May Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 24)

by Faleena Hopkins

  “Just me, Pops. Relax.”

  “Jerald! Thought I might have a tussle on my hands. Close the door! In fact, push that rug up against it! Was it the smoke that told you I was here? Have to stop that immediately. Can’t let her find out.”

  I drag and bunch it as best I can. Wiping my hands I stroll over to ask, “Say, wanna give me one of those?”

  His eyebrows lift with surprise. “Don’t mind if I do! When did you become a cigar man? Pick that up on the sub?”

  “It was cigarettes. But I didn’t like them much. Let’s see how these taste.” He stands to hold out an open box, wood carved to inform all who can read that the treasure inside was rolled in Cuba.

  Pops strikes a match on the fireplace mantel, flame impressive as sulfur catches. “Now don’t inhale it like a cigarette. We smoke this for the taste. Understand?”

  I enjoy a couple short puffs as he tosses the lit match into the fire, shaking his hands from the heat that nearly bit him. We sit opposite each other with Pops in the velvet chair and me on the sofa to enjoy our cigars and our manly silence. At the same time and without discussing it, we kick our feet onto the coffee table — mine bare, his slippered.

  After some time he asks, “Can’t sleep?”

  “Must be the time zone.”

  “Indeed,” he murmurs before a puff. “You’ve more strength than you know, son. Trust that. Lean into it.”

  I nod, and stare at the fire. Soon I’m seeing another one altogether, and the memory threatens to overtake my mind. Blinking to Pop I ask, “How are things in Washington, with the war over?”

  He exhales, eyes weary, rolling his cigar with an index finger and thumb nearly as thick. “Much work to be done. Much work. Not an easy transition. F.D.R was one of the best this country has ever known. He brought us through our worst financial crisis to be immediately met with a second war more devastating than the first. He cultivated relationships that enabled us to come together with one goal — take that evil maniac, Hitler, down for good.” Pops looks at the fire, amber light flickering on his concerns. “I daresay F.D.R. stuck around just long enough to see it through, and then off he went to get some much needed rest eternal.” Pops taps the ash into a tray not meant for it. “Now enter a Vice President who thought that’s all he would be for another four years. One who most likely didn’t see himself getting the vote after that. Some say he’s not of sound mind to hold this position, his need to outdo his predecessor too great. I am in agreement. But that’s neither here nor there because deal with it we must as it stands. The House has its hands full getting men back in the jobs they were drafted to abandon, farmers restructuring now that defense no longer needs first demand. Don’t get me started on our education system, the inadequacies this war exposed. The country must be rebuilt, and we are the ones to guide its growth. If all men could agree that would be simple. It is not. It’s an important time for me, and while I look forward to it, I cannot deny that I am tired. No time to complain though. Why? Because the nation is tired with me.” Setting his cigar down he rises with the future on his shoulders. “Care to join me in a whiskey?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I watch him lift the decanter, pouring into crystal and walking back with heavy footsteps. “Here you are.” He clinks our glasses, and sits down, picking up the cigar. “Let’s explore a more pleasant subject! What about this young May? There now! That’s the first smile I’ve seen tonight from you!”

  I roll my cigar, enjoying how it looks between my fingers as I ask, “You want a shock? I’m head over heels in love.”

  Pops stares at me.

  He explodes into laughter.

  I blink, confused.

  “Jerald, I don’t think that would be a shock to anyone. The look on your face! Your Mother and I have made friends with the Kearns. Over the summer we were at their house quite a lot. Fred barbecues with a sauce that makes my stomach ask for seconds before I step foot on his property. They’re good people, both your mother and I think so.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Not sure how that tipped off my feelings for May.”

  “Perhaps the first some twenty plus letters may have done the trick. Or the thirty-eight that arrived while we were there. No no, that’s not it. It was…”

  I wave for him to stop. “Alright, cut it out.”

  He chuckles, “My boy, I envy you your passion. Your Mother and I have…a tamer love. We respect one another, and it was a given we’d marry when our parents set it up. It was a love that grew on both of us. You see, in politics things are often decided with ambition ahead of heart. I was just lucky we got on so well. I know she was relieved. She’s told me so.”

  “I didn’t know this, Pops.”

  “How would you? It’s not something you tell your children. But you’re a man now, Jerald, and I suppose seeing your ardor for that sweet girl touches my heart.” He pauses to sip, licking his lips for the warmth. “Not so sure of her father’s blessing, however.”

  “Seems he lost all love for me tonight.”

  “You looked like the wolf greeting Little Red.”

  I stare at Pops, and we both start laughing. “Well, I’ll be. Guess I got myself into a jam.”

  Suddenly the drawing room door opens. Or tries to. That rug bars the way and mom calls through the crack, “Raymond, if you think I don’t know you’re smoking a cigar!”

  He stamps it out, muttering, “Guess rebelliousness runs in the family!”

  40

  JERALD

  “Ray, I believe you planned this in advance!”

  “How could I know exactly when our son would return home?”

  I stroll into the foyer and grab my fedora from a hook on the wall. Been a long while since I wore one of these. “I take it we were supposed to go to your church this week, Ma?”

  “Goodness, aren’t you handsome? And yes, once again I expected to show you off at my church, but because your sweetheart just happens to be at your father’s congregation, he wins again!”

  “Frances, I don’t believe devotion should be a competition.”

  This flusters her, and she stammers, “Well, I didn’t say that it was! But don’t forget, you asked to switch last week, and here we are the following week, which makes three in a row!”

  I chuckle at my fathers smirk, and we all walk outside together with me trying to change subjects. “Sure is a hot one!”

  “I stand by my original argument. When I asked to switch, I couldn’t have known precisely when Jerald’s fleet would return. This is purely innocent, I assure you.”

  Her heels click away as she throws him a glance over her right shoulder. “Don’t think I am not aware that you have inside information on such things.”

  Pops laughs, and throws me the keys. “If you can steer a submarine, you can steer my Lincoln.”

  I whistle my way around the spotless hood of his pride and joy. “How long did it take to dry out?”

  “Never bring that up again!”

  Ma eyes him as he opens her door, then climbs in the backseat and gives her the front. “A guilty man’s gesture!”

  “Woman, I have opened every door you have ever walked through since the day I proposed.”

  As I pull away from the curb, I ask, “How about before?”

  “We had a rather infamous argument regarding his refusing to open my door on occasions when he’d lost his temper.”

  “A fact she will never let me forget.”

  “I don’t see how you could!” After two blocks she confesses, “I am curious how Fred will behave today. He seemed quite out of sorts when we left.”

  From the backseat comes a huge guffaw. She turns around to demand, “What’s so funny?”

  “What if Fred treats Jerald like a king? What then? I daresay you would be disappointed!”

  “What an appalling thing to say about me.” She faces forward and clicks her tongue.

  The Catholic Church isn’t far from our house, another personal affront. She’s o
ften teased Pops that he chose that house to sway her to Catholicism from sheer proximity and ease alone.

  As we drive up, she leans close to the windshield and observes, “Quite a turnout!”

  On a dirt patch not meant for parking I slow and poke my head out the window to make sure we don’t hit this oak tree. “Wait here!”

  Ma watches me stroll around to open her door, a pleased smile shining from behind her window. She takes my offered hand, “Why Jerald, how delightful!”

  Father climbs out next, and mumbles something about leaving his fedora here rather than putting it on and taking it off again the moment we get into church.

  “You mean like every other man must do, Raymond?”

  Pops grumbles and grabs his hat, slapping it onto his head. “Fine!”

  “Oh look, there they are!”

  I’ve already spotted May, a walking sunbeam. She waves at me and her Father takes her by the elbow, hurrying her inside.

  My folks exchange a look.

  I slide my hands in my pockets, stopping to stare at the nineteenth century architecture. If there is a God, he’ll help me get a ring on May’s left hand. He knows how I feel about her and that’s gotta count for something.

  41

  MAY

  When you walk inside it always feels darker initially. But never here. Especially not when Jerald is back in Georgia to stay.

  Father warns, “Don’t look so moony-eyed!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t look sorry.”

  Wiping the smile from my face, I force earnestness. “I’m awful sorry.”

  He swipes his hat off, hand swinging it ferociously as he limps inside. Mother takes my arm, pausing by the Holy water to whisper, “Do be patient with him. He feels you’re growing up too fast.”

  “I’m used to you worrying, not him!”

  “Watch your tone,” she warns, friendly manner evaporating.

  Exasperated, I sigh and follow them to a pew where we don’t speak to one another.

  “Fred! Dottie! How wonderful to see you this Sunday morning!” We look over to watch Frances Cocker shimmying past other parishioners in order to sit beside us in this very row. “I love your hat! Is this new?”

  Father moves to put me in the center of them as Mother tries to ignore his rude maneuver and answer her much-admired friend, “Thank you for noticing! I bought it last week. Dipped into my savings for the splurge on account of it’s May’s eighteenth birthday this week.”

  “Oh, when?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “August 19th then?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Will there be a party?”

  “Her friends have one planned for next Saturday, I believe. Would you like to keep me company so I have someone my own age to talk with?”

  “Yes! I’ll make sure to stay in town.”

  Holding his hat, Mr. Cocker says, “Good to see you, Dottie! Fred, been a long time!”

  Father doesn’t get the joke since his mood is upside down. “We just saw you last night!”

  Mr. Cocker blanks, “Right, well...”

  Jerald gives a polite but detached, “Good morning,” taking off his hat and setting it on the seat.

  Jerald leans forward to catch my eye, but it’s Father’s he catches instead.

  Mrs. Cocker quietly titters, “What a lovely day, isn’t it? And so many people! There wasn’t a parking spot left. My son had to park on the dirt, and you know what he did? He ran around to open the door for his mother.”

  Father practically snarls, her attempts to soften his demeanor with tales of Jerald’s manners so transparent they receive the opposite desired effect.

  But Mother has fallen in love with her friendship with Mrs. Cocker, and will let neither her husband’s nor her daughter’s behavior upset that. “I saw that. It’s usually only this crowded on Easter and Christmas.”

  “Quite right!” Mrs. Cocker leans to look past her husband to her son. “Jerald, do you know what would be a fine idea? If you were to take May out for a nice lunch after this!”

  I gasp, which everyone ignores because they’re each embroiled in their own reactions to her bold suggestion. Father, especially. “I don’t approve of that idea at all!”

  “Oh look! Father Timothy!” Mrs. Cocker turns her back on us to watch the procession and send a signal that she won’t hear another word of nonsense.

  For the entirety of Mass, I do not attempt a single sideways glance to Jerald for fear of an argument we’ll never recover from. With Frances Cocker singing the hymns as if nothing is awry, her voice louder than ours, we are teetering on the brink of destruction.

  During the final prayer, I reach for Father’s hand, and his white knuckles loosen from their strict hold on his fedora. His frown softens, and he exhales, closing his eyes as I give his strong fingers a squeeze to tell him I love him, and I appreciate his caring so much about me.

  Lily’s father left because he couldn’t take his wife being a drunk. He’s hardly around, and that’s why she didn’t follow her little brother Tommy’s decision to live with him.

  Sable might be joking about it every chance she gets, but the truth is her parents are rarely there. When they are, they don’t pay her much mind. Sure, she’s an independent and very intelligent girl, but it stings a little that they don’t take much interest in her or her studies. I see it in her eyes no matter how strong she is. She’ll cover it up a moment later, make jokes of sarcasm more often than not.

  Gertie’s folks are good people, but not very interesting.

  If I had to choose, I’d take fiery tempers and loving banter, any old day.

  Only when it’s our turn to exit, do I let Father’s hand go.

  Mrs. Cocker and Mother are happily talking about things that aren’t very important to lighten the air for us all.

  Outside we make a circle like the one we made when they first met, only with a different feel.

  Mr. Cocker starts to speak, but Jerald beats him to it. “Mr. Kearns, Mrs. Kearns, May, it was good seeing you all again. I hope you enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

  Putting on his cap, he touches the bill as our eyes meet.

  I stare after him, watching him go, my heart sinking.

  Mrs. Cocker is speechless.

  Father doesn’t know what to think, his frown of a different sort than before.

  Mother keeps opening and closing her mouth like she wants to say something but cannot find the words.

  Mr. Cocker‘s voice is deeper, somber. “Good day to you.” He puts on his fedora, and walks away.

  “Frances, I apologize!”

  “One’s honest emotions are nothing to apologize for,” Mrs. Cocker says, touching Father’s arm with compassion.

  Our family watches theirs from atop the church steps. My throat has grown sharp edges, and yet I can’t look away.

  In a hushed voice, Mother says, “Fred!”

  He keeps his volume low, too. “The boy needs time to cool off!”

  “But Fred!”

  “Dottie, now don’t look at me like that.” He motions toward the pickup, and as we walk to it he grumbles, “If he truly loves her, he’ll wait!”

  42

  MAY

  I face the wall, phone pressed against my ear. “Gertie, he still hasn’t called.”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  “Mother spoke with Mrs. Cocker an hour ago but when I tried to listen in, she wouldn’t let me.”

  “What could they have been talking about?”

  “I asked and of course it was as I’d expected. She was trying to smooth things over.”

  “And?”

  “Their friendship is intact, but there was no news about Jerald! She said he was in his room all day, and didn’t say anything about me at dinner.”

  “May, no!”

  “You should’ve seen his face when he stormed out of church. Like he wasn’t respected, or he didn’t care about me! I still can’t figure o
ut which!”

  “Gee, I wish I could call over there for you, but that wouldn’t be the thing, would it?”

  “No, I can’t have you do that. But thank you. It’s just that it’s been months and months and months and months, and after all that waiting…”

  “I understand. If Hank came back and I wasn’t allowed to see him, I’d have a fit! I can’t believe you’re so calm.”

  Mother calls up, “May, are you on the telephone? Who are you talking to?”

  “Gertie!”

  “Oh.” She walks upstairs looking disappointed for me. “I’m going to bed. Your father is sleeping on the couch tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, that’s why.”

  “Can I stay on the telephone a moment longer?”

  “Yes, but do try to keep your voice down.”

  I watch her disappear into their bedroom and shut the door. “I think she banished him to the sofa!”

  Gertie whispers back, “I heard! Is she really that sore for what he did?”

  “Seems like it!”

  “Yes, Papa! Oh May, I’m awful sorry but I have to go.”

  “Thanks for taking the time to talk.”

  “Goodnight! If you hear anything from him tomorrow, promise to call me?”

  “As if I wouldn’t!”

  We reluctantly hang up from opposite sides of Albany. Though it’s a small town, it sure feels like she’s worlds away.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sad.

  Trudging to bed in my nightgown, I shut the door. Right now everything feels heavy, even these tucked-in blankets. So I fall on top, and ball myself up.

  I truly had anticipated a phone call.

  Sure, during those long months I often tried to prepare myself that perhaps his letters were merely the sign of a lonesome sailor searching for hope. I felt I was living in the clouds, and the fall would be awful long if I wasn’t careful. But I could never hold onto that idea. He seemed so genuine. And there were so very many letters.

  Perhaps a call tomorrow.