She relaxed into his embrace, but her heart sank. So, this was it. This is just how marriage was after a few years -- two exhausted people who only saw each other in the evening.
He held her back to search her face, “Are you okay now?”
She sniffed and brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Tara?”
Finally, she nodded, but she didn’t actually feel better. She was no closer to knowing where Justin’s attention was directed than when he’d first gotten home. No matter what he said, something wasn’t right.
“I’ll tell you what,” Justin continued. “You run on down to the spa and spend a few minutes with your friends before dinner. That always cheers you up.”
Gloria, Julia, and Lizzie jumped, tossing shocked glances between them.
Tara wasn’t feeling ready to act as if she were okay in front of Blanche, so she nodded. How awkward was it to feel like you couldn’t go to your own house when you were down?
Justin gave her another hug, then released her, and gave her a little shove.
The second the couple’s back was turned, Gloria, Julia, and Lizzie sprinted down the theater risers and ran out the back door. Poor Gloria ran hunched over, holding her belly, with Julia and Lizzie each taking an arm.
Tara’s steps dragged as she followed Justin from the barn. “Bella was asleep, will you peek in on her?”
He kissed her cheek and smiled lovingly. “It would be my pleasure.”
Tara stood watching as he headed toward the house, wondering when exactly things had changed between them. He’d been so into her when they were building the Inn. He’d wanted to be with her every chance he got. Even after they moved into the Inn, he’d sneak up behind her and whisper into her ear suggesting that they do all kinds of inappropriate things. It had been a very long time since he’d asked her to do anything even a little bit sexy.
With her feet dragging and her head down, she wandered to the Spa. Pausing to put on a happy face, she pushed open the door, jangling the bells overhead. Gloria sat behind the front desk, her face bright red. Tara glanced through the lobby to where Julia and Lizzie sat on the sofa, both wearing wide, innocent smiles. She looked back at Gloria. “Are you okay?”
The pretty redhead tried to grin, but she seemed a bit too breathless for Tara’s liking. “Are you hurting anywhere?” Tara asked, assessing her friend.
“I’m fine,” Gloria puffed, her happy expression exaggerated.
Tara gave her the side eye and headed for the sofa. She stopped short of sitting, evaluating her friends suspiciously. “What are you guys doing?”
Julia shrugged.
“Not much,” Lizzie said, her expression giving away nothing. “Just wedding talk. You okay?”
Tara’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Lizzie brushed off her question. “No reason. So, I hear you’re working with Becky on the women’s shelter in Uniontown.”
Tara’s expression lit up and she plopped onto the sofa, more than willing to discuss her current pet project; however, concern about Justin was never far from her thoughts.
Chapter Sixteen
Winnie adjusted her bifocals and reread the sentence, but it did no good. Reading a romance novel was not enough of a distraction for all that was happening in her life. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, still unaccustomed to not wearing a bun. Oh, how she’d fought getting her hair cut, but it had all been sheer stubbornness, not because she really cared so much about her hair. It wasn’t like she’d let it down and stood in front of the mirror and brushed it a hundred times each night or some such nonsense. No, she’d kept her hair the same way for years out of… well, no need to do otherwise.
She fluffed the back of her hair, remembering how surprised and pleased she’d been back at the spa when Tara had handed her a mirror. All the ladies had gathered around, gushing about how lovely she looked. How different it was, with a ruff of bangs across her forehead as well as a bit of height on top. And instead of steel gray, her hair glowed and shone, like gray was a pretty color. The change really had taken years off her appearance. Not that she cared how old she looked; she had no desire to impress anyone, but the new hairdo had a pleasant, lighter, breezy feel to it. That was it, she liked it because it was simply more comfortable. Plus, Tara had insisted that she wear makeup as well. When was the last time she’d bothered with such nonsense? Far too long?
It had given her a boost though. She hadn’t felt pretty for a very long time.
She lifted her book once again and adjusted her reading glasses, but the words still made no sense. Her mind wandered off, back to a different evening when a book couldn’t hold her attention.
Thomas had been as disinterested in studying as she was, and he’d been no help keeping Claudia on track either. Winnie had hoped that having an assistant professor along on their trip to the library would boost their study efforts, but the man had been interested in messing around more than he was in the books. He’d fidgeted with her hair and teased her leg under the table.
She swatted at his hand and gave him the evil eye. “Stop that,” she hissed, glancing toward Claudia, worried her friend would see what he was up to.
Claudia sighed and pulled a face, motioning toward the stack of books in front of her. “Don’t you wish we could just walk in and sit down and study right here at the table? I hate searching for all these books, then flipping through page after page, looking for the two stupid paragraphs that pertain to my topic.”
Winnie ignored her, knowing her friend would likely come up with more stupid invention ideas if she gave her any encouragement.
“I love that dress,” Thomas said, eyeing Winnie up and down.
He gave her goose bumps when he did that, and it was distracting, to say the least. If she didn’t have a huge midterm the next day, she might just ditch studying and leave with him now. But she did have a midterm, and so did Claudia. She tossed her friend a look. The girl would need more than one study session to get her grades back on track.
As usual, Claudia’s attention was focused on a group of students at another table. Those students were huddled around a transistor radio, their faces unhappy. Winnie shook her head. Why on earth would someone bring a radio into the library?
“Let’s go look up something everyone else has forgotten,” Thomas whispered, curling a lock of Winnie’s hair around his finger. He leaned in closer, his breath warm on her cheek. “Nobody goes back into the stacks of indexes.”
She motioned toward Claudia. “I thought you were going to help us study.”
He kissed her cheek, then continued down the length of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. “Claudia doesn’t want to study, and neither do I.”
Claudia poked Winnie in the arm. “Hey guys, look, something’s going on.” She motioned toward the growing crowd of students huddled around the radio. She stood, and her chair made a loud scraping noise on the floor. “Come on,” she said, tugging Winnie’s shirt sleeve.
Between Thomas and Claudia, Winnie felt like she was the rope in a tug of war. It was clear she was not going to get any studying done, so she relented and stood.
Thomas joined her, his eyes dancing. He took her hand and grinned. “Which floor do you want to try? I hear that the third floor is the best for—”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, professor,” Claudia admonished. “Can’t you see something has happened?” With that, she flounced a turn and headed toward the cluster of students.
“They do look upset,” Winnie worried, motioning toward the group.
“Come on, baby,” Thomas begged, pulling her toward the back of the library.
She hesitated, but the group around the radio was growing larger by the minute. She shook her head.
Thomas sighed, his face forlorn, but he finally gave in.
As they neared the group, Claudia couldn’t help herself. “What is it, what’s happened?” she asked, shouldering her way closer to the table.
“A huge group of students were having a sit-in New York, and it got out of control,” one girl whispered behind her hand.
“Why?” Claudia asked.
“I don’t know yet,” the girl replied.
The group leaned closer, their collective ears perked to the static message of the little radio.
Winnie was confused. “Dow Chemical was having a job fair at the university, and the students are mad?” she asked Thomas. “I don’t get it -- we have job fairs all the time.”
Thomas shook his head. The crush of students pushed and prodded to get closer to the table, so he took Winnie’s arm to lead her away. Once they were out of earshot, he explained. “It’s not the job fair that the students are mad about, it’s Dow Chemical.”
“Why? What’s the big deal? They’re probably offering high-paying jobs.”
“Oh, I’m sure they are,” he scoffed.
She gave him a look. She didn’t like being left in the dark about something that the other students were keen about.
“Wynona, Dow Chemical makes napalm.”
Images of the jungle going up in flames and burned people running for their lives flashed before her eyes. Everyone knew the horror of napalm. Not only did it scorch every creature, plant, or person to a crisp instantaneously, some people said it caused horrible sicknesses to anyone downwind as well.
“Oh…” she mumbled, understanding now why the students would be upset. Some of those very protestors would be having the stuff dropped near them soon, maybe even on them if something went wrong.
What other means did the students have to voice their disapproval to such actions, except to confront the source wherever they could?
It seemed pretty thoughtless of Dow to come right onto campus and try to recruit the very guys they might be killing with napalm six months later.
She swallowed hard, thinking of that New York campus, not so far away. “So, what’s happening over there now?”
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t know, but I’m going to see if I can hear more.”
Winnie waited as Thomas made his way back through the crowd. She dropped into a chair and watched the students around her. Some were sad, some confused, others were angry. She felt the same. How did one sort it all out?
Thomas returned and his usual calm demeanor was gone, and his face was flushed.
“What is it?” Winnie asked, standing.
He kept walking but motioned for her to follow. Once they exited the library, he stopped and perched on the edge of a retaining wall.
“What has you so upset?” She asked.
He stared across the beautiful, calm campus. “Things are changing, it’s getting crazy.”
“What happened?” she demanded, losing her patience.
The university called the police in to move the students out of the halls. It was a peaceful sit-in, but they called the police instead of campus security.”
“The police came to our rally,” she contended.
His eyes came up to meet hers. “This is different. The university didn’t want to keep the peace; they were embarrassed and mad that the students were there blocking the halls. They told the police to forcibly remove them. The administration basically said the students were trespassers on their own campus. Students who live there, work there, study there, consider it their home and their life, are being beaten and removed, like they’re criminals. What other option do they have to voice their concerns?”
“What—well, how bad is it?”
He shrugged. “The radio said the students were bleeding and being dragged away. Many are being taken to hospitals.”
“This is bad, I get that,” she said, “But I guess I don’t see the big change. Students have been rioting on campuses all year.”
He stood, his expression grim. “It’s not the students who have changed. It’s the attitude of the university that worries me. The university staff drew the line today. They said it’s them versus us -- administration versus students.
His words sunk deep. It was true that Winnie had come to the university to be a part of something larger than herself. She considered herself an integral piece of the school. She believed that she, her fellow students, and the faculty made the school what it was.
“I consider myself both a student and faculty here, so where does that leave me?” Thomas asked.
Winnie understood that his role on campus would be different now, especially when it came to the war. Even though he was a graduate student, he’d have to choose whether he stood with the students or the administration.
* * *
Tara sat up in bed waiting for Justin to come home, watching TV in the dark with little Bella spread across her lap. The baby had missed her goodnight story with her daddy and flat-out refused to get into her own bed until she saw him. Tara hadn’t pushed too hard, because she understood how Bella felt. She didn’t want to go to bed alone either.
Before Blanche came, she would have waited up in the TV room, not in her bedroom. Somehow, out there, it felt more as if she were staying up late watching a movie, rather than sitting up in the dark, alone and pathetic. But she had no desire to be caught up at this hour by Blanche, with Bella passed out on her lap. She’d look like a bad mother and a pitiful loser of a wife.
Where was Justin anyway? What made him think work, any kind of job, was so much more important than his family? Didn’t he know that handing the Inn over to Blanche had been difficult for her? She wasn’t coping well, and she needed his steady, calming influence. Couldn’t he see her frazzled nerves? Her frustration? Did he care at all anymore?
She sniffed and shifted the baby to allow blood flow to return to her tingling arm. You’d think if the man was having an affair that he’d try harder to hide it. How could he think she wouldn’t be upset with all these late nights and him avoiding all her questions? Did he think she was stupid? Or did he want her to find out? Was that it? Was he hoping she’d file for divorce first?
“Calm down,” she reminded herself out loud, holding her hand to her forehead. She was getting carried away. It was just this afternoon that she’d confronted him in the barn, and he’d said he still loved her. She’d felt that he cared about her. She’d believed that he was being genuine, so what was his deal?
She sighed and brushed a lock of hair off of Bella’s plump, rosy, adorable cheek. When it came down to it, she just didn’t like being alone. She and Bella missed having Justin around. Added to the stress of seeing Blanche so calmly handling everything she’d struggled to do, she was going through some sort of a personal crisis. So, how did one recover from these things? She had no idea.
* * *
The next morning, Winnie tapped the Pinterest app on her phone. She’d pinned a recipe yesterday, and she needed to check the ingredients as she planned her grocery list. This would be a big shopping trip for sure, what with making pies and such. Maybe she’d phone up Bobby to see if he was willing to come carry the bags in for her. He was such a good worker, surely he wouldn’t mind.
As she surfed her Pinterest boards, smiling at all the lovely crochet projects she’d pinned, as well as sewing and quilting ideas, her mind wandered back, once again to the days before smart phones. Or personal computers for that matter.
She’d spent hours in her dorm room, hunched over that little blue portable typewriter, clicking away. She’d not been much better at typing then than she was now, to be honest. The only saving grace she had these days was not needing to use whiteout, or that ridiculous little wheel eraser with the brush on one end to deal with her many mistakes. The white correcting ribbons on typewriters hadn’t come out until the mid-70s, so she’d spent many long hours working to correct her papers without tearing or smudging them. Someone had told her about a product called mistake out that allowed you to actually paint a dab of white paint over a typo, but she hadn’t seen a bottle of the stuff until well into the ’80s.
; Of course, Claudia had wished there was an invention to see what you were typing before it hit the paper. How preposterous that had seemed at the time!
Her finger swipe came to the Dutch apple pie recipe. Of course, she had her own tried and true recipe, but this one had caught her eye and she was willing to give it a try. Hopefully, the folks at the homecoming reunion dinner would like it.
She paused, her pen suspended over the grocery list. The thought of the reunion was making her stomach jump. What would it be like to be with her dear friend again? They hadn’t seen each other for so long. Those college days had been traumatic, and they had disagreed on so many things. Actually, by the end of that semester, they’d disagreed on nearly everything.
She sighed and returned her thoughts to her shopping list. No need to panic before it was required.
Her pen stopped again, and she reached up to fluff her new hairdo. Maybe Tara had been right though. A few new outfits might be a good idea…
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Tara plodded toward the kitchen with Bella on one hip. The baby’s attitude left something to be desired, and Tara was right there with her.
Justin hadn’t come in until nearly midnight, and she’d fallen asleep sitting up with Bella still on her lap. The kink in her neck still wasn’t resolved, and Bella evidently hadn’t slept well either. This whole thing with Justin was beyond aggravating.
“Good morning, my dearies,” Blanche sang out as they came into the room. The guests had long since checked out, and the older woman was busy cleaning up dirty dishes and putting away leftovers. “I made you coffee.” She motioned toward the coffee pot. “I know you love it fresh, not that overheated, burned stuff. You really do!”
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