May Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 24)

by Faleena Hopkins

  His grin vanishes on the reminder, “I asked you first.”

  “And so you did. But that doesn’t mean I have to answer you first.”

  “Why May, I believe it does.”

  “I don’t think that’s a rule. Not a real one.” I smile as he laughs, and continue on to say, “Jerald, I meant what I said last night! Numbers are confining. Why must we use them as measuring sticks? Why not just decide how you feel on your own, about someone?”

  “Alright,” he nods, with one hand on the bar and the other resting behind me, his chest broad and open, buttons just above his sweater-vest collar pulled taut. “I’m twenty-two in November.”

  I make a sound I’ve never made.

  He looks at me from under blonde eyebrows. “Thought numbers didn’t matter.”

  “I said I don’t like them. And now I like them even less.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my father has a shotgun.”

  Jerald laughs from his belly, and it’s a beautiful sound. Much better than the one I made. “May, how old are you?”

  “Fine, if you must know. I’m seventeen.”

  He sighs, “That’s a load off. You’ll be turning eighteen soon then.”

  “I really don’t think you understand you’re no longer a teenager, Jerald.”

  “I’m fairly aware of it.”

  “What I mean is, in my father’s mind you’re a man!”

  Holding my look he says, “I am a man.”

  Lily waves to me, “Hi May!”

  I wiggle my fingers, and mutter, “She did that to see Peter. Funny how he didn’t want to sit with her. He can see Hank any old day.”

  Jerald hums a bit and says an amused, “Sure kept Lily wondering.”

  Surprised, I ask, “You don’t mean to say he did that to make her wonder?”

  “What would I know about such things? I’m just an old fart!”

  Eyeing him I nod my head, “So that’s how it’s going to be.”

  Adjusting his cap, he smirks, “Certainly not with a smart girl such as yourself.”

  “Are you teasing me? Because I am smart. I may not be a Congressman‘s daughter, nor know anything about politics, and maybe I hate numbers, but that doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Oh you!” I push at his chest and we rock too much. He throws an arm out to steady me.

  “Whoa now. Stay still.”

  “You okay Jer?” Hank shouts.

  “Just moved a little too quickly is all! We’re fine.” Everyone on the wheel is watching us as the basket slows to normal. Jerald takes hold of my hand, and puts it over his heart, his voice becoming personal. “Feel how you make my heart race.”

  I laugh, and gaze at him thinking, oh my… I’m in for a ride, it seems. And none they sell tickets for here.

  If they did, the line would be for miles.

  15

  JERALD

  P eter encourages Hank, “You can do better, you know you can!” while we stand around the game. He’s to throw a ball through a hole in a wooden clown head. The distance is great enough that it’s a challenge. But my brother is set on winning a rag-doll for Gertie.

  Just like she did last night, Sable’s made sure we have something to eat, passing around hotdogs and soda pop as soon as they walked up. Marvin juggled more than he could handle. But that’s what he seems to enjoy.

  May wipes ketchup before it drips on her chin, smiling at me with her mouthful.

  “Taste good?” I ask.

  “Mmhmm!”

  “I’ll get it this time,” Hank grumbles.

  Gertie is chewing her thumb nail on account of she wants that rag-doll but doesn’t like to see him get worked up over the possibility of failing. She’s a sweet girl, and I can see why she and May are close.

  Hank throws the ball.

  We hold our breath.

  It hits the target in the forehead rather than the hole for a mouth. His shoulders slump, and they’re not the only ones to do so.

  I don’t like the smug look on the carny’s face, as if he knew the whole time Hank wouldn’t make it. It’s a racket. Everybody knows that. But it sure does a number on a fella’s self-esteem anyhow, to repeatedly fail in front of your gal.

  “It’s a dumb old game,” Gertie says, “Let’s go.”

  My brother taps the counter, making the decision, “Yeah all right, let’s see if we can find another ride that all of us can go on.”

  I’m disappointed, but I won’t tell him that. Not here. Not today in front of everyone.

  As we shove off, Hank looks at me, his face unsettled. I keep mine passive, but I can’t help how well he knows me.

  “Ah shucks,” he mutters. “Give me another three balls, will ya?”

  Hank pushes through our group to take his place again, cracking his knuckles and shaking his shoulders free from tension.

  Three more possibilities thump onto a wooden countertop built a week ago.

  Hank picks one up, aims.

  We all hold our breath again.

  Although I’m not as obvious about it.

  Come on, Hank, you can do this.

  Sable looks as if she might pass out from the worry. Marvin keeps checking to make sure she’s all right. Peter’s got enough concentration for ten men. Even Lily, who’s seemingly unshakable, is bouncing back-and-forth on her heels. Gertie swallows hard, clasping her hands so she still has nails. May slides her arm through mine, half-eaten hotdog momentarily forgotten in the other hand.

  Hank throws, and misses.

  He grabs the second one, and his frustration makes him not even hit the clown at all.

  Everyone sighs.

  Except me and the carny.

  “Hank, you see the smug look on this guy?”

  My brother looks at me, and then to the guy who’s been working this racket so long he doesn’t even bother doing us the favor of wiping off his smirk.

  That kind of rudeness is exactly what a Cocker needs.

  Everything about Hank changes. His posture. His gaze. The way he picks up the ball, casually tossing and catching it a few inches in the air just to gauge its weight.

  Gertie and May look at each other.

  Lily touches Gertie’s back.

  Sable is frozen.

  Peter silently eggs him on.

  And poor Marvin might puke.

  I’m watching my brother.

  And the bastard carny.

  Hank aims.

  Cool as can be.

  He throws.

  And whoosh.

  Doesn’t even hit the wood.

  Dead through the center of that creepy clown’s mouth like the thing was starving and this was its reward for giving up a rag-doll.

  Everyone cheers. Except me.

  Hank looks at me as his back is swatted by Peter. I tip my chin with approval and my kid brother’s grin spreads.

  The carny hands over a rag doll and Hank thanks him, turning to say, “Gertie, I got this for you.”

  The smile on her!

  Our group of eight walk off to see what else we can get ourselves into. Peter says, “Why’d you thank him? That guy was a real piece of work!”

  “Because that’s what you do with a guy stuck back here day in and day out no matter the weather.”

  Sable snorts, “I would’ve told him to stuff it!”

  “I did.” Everyone looks at Hank. “When I won. You want to know the best way to get revenge? Be happy. Then you don’t care and they don’t win. Pops taught us that, right Jerald?”

  He doesn’t wait for my answer, the group happily moving onto the next amusement. I’ve slowed to offer May the soda pop we were given to share. She stops walking to take a sip, putting a little distance between us and the rest soon enough.

  “You knew he was going to make it.”

  “Had an idea he might.”

  She hands back the glass bottle. “Does anyone ever call you the cocky brothers?”

  I laug
h and shake my head, “I don’t believe they have.”

  “I find that hard to believe! You both own your own worth.” She follows her friends and calls back, “And I rather like it.”

  Watching her polka dots sway I mutter to myself, “You don’t say,” and take my time in catching up. What a peach.

  We go on a few more rides, win a few more prizes, a few more coins well spent before the girls say they have to go home. May is by my side, the bear I won for her hugged close with one arm. She nibbles her bottom lip as we walk to the cars.

  “Can I call on you this evening, May? Would you like to get a malt with me?”

  Her eyes are cast down. “Gee I would like that, but I don’t see how!”

  Sable overheard and calls over, “Don’t forget, May is supposed to be at the hospital.”

  Lily corrects her, “That’s not true. I’m supposed to be at the hospital. May is watching Tommy at our house. At least that’s the tale. Perhaps you could’ve met her there?”

  We gather around Peter’s car since it’s first up. Everyone remembers at the same time that the other fib was we drove them to Sable’s house last night. Eyes light up with a new scheme, but I’m the first to say how it fits. “That’s right. When we drove you home, I asked if I could call on you tonight!”

  “I don’t know if they’ll let me, Jerald.”

  “Can we try?”

  The cloud over her eyes sure is persistent. “Alright, supper should be done at a quarter past seven.”

  I smile, “Then a quarter past seven.”

  With our group splitting up, we say our farewells.

  Just me and Hank now. As we hop in the car I ask, “What’s with the smile?”

  “And you didn’t wanna come to my dumb dance!”

  16

  MAY

  F ather pushes the tin closer to my empty plate. “Go on and fix yourself a slice before these kids rob you of the chance.”

  Margaret and Matthew are already diving into their second slices. I stare at what’s left in the tin, concentrating a little too hard on it.

  “What’s the matter, May?” Mother asks. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

  All through dinner I’ve hardly said a word. I tried to join in with their lively conversation, everyone in a good mood after enjoying a nice Saturday in their varying ways, but all I can think about is that Jerald will be calling on me soon, and I don’t know how to face it.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, I was just thinking it might be nice to go to the malt shop tonight. And I might ruin my appetite.” I hurriedly add, “Your pie is always so delicious, it’s awful tempting.”

  Distracted by my compliment, it takes her a moment. “Thank you, May, I know apple crumb is your favorite. That’s why I made it…after the fight we had last night.”

  Father reaches over to help himself to another. “Why don’t you stay home tonight? I’m sure those friends of yours won’t mind. You can see them any day, and your Mother made this special for you.”

  My stomach turns over, and I swallow hard.

  “There now, don’t look so glum,” Mother sighs, resting her wrist by her plate with fingers tense. “Nobody is forcing you to eat the pie.”

  “It isn’t that, really it isn’t!”

  “Then what is it?”

  Even the children are staring now.

  I swallow again. “A boy is picking me up at a quarter past seven.”

  Father pushes his plate away. “What boy is this?”

  Mother asks, “Do we know him?”

  With four sets of eyes waiting for my answer, I struggle, “You might.”

  But I’m hoping they don’t. If I’ve ever been lucky, this one time had better be it.

  Father hits the table. “Well?”

  “His name is Jerald, and he’s a very nice boy. A Congressman’s son.” My folks glance to each other and from the looks of it they might be impressed. They have found consolation in the fact that he’s not from the wrong side of the tracks. Given courage by this, I press on, “I was worried about telling you because he is…” Twenty-two in two months. “Nineteen.”

  “Out of high school?!”

  “Yes.”

  “In College?!!”

  “He um…enlisted in the Navy, and is leaving Monday.”

  It’s true! He did enlist, three years ago. And he is leaving Monday. Keep your face innocent and stop feeling so darn bad!

  Father’s chest relaxes, as does his fist. Laying his fingers flat on the table, he looks at the pie for a moment. “A Navy boy.”

  I blink, remembering how much he wanted to enlist but wasn’t able to on account of his leg. It never dawned on me that he might find Jerald a worthy suitor as a sailor even more so than the son of a politician. Father respects the men who protect our country more than those who control it.

  Which might be my lie’s saving grace. They won’t know anything about the Cocker family, especially not the real age of their first born son.

  “I think you’ll like him, if you’ll just give him a chance.” I reach across the table for Mother’s hand. “His family is very respectable.”

  “Nineteen,” she murmurs, worrying.

  Father says, “The boy leaves in less than two days. What trouble could they get into?” He clears his throat. “If it were a boy of a different sort, I would object. But the son of a Congressman I’d warrant is just as interested in his reputation as he is in my daughter’s. And anyone who chooses to serve our country is made of good stuff.”

  “I wanted to serve our country, Fred,” Mother reminds him.

  “Now Dot, let’s not go through that again.”

  Matthew and Margaret have resumed devouring what’s left of their second slices, even lifting crumbs with the pads of their fingers to suck on since they know my folks are distracted and won’t pay them any mind.

  A knock at the door gives us all a start, and we discover the clock-hands at exactly the right places for my father’s approving, “A prompt boy, at that.” He pushes his chair out and stands up.

  Mother looks at my polkadot dress. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  I hadn’t wanted to change and look suspicious. “Yes.”

  “It is becoming for daytime, but…” She unfastens her favorite necklace. “Put this on.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, child. Now hurry up. Don’t keep the boy waiting.”

  She starts to clear the table and I realize his status has her a nervous wreck.

  I won’t have that at all, so I take her hand. “Mother, come and meet him. He’s a swell boy, and I think you’ll like him very much!”

  She’d sat for supper with her apron still on, on account of it was just us and the children. She unties and tosses it in a heap out of sight, fixing her graying curls.“Well, alright. I am curious.”

  We enter the living room together, and see Father in the doorframe, his back to us, both hands in the pockets of his denims, button-up shirt still rolled just below his elbows.

  “Why Fred, invite the boy in!”

  Father reacts with a start and steps backward to allow room.

  My breath catches at Jerald standing on our welcome mat, dressed smartly in a suit. His stance is confident and open as he looks from me to my father saying, “May tells me you’re a Navy man.”

  I hurry to explain, “I hope you don’t mind, Jerald. I was telling Father how you just enlisted, since you’re nineteen-years-old now.”

  Jerald blinks to my mother. “Mrs. Kearns, I’m Jerald Cocker.” He removes his hat. “You have a lovely home.”

  She beams, and I can tell she finds him handsome. “Why thank you, Jerald. Would you like to come in for some pie?”

  Please say no.

  Please say no.

  Please say no!

  “I’d love to, ma’am, but I promised May a malt and I like to keep my promises. But if it would suit you both better that I stay here, then that’s fine by me, as well.“

  Father says, “O
h I don’t think that’s necessary. Why don’t you kids have a good time, as long as you have May home by nine sharp.”

  “You have my word, sir.” They shake hands and Father holds on a moment longer.

  “You give Hitler hell, ya hear me?”

  Jerald’s eyes gleam with understanding and respect. “Yes sir. That’s the plan, sir.” They let go and he dips his chin to Mother. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kearns.”

  “Pleasure to meet you too, Jerald.” She looks at me as I start to walk by, and I pause, give her a big hug. “I won’t be late.”

  “I know you won’t.” Surprised, my eyes widen, and she clarifies, “I trust him more than I trust you and he said he would have you back on time.”

  I gasp with a smile underneath.

  She wags her finger, smiling too.

  I give Father a quick hug, “Thank you!”

  Jerald nods to them both, dons his hat, and off we go.

  17

  JERALD

  M ay’s awful silent as we drive away, the top up again.

  I’m trying not to laugh at her lie, and if she’d just look over she’d know. But her hands are balled in her lap, half hidden by polkadots. She’s worrying her lips to a hot pink. I don’t mind that at all.

  “Say, you put on a necklace. I like it.”

  “You must think I’m a liar all the time! I’m not, cross my heart, but they wouldn’t have let me go had I told the truth!” She meets my eyes and sees how much she entertains me. Frowning, she asks, “You’re not sore?”

  “Nope.”

  She closes her eyes. “I wish my folks weren’t so terrifying sometimes!” Looking at me, May asks, “Are your parents like that? Never letting you have any fun?”

  “Can’t say that they are.”

  “What are they like?”

  “Well, let’s see now. Pops is grounded and serious most of the time on account of what’s on his mind, you know, in Washington. And Ma, well, she’s kind as the day is long, and the most effusive person I ever met.”

  “Effusive? I don’t know that word.”

  Turning toward the malt shop, I pause to concentrate on the road. “Look it up.”