Hope's Angel

by Fifield, Rosemary

Like the presence of the Ku Klux Klan in Vermont, trying to drive out Jews and Catholic immigrants. Connie gave Angie an admiring smile. “How come you know all this stuff?”

  Angie picked up her pencil without answering and turned her face back toward her math problems. Connie sat quietly for a moment, then rose from the table and went down the hall to the room she and Gianna shared.

  What did she believe in? Gianna was willing to stand up to social convention that said black and white shouldn’t date. What was Connie willing to stand up for? Keeping young men from dying in Vietnam? Because that’s what it came down to, for her. Doves protested the military industrial complex fomenting war for its own monetary gain. Hawks said the U.S. had to stop the spread of communism. Others talked about imperialism and believed what happened in Southeast Asia was none of America’s business. For Connie, it was all about members of her generation dying for no good reason in a country that didn’t even want them there. But was that a noble cause or a self-serving one? Was it the right reason to oppose something that was so much bigger than she could comprehend? And what about the protestors who vilified soldiers who had been in Vietnam, calling them baby-killers and war criminals? She didn’t want to be associated with them or their tactics.

  She sat on her bed and stared out the window into infinite darkness that deepened her sense of isolation. Life was becoming so complicated—so many contentious issues, so much violence. Needless, tragic death was occurring everywhere, from Southeast Asia to Atlanta and California. People were fighting in the streets of Chicago and down South and on college campuses across the country. The world was becoming a frightening place. In the meantime, what were her big challenges? Writing papers and taking tests. Hitching a ride to college without embarrassing herself by having the guy meet her parents first.

  Connie let out a sigh of dejection. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to do with her life. She was a liberal arts major leaning toward teaching high school science, but that didn’t really excite her. She knew she didn’t want to be a nurse; she had no tolerance for blood showing up in places where it ought not be.

  The thought of blood took her back to Nino and Frankie and the terrible possibilities they and others like them would face every day in Vietnam. If she were a good person, she’d become a nurse and join the army. She’d learn to tolerate the horrors in order to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

  She rose from the bed and forced herself to sit at the desk in the corner and turn on the light. Her morning genetics lab would involve eye color in fruit flies and, as stupid as that sounded, it was a first step toward a meaningful career in medicine or science. She pushed all other thoughts from her head to concentrate on mutant chromosomes.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday, September 17

  Greg was seated in his car—a red 1967 Mustang—when Connie arrived at the Park and Ride lot. He greeted her with a half-hearted smile as he settled in beside her on the station wagon’s bench seat. A whiff of Canoe aftershave drifted in with him.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Glad you’re driving. I’m bushed.”

  “Late night?” Connie drove out of the lot and turned the station wagon onto Forest Avenue, heading north out of town toward Burlington.

  “Yeah. Wish I could say it’s from studying.”

  Connie smiled. “What were you doing? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “Not studying.” Still leaning back against the seat, he turned his head toward her and opened his pale eyes. “How about you?”

  “Genetics lab today. I studied.”

  “Such a good girl.” He closed his eyes and turned his profile to her once more. “Genetics, huh? So, you’re a science type. I had you pegged as a journalism major.”

  “I considered that, but teaching science seems like more of a sure thing.”

  “And you prefer sure things,” he said, as if that were a bad trait.

  “At least where my career’s concerned. I need to make sure my college days count.”

  Greg snorted. “College is supposed to be fun, too, you know. Everybody says life will never be as good again.”

  Connie glanced at him. His eyes were still closed as he leaned back against the seat. His good looks were not lost on her, and she smiled to herself as she remembered Marilyn’s remark about their friend’s crush on him. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. What’s your major?”

  “Poli sci, with a minor in economics. How’s that for making your college days count?”

  “Whatever floats your boat.”

  Greg let out a chuckle.

  “So, you must have a good take on Vietnam,” Connie said. “What do you think?”

  “Nobody has a good take on Vietnam. It’s a mess.”

  “Should we be there?”

  Greg raised one eyebrow as he turned to look at her once more. “Don’t you think that’s kind of heavy for our first ride together?”

  “Why?” Connie teased. “Are you afraid I’ll kick you out if we don’t agree?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Your last name’s Balestra, right?” he continued.

  “Yup.”

  “Italian?”

  “Yup.”

  “Sicilian?”

  Connie turned to look at him. “No. Why? You think I’m mafia?”

  He watched her from his laid-back position. “Like I said, anything’s possible. We don’t really know each other.”

  Connie’s amusement with him disappeared as she looked away. “Well, you’re safe. My family’s from Puglia. It’s the heel of the boot. Plus, I was born here. I’m American.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re the one who brought up the mafia.”

  Connie kept her eyes on the road ahead. “Okay, poli sci major, what do you know about the KKK in Vermont?”

  “The Klan? I know some people around here have the white sheet, pointy cap outfit in their attics. Why?”

  “I just learned about them. About how they’re not just against blacks, like you think, but Jews, Catholics, anybody who’s not like them.”

  “And that surprised you?” Greg shifted in his seat beside her. “The world is full of cretins. My mother could tell you that.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She’s a social worker. Part of what she does is find families with kids that are retarded or crippled or have birth defects or whatever. These hills are full of them. You can bet they don’t welcome strangers with open arms.”

  Connie pondered that for a moment. “Birth defects and retardation don’t just happen in rural families, you know.”

  “Maybe not, but those are the people she works with, because they’re the ones who need her help.” Greg turned to her. “What do your parents do?”

  Connie hoped he couldn’t see the embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she kept her face toward the windshield. “My dad owns a grocery store.”

  “Cool. Does your mom work?”

  Connie hesitated, then said, “She takes in laundry.”

  Greg nodded and said, “Hmm.”

  “Do you have sisters and brothers?” Connie asked, anxious to change the subject.

  “Two brothers and a sister, all older. You?”

  “Two sisters, one older, one younger.”

  Greg nodded again, then looked down at the books in his lap. “Guess maybe I’d better do some Russian.”

  “Russian! That’s cool!”

  “Yeah, I figure when I’m ambassador to the USSR, I’ll need to know the language.”

  Connie glanced sideways at him, and he laughed, then opened a large book on the top of the stack and began to page through it, his head down, his attention on the book’s contents. They drove in silence for the remainder of the trip.

  ***

  “He’s a jerk.” Connie pulled a baloney sandwich from her lunch bag on Wednesday and began unwrapping it.

  Marilyn rearranged the silverware on her
cafeteria tray, then broke the seal on the carton of milk she had picked up in the line. “Day two of the big rideshare, and he’s already flunked out?”

  “He slept all the way home last night! I had to wake him up at the Park and Ride! Then, this morning it was his turn to drive, and I was all excited about riding in his Mustang. And he asked if I minded driving again because he had a headache. A headache!”

  “He’s probably hitting the bottle at night.” Marilyn leaned forward and began forking macaroni and cheese into her mouth.

  Connie frowned at her. “Jump to conclusions much?”

  “Well, he doesn’t study, can’t stay awake, and starts the day with a headache.”

  “Maybe he just watches too much TV.”

  Marilyn shrugged. “One of us said he was a jerk, and I don’t think it was me.”

  “Well, he just bugs me.” Connie waved her sandwich for emphasis. “You know, the rich kid and the grocer’s daughter. My mother takes in laundry. His mother saves deformed children.”

  “Is that him speaking, or you?”

  The temerity of the question made Connie’s temper flare, but she couldn’t deny Marilyn was right. She turned her attention to the sandwich, carefully pulling it apart and setting half down on its wax paper wrapping while the heat of a blush rose up her neck.

  When she didn’t answer, Marilyn said, “If he looks down on you, why would he lower himself to ride with you?”

  Connie held the sandwich up to take a bite. “It’s free. Plus, he gets an extra hour of sleep.”

  Marilyn chuckled. “Wow, you really don’t like this guy. So… why don’t you dump him?”

  “I want somebody else to drive in the snow. Plus, he’s good to look at.” Connie bit the sandwich.

  Marilyn wrinkled her nose. “Bones and fat in all the right places—that’s all that is.”

  “Gross.” Connie gave a dramatic shiver.

  “Some bio major you are.” Marilyn stabbed a stray elbow macaroni with her fork. “What’s happening with your sister and her new man?”

  “Her one and only man? She seems happy. He’s coming down from St. J to meet the folks on Friday. Then they’re going somewhere.” Connie dismissed the whole thing with a wave of her hand. She wasn’t about to admit—to herself or anyone else—that she might be just a little jealous of Gianna. “I can’t keep track. Nor do I care.”

  Marilyn smirked. “And what’s happening in your love life?”

  “Not funny.”

  “Well, I give you a couple months, and you’ll be gaga over the jerk.”

  Connie focused on the orangey glop congealing around the elbow macaroni on Marilyn’s plate. It looked like plastic. “How can you eat that stuff?”

  Marilyn answered in a sing-song voice. “You’re de-flect-ing,”

  “No, I’m grossing out over what you choose to eat.” Connie knew, without looking, that Marilyn was grinning, and the implications of the grin irritated her. “I am not interested in Greg Fairchild! He’s an elitist jerk who’d rather party than study! He lives a self-serving lifestyle while other guys die in Vietnam!” I’d take Nino over him anytime.

  “Wow.”

  Connie glared at Marilyn.“What?”

  “You’re all over the place about this guy.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You don’t know how you feel about him, do you?”

  “Buzz off.”

  Marilyn laughed, then said, “Hey, seriously. Why do you think your dad changed his mind about letting Gianna see her black guy? I mean, do you think it’s real? How’s he going to react if she wants to marry him?”

  “I don’t know.” Crabbiness now dominated Connie’s responses. “Maybe he realizes that people who are victims of discrimination should stick together.”

  “Or, at least not do it to each other,” Marilyn said. “But getting married could be something else.”

  “Let’s not get her married before she’s even gone on a real date. So far, they’ve had coffee together and checked out where he works.”

  “Is he hot?”

  A vision of David flashed through Connie’s mind, and she smiled to herself as she remembered the effect he’d had on her. “Yeah, he’s hot.”

  “As hot as Greg?”

  Connie shook her head in disgust. Leave it to Marilyn to carry things too far. “Just shut up, okay?”

  ***

  Greg was late. Connie sat in her car, watching the breeze stir the multicolored leaves of the maples at the edge of the commuter lot. Her thoughts wandered from the beauty of autumn foliage to concern over the next day’s statistics quiz to irritation with Greg for holding her up when she was ready to go home. As much as she might want to, she couldn’t leave without him, and the realization made her jaw clench as she stared out the driver’s side window.

  The passenger side door opened, and Connie jumped.

  Greg gave a small laugh as he slid onto the bench seat, clutching his books to his chest with his left arm. “Sorry, if I scared you. Sorry I’m late.”

  Before she could respond, he swung his right hand into view, holding before her a bouquet of cut flowers wrapped in cellophane. She regarded the array of autumn-colored mums and white baby’s breath with confusion, unsure if she was meant to hold it for him as he closed the car door or to accept it as a gift.

  When she didn’t take it, he thrust it closer. “This is to apologize for not keeping my side of the bargain this morning.”

  “For me?” Connie managed a tentative smile, unsure why he thought that merited flowers.

  “Yeah. I’m just hoping they don’t make your boyfriend come looking to punch my lights out.” A lop-sided grin spread across his face.

  Connie stared at the bouquet. Except for the obligatory corsage given to her by Nino when they went to the senior prom, she had never received flowers from a guy before. “You didn’t have to do that.” A wave of guilt washed over her as she remembered her annoyance with him.

  “I know, but I wanted to. Where should I put them? I guess you can’t hold them if you’re driving.”

  Connie glanced down at the empty space between them on the bench seat. “Right there, I guess. Thanks.” She looked up and smiled. “That’s very nice.”

  “No problem.” He set the flowers on the bench beside her, then pulled the car door shut and bent over to put his books on the floor at his feet.

  Connie took the opportunity to check out the muscled curve of his back and the thick chestnut hair curling softly over his collar. Was he fishing for information by making that remark about a boyfriend? What should she say? Tell him the truth or leave him wondering?

  “How was your day?” he asked as he sat upright once more. “How was genetics?”

  Connie turned the key in the ignition, then put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, keeping her attention on the rear view mirror. “Okay. Looking at eye color in Drosophila has its limitations. Did your headache finally go away?”

  “Yeah, around noon. I’m just hoping it’s not mono. My girlfriend has the same thing—tired and a headache.”

  Connie nodded as she shifted into first and drove the car out of the lot onto the street. Her questions had just been answered.

  “I hope you don’t get it,” he said.

  “I think you get a sore throat and a fever with mono. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Anyway, you’re not at risk of passing it to me. ”

  Greg grinned at her. “I don’t think kissing’s the only way to spread it.”

  Connie kept her eyes on the traffic around them. “No, but you have to share stuff, like glasses in a dorm. It’s not airborne.”

  “One more reason not to live in a dorm.”

  “That won’t help much if your girlfriend does.”

  They rode silently for a few minutes, and Connie’s thoughts went back to the bouquet on the seat beside her. How was she going to explain the flowers to her family? They had no idea Greg was riding with her.

  “Does your boyfriend?” he a
sked.

  Connie glanced at him. “What?”

  “Live in a dorm?”

  Connie returned her attention to the car in front of her. “No.” And that’s not even a lie.

  She could feel Greg watching her as he said, “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

  Connie laughed, remembering David Thomas’s remark about Gianna not being able to get a word in edgewise. “I can be. Why? What do you want to talk about?”

  “You. If we’re going to ride together, we should probably know something about each other.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? I’m not asking for family secrets, just conversation. Have you lived in Stoneham your whole life?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have two sisters. Names?”

  “Gianna and Angie.”

  “My brothers are Garrett and Glenn, and my sister is Georgianne.”

  “Lots of Gs.”

  “You got it. Pets?” he asked.

  “Nope. My dad doesn’t like animals in the house.”

  “We have dogs. Two of them. Black Labs.”

  When Connie didn’t answer, he said, “I’m boring you to tears, aren’t I?”

  She laughed. “No, not at all.”

  “Okay, then I’m going to keep it up. Tell me about your boyfriend.”

  Connie drew a deep breath. She considered using Nino as her cover, with a story about how he was about to go into the marines. Or maybe Paul Cefalu, whom she’d known since kindergarten. But while there was little chance that he actually knew either one of them, they did all live in the same Vermont town.

  “I don’t have one right now. I’m concentrating on school.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Connie glanced at him. “Why do you say that? Some of us actually do care about school.”

  “I care about school.” He appeared offended. “I meant you’re kidding about not having a boyfriend.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She turned back to the road, flustered. “I guess I’m just a little distracted.”

  “By what?”

  “Um, well, my parents don’t know that we’re riding together, so I‘m … trying to figure out how to explain the flowers.”

  “They don’t know? Why not?”

  Connie let out a sigh. “Because my mother wanted to meet you first. She’s pretty old-fashioned.”