Making
It Work
A NOVEL
Kathleen Glassburn
Copyright © 2016, 2017 Kathleen Glassburn.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Archway Publishing
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ISBN: 978-1-4808-3771-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4808-3770-6 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4808-3772-0 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016919365
Archway Publishing rev. date: 3/14/2017
To my husband Richard, for your love and support
CONTENTS
PART 1: Following
CHAPTER 1First Assignment
CHAPTER 2Apartment Hunt
CHAPTER 3Friends?
CHAPTER 4Job Search
CHAPTER 5Settling In
CHAPTER 6Waiting
CHAPTER 7Alone Time
CHAPTER 8A Time to Remember
CHAPTER 9Lessons
CHAPTER 10Chaos
CHAPTER 11Teenagers
CHAPTER 12Return and Reality
CHAPTER 13More Changes
CHAPTER 14Just a Kid
CHAPTER 15Slipping
PART 2: Wandering
CHAPTER 16Summer of Love
CHAPTER 17Temporary Quarters
CHAPTER 18A Surprise Visitor
CHAPTER 19Candles
CHAPTER 20Leaving San Francisco
CHAPTER 21The Moratorium
CHAPTER 22Renaissance Faire
CHAPTER 23Horse Country
CHAPTER 24Acceptance
CHAPTER 25Setting Goals
CHAPTER 26Small Town Boy
CHAPTER 27Engaged?
CHAPTER 28The Doll
CHAPTER 29Almost There
CHAPTER 30The Finish Line
PART 1
FOLLOWING
CHAPTER 1
First Assignment
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON OF FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1965, FOUR WEEKS AFTER THE simplest of Catholic wedding ceremonies attended only by their immediate families, Jim Gallagher came home to Sheila Doty Gallagher, his bride. Minutes before, Sheila had returned from work at a bank close to their furnished one-bedroom apartment near Loring Park, a short distance from downtown Minneapolis. It rented for $125 per month.
White dust clung to Jim’s jacket and jeans from hanging plasterboard at a new development in Golden Valley, an affluent suburb. The previous weekend he had driven Sheila past the houses.
“Someday we’ll live in a place every bit as nice as these,” she’d said.
“Yeah … right.” Jim had shifted his black 1951 Mercury, affectionately called the Beater, to second and headed for the city.
On this afternoon, Sheila gave him a huge, welcoming hug, disregarding his dusty clothes even though she hadn’t changed from her dark-blue wool dress. He went to the bathroom for a quick shower while she rummaged through their tiny kitchen, puzzling over a nearly empty cupboard and refrigerator. What will he like—Kraft mac and cheese or hot dogs?
Minutes later, Jim appeared with a towel wrapped around his middle. He stood staring at her.
“What’s going on?” She stirred mac and cheese on the electric stove.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you standing there looking at me? Isn’t there a program on TV?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah …” A quiet guy, Jim didn’t bring up things in this way. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Well?”
“I enlisted today.” He stretched to his full six feet four inches. “In the navy.”
Nineteen-year-old Sheila remained uncharacteristically silent.
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
She slammed the saucepan onto a metal trivet shaped like a heart, her freckled skin reddening. “Why didn’t you talk to me first?”
“I did it kind of on the spur of the moment.” He shrugged. “Bert’s been pushing me, saying if I don’t join another branch soon, the army’s going to get their hooks in me. I’ll be crawling through Vietnam’s rice paddies.”
Herbert Anderson was a foreman for Hansen Brothers Construction, where he’d been employed at least twenty years. Jim’s firm friendship with him, Sheila was certain, had to be because he never saw his own father. But still, she thought, to not even consult me!
“So, what’s next?” She clenched her shaking hands into fists.
“I’ll be leaving in two weeks. The recruiter said that’s enough time to give notice at work and get my affairs in order.”
“We’re still on our honeymoon! Did you tell the recruiter that?”
“He doesn’t care.” Jim hung his head as if something important had dropped on the floor. “I should have talked to you first. I made the decision and wanted to do it right away.”
When he decided to take action, it was always spontaneously. That’s what happened when they’d decided to get married. Sheila’s father had insisted she move back home rather than living in the dorms with her friends. “Your mother and brother need you here,” he’d said.
When Jim heard this, he said, “You need to escape from under his thumb. Let’s get married.”
“What about my music degree?” she’d asked.
“You’ll get it eventually. It’ll take a little more time.”
Being with him every night trumped attending the University of Minnesota.
Now, deep down, Sheila knew his enlistment in the navy was for the best. Twenty years old, healthy, and with nothing to defer him, the army would soon want Jim as much as she did.
He wrapped his arms around her slight frame, holding her close to his chest as if sheltering a bird with a broken wing. “I don’t want to go, but what choice is there?”
“I don’t know.” She grabbed for a tissue to wipe her wet cheeks.
“It won’t be that bad. I have basics, and then you can be with me wherever I’m stationed. You’ll just have to get a job.”
I wanted to start night school this summer. “How long will you be gone?”
“Twelve weeks.”
“Three whole months.”
“Let’s go out to dinner—Luigi’s maybe?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He held her away from him, his large hands heavy on her shoulders, making Sheila feel smaller than ever. His hazel eyes stared into her moist brown ones. “The navy might be fu
n.”
She’d be increasing the distance from her parents. That’d be good. What about Tommy? The only one Sheila would miss was her younger brother. His dark red hair, similar to her own in color, always made her smile because of the many cowlicks.
With a resigned sigh, she stepped away from Jim and put the uncovered pan of mac and cheese in the refrigerator. “Okay, let’s go out to dinner.”
“I’m sorry, my little doll. Let’s go in there.” His towel dropped to the linoleum floor as she let him lead her to the bedroom.
After Jim left for basics at Naval Station Great Lakes on Monday, March 15, Sheila stayed in their apartment but told the manager she’d vacate in a few months. Each night she crossed off the day on her wall calendar with a big black X. She wrote long letters to Jim that mostly spoke of her love for him. She played her guitar and sang “I Will Wait for You” and other yearning songs. Work at the bank gave her a routine that made the days go by faster.
The old Mercury had been sold, something that Sheila commiserated with Jim about, saying, “You feel as bad about that car as leaving me.” Of course, he’d denied this.
Other than food and rent, she had little to spend her $325 monthly salary on. Weekends, she saw her girlfriends who attended the university, but only for window shopping and inexpensive lunches, never parties.
On a Saturday afternoon in April, Sheila sat in a booth at the Point, their old high school hangout, with her best friend, Patty Clarke, who was earning a degree in psychology.
“Why not start some music classes?” she said.
“I’m following Jim wherever he goes. I have to save for that.”
“You could ask your dad for help.”
“I’ll figure this out on my own.” Sheila squared her shoulders.
Patty’s full face scrunched into frustrated lines, but in a few seconds it smoothed. She took a french fry from their shared plate and trailed it through a dollop of ketchup. “I understand. Still, this is so unfair. For everyone. We miss you.”
Sheila’s other friends said things like, “Going to a kegger is perfectly harmless. It won’t mean you’re being unfaithful to Jim.” She did consider this. It was getting awfully boring and lonely staying in the apartment night after night. Inevitably she decided, I have to be strong. It felt better to be by herself, putting in her time like Jim was putting in his time at basics, even if it did seem like their separation would last forever.
Every Sunday after mass at the Basilica of Saint Mary, she took a bus to Crystal, a suburb about eight miles away, to see her parents and Tommy. As she walked down a narrow street without sidewalks, passing other early-1950s three-bedroom ramblers, her throat tightened.
“What do you hear from that husband of yours?” was one of Carl Doty’s stock questions once they were settled around the kitchen table.
Sheila answered her father with something like, “He’s doing fine.”
Carl would be drinking a Hamm’s. “Want one since you’re an old married lady?”
Sheila always refused, opting for a Coke.
Then, he would say something like, “You’ll be moving home when things don’t work out.”
Never!
Lily, her mother, who went alone to early mass at Saint Cecelia’s, the local church, usually came home, started drinking, and passed out in the bedroom. If still sober, she never said much, mostly nodding her head in agreement with whatever Carl had to say. When she did make a remark, like, “I think so too,” it came out sloppy and slurred.
Tommy would sit in his usual corner chair across from Sheila. He had his own passel of questions. “What’s Jim up to? Does he like the navy? Does he say anything about me?” He never asked how she fared.
Sheila put this down to him being sixteen and idolizing Jim. If it weren’t for Tommy, she thought, I’d never come out to this place.
Each visit lasted an hour at the most. Sheila left, feeling disgusted with her parents and more protective than ever of Tommy. And she’d recall her mother’s oft-repeated words, “You’re the strong one. Take care of your little brother.”
On Saturday, June 12, another bus returned Jim to Minneapolis for leave. A yeoman third class, he’d been assigned to the USS Matthews, AKA 49, a cargo ship home ported in Long Beach, California. Sheila prepared for the upcoming move by storing most of their few things—dishes, linens, records, books, and her precious guitar—at Patty’s house.
Mrs. Clarke, always a favorite, said, “You can leave the boxes as long as necessary, dear.”
Sheila packed her three-piece, red American Tourister suitcases—a strange high school graduation present from her parents who had been so opposed to her ever going away—with as many clothes and personal belongings as she could squeeze into them.
At about eight in the morning on Wednesday, June 30, Sheila and Jim waited for a flight to Los Angeles.
Carl, who wouldn’t take no for an answer, had driven them to the airport. This did save money on a cab.
Before they boarded the Continental Airlines plane, Carl hugged Sheila tightly, arms wrapped around her like a straitjacket. She pushed him away.
Undaunted, he said, “Here’s for when you have to come back,” thrusting a one hundred–dollar bill in her coat pocket.
Sheila tried to hand it back.
“No argument. I’m paying for your return ticket,” he said.
Lily, a sickly sweet smell of gin filling the air every time she spoke, murmured, “Don’t see why you have to leave.”
“It’s going to be damned lonely for you. That husband of yours will be gone most of the time.” Carl said this as if Jim wasn’t standing right there. “I remember what it was like in the navy. You’re not going to know anyone in Long Beach.” He had served during World War II and despite his words, had often referred to this as “the happiest time of my life.”
“I’ll make new friends and I’ll be with Jim as much as possible.” Sheila couldn’t help but think, Will I find any friends?
Meanwhile, Jim stared at his shiny black regulation shoes.
Tommy, looking as if he might burst into tears, quickly hugged Sheila before turning to Jim. “You’ve been like a brother to me. Take care of yourself.” They shook hands. Tommy’s other hand clamped on Jim’s shoulder, fingers pressed so hard that the tips turned red.
Neither Sheila nor Jim had ever flown.
After a particularly scary tremor of the airplane, Sheila said, “I can’t help thinking about that accident.” She slipped her damp hand into Jim’s. Days before an Air Force jet transporting Marines to Vietnam had gone down near Los Angeles, killing all eighty-four aboard.
“What are the chances there’ll be another crash so soon?” Jim said. “It’s not going to help to talk about it.”
She looked at the layer of clouds outside, feeling queasy, as if a case of the flu had set in. How can we be up this high, in this big metal trap?
Taking a newspaper stashed in the seat pocket, Sheila turned to what looked like an interesting article. It told about the first American to “walk” in space. Edward White was the astronaut. He had left Gemini 4 and spent twenty minutes at the end of a 23.7-foot lifeline. Sheila looked at Jim, whose eyes were closed. She kissed a fingertip and touched it to his smooth cheek. He was her lifeline. A tingle went through her body as she wondered, Where will we make love tonight? Then, she began her mental recitation: I can’t live without you. I’d do anything for you. I’d go anywhere in the world with you. If the airplane crashed, so be it. They’d die together.
Jim slept through most of the four-hour flight.
Once they gathered Sheila’s luggage and Jim’s duffel bag from the claim area, the pair wandered around bustling Los Angeles Airport for at least thirty minutes.
“Everyone seems to know exactly where they’re headed,” she said. This airport was so much bigger than the confusing one in
Minneapolis.
“Don’t worry. I’ll sort through this.” He held her largest suitcase in one hand and the duffel bag hung over his other shoulder.
For several minutes, they stood watching purposeful people rush by. Jim scanned the area as if he was preparing to tackle a receiver. “There’s a sign.” He gestured to one of many. It read: Transportation to Long Beach and Destinations South.
At a ticket window, Sheila sifted through her black patent leather purse for money, her feet making contact with the edges of the two smaller suitcases to make sure they weren’t stolen. She gave the cash to Jim, who paid, after which they juggled their belongings and headed outside to a dirty, tan bus. The driver took all their things except for Sheila’s purse and shoved them into a lower compartment between the tires.
At least they’ll be safe. The air smelled heavily of tropical flowers and the bus’s exhaust. Sheila felt glad to be on the ground, and for an excited moment, she thought, Soon we’ll be in Long Beach. But a minute later, What then?
They squeezed into a seat with Sheila by the window. When the bus started to move, their shoulders companionably jostled.
“Can you believe all these palm trees?” she said. They lined the road. This was something else neither of them had seen before.
“Cool.” Jim had lost his nonchalant attitude, a note of anticipation creeping into his voice.
Hot summer air blew in the open windows, along with clouds of dust. They were oblivious. Both of them gawked at the ocean and other exotic scenery.
“Those oil derricks out in the water are sure ugly,” Sheila said. “They look like gigantic grasshoppers.”
“You never see them in pictures of beautiful California.”
Less than an hour later, the driver hollered, “Seavue Hotel—Long Beach.”
It was located across the street from the Pike, an amusement park with a lit-up entrance. Prior to embarking on their journey, this park would have grabbed Sheila’s attention. Now, she fumbled with the smaller suitcase and her makeup case, silently fretting that Jim might drop her heavier one, which contained a framed photograph from their wedding.
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