his
head from side to side as though trying to interpret Bonnie’s words. He made a squeaking noise,
jumped into the tank and went to his little bed.
“I guess he wasn’t expecting a scolding,” Edna said, laughing.
Bonnie looked down at the little monkey and felt sorry for him. He appeared dejected and sad.
She reached for him again and his eyes darted about as he eased his way up the pole. “Still friends?”
she asked.
Chester put out his arm and wiggled his tiny fingers. Bonnie touched his hand and smiled.
“Good. Still friends. But from now on, you better be nice to Irene.”
///////
Bonnie’s heart was pounding as she reached for Irene’s telephone. She looked at the card in her
hand and began dialing. The phone rang and Bonnie crossed her fingers. She heard a click.
“Hello? I got your card from Edna’s Pet Store. Can you tell me a little more about the
apartment?”
Irene stood beside her with a notepad and pencil in her hands.
“I see,” Bonnie said, looking up at Irene and shaking her head. “Well, thank you anyway.” She
hung up. “It was rented day before yesterday.”
Irene sighed and lowered her hands, the notepad and pencil returned to the telephone table.
“Oh, darn the luck,” she said, patting Bonnie’s shoulder. “Well, we’ll just have to keep looking.”
Bonnie got up from the little stool beside the phone table and hunched her shoulders. “I guess
so.”
Irene’s hazel eyes glimmered behind her glasses. “Why don’t you come bowling with Don and
me tonight?” Before Bonnie could object, she added, “There’s a community bulletin board. You
might find an apartment listed there.”
Bonnie smiled. “And I don’t suppose you could just check the board for me while you’re there?”
Irene tilted her head. “I could, but it would be more fun if you came with us.”
Bonnie didn’t want to venture out. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt safer in Irene’s basement.
When she was among strangers she was more tempted to lie about herself. It was Irene who made
her feel grounded, made her want to tell the truth. Why would she want to risk that? “I’m not a very
good bowler.”
“You don’t have to be,” Irene said, heading for the kitchen. “Neither am I.”
“But you bowl every week,” Bonnie countered.
Irene laughed. “And I cook every day, but that doesn’t necessarily make me a gourmet chef, now
does it?”
“You are one, as far as I’m concerned.”
Irene flapped her hand. “You know what I mean.”
Don opened the back door and strode in with a big smile. “How’s my beautiful wife?” he asked,
then gave her a quick kiss. He turned to Bonnie. “And how’s my favorite houseguest?”
Bonnie let out a little laugh. “I’m your only houseguest.”
“True, but you’re also my favorite.”
Irene grabbed Don’s arm. “Guess what? Bonnie’s coming bowling with us tonight.”
Don’s brows arched with surprise. “Really? That’s great—”
“I never agreed I’d go,” Bonnie said shaking her head.
Don put his empty lunch bucket on the kitchen counter. “Why not? It’d be fun.”
Irene placed a skillet on the stove and lit the burner. “Of course, if you already have reservations
at the Stork Club…”
The comment sent a shiver down Bonnie’s spine. She had to remind herself that they knew
nothing of her stories about going to the Stork Club in New York, knew nothing of the night she
intended to go to the Stork Club when she’d first arrived in Omaha. It was just an ugly reminder of
her lies and all the other secrets she kept buried in the red box.