The Truth According to Us

by Annie Barrows

  She turned her head to look at him. His back was to her, lean and brown, with his black hair curling on his neck. She watched one shoulder and the top of an arm rise and fall with his rhythmic breath. Moving carefully, so as not to wake him and destroy the opportunity, Layla turned. She wanted to look at him. There hadn’t been a chance before, not for looking, not for becoming expert. Her eyes traced over the shoulder, the arm, the back, the delicate shoulder blade. There was a puckered scar on his shoulder, a dark, shriveled, almost perfect circle. It was odd that it was so perfectly circular. Curious, she stretched out her hand across the space between them. For a second, her finger hovered there, and then she touched it.

  Without a sound, seemingly without moving, he was out of the bed. Blindly, he felt for the wall and put his back against it, facing the room. He stood there in silence.

  Layla sat up. “Felix? Honey?”

  He looked at her, his eyes fierce.

  “Felix? Did I startle you? I’m sorry—I—um—I guess you’re not used to having company.”

  Still, he said nothing.

  She watched his chest rise and fall. “You’re fast. I didn’t even feel the bed move when you got up.”

  His eyes scanned the room and returned to her. “There’s no one here,” she explained. “I touched you. On your back. You have a scar there. And I touched it. That’s what woke you up.”

  He let out a slow breath and nodded. His eyes went to the window, and the minutes passed as he watched the lightening blue. Finally, he turned back to Layla and saw her worried face. He smiled then and came back to the side of the bed. Without speaking, he twitched away the sheet that she held against her body.

  She relaxed and, smiling, settled herself against the pillows.

  “I know why you woke me up,” he said. “You don’t have to lie about it.”

  45

  I woke in the dawn. The sky was roaring orange and pink and gold, more colors than I’d ever seen before. I watched the black branches outside turn back into trees as the sky grew light. It was still more cool than not, but it wouldn’t last long. The curling breeze of the night was long gone, and the day was still and waiting.

  For the first time, I dared to think about how much trouble I was going to be in when Jottie got back. Maybe Mr. McKubin would distract her, but I doubted it. There was no possibility of hiding it; at least, I couldn’t think of a way. I could buy off Bird but not Minerva. Well, I would take my punishment, whatever it was, but I hoped Jottie wouldn’t tell Miss Beck that I’d been here all along; I would never be able to look her in the eye again. Not that I wanted to. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I got up and put my pillows back on the fancy parlor chairs. I should get my breakfast, I decided. Even though Father liked to sleep late, Miss Beck might rout him out of bed.

  It was harder than the night before, because I couldn’t make so much as a peep. I cut myself a piece of bread and threw the crumbs out the window. It must have taken me a full two minutes to open the refrigerator door silently, and then I stood there, torn with indecision. Eventually I drank some milk from the bottle and stuck my fingers in a jar of applesauce a few times. What Jottie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  I tiptoed around a bit more, combing my hair and such, and then I just waited. The parlor was beginning to feel like a jail, so I stood inside the broom cupboard for a while and then I went to the back porch and wedged myself up against the washing machine. Nothing happened. I watched the sun come over the trees. The clock struck seven, eight, and nine. The telephone rang, but no one answered it. The heat began to gather in the sky, and the outside went limp. After a while, the clock struck ten.

  I wished I had something to read, but the longer I waited, the more frightened I was to go back to the parlor, for surely they would get up soon. I waited and waited until the back porch was driving me crazy, and I decided to chance it. I edged through the kitchen and made for the parlor as quickly as I could. I was in the hallway on my return when I heard a door open upstairs, and my heart gave a big thump. I skittered right to the kitchen, but I was too scared to open the porch door, because it squeaked, so I dove toward the cellar. The cellar door didn’t shut properly but hung a little open all the time, so there were no squeaks to fear. It was dark on the stairs, and soft threads brushed against my face, but it was a little cooler there, if I wanted to count my blessings. I sat down on the second stair, The Beautiful and Damned in my lap.

  Seven was the earliest she could wake him. At four, that’s what she had decided. At four, seven seemed soon, just around the corner. Maybe she’d even sleep again, knowing she could wake Sol at seven. She’d knock on his door at seven, dressed, with her hat on, even, so he wouldn’t get any ideas, and she’d tell him the truth. Seven was only three hours away.

  At quarter of six, she didn’t think she could stand it much longer. Sol, she would say, I can’t marry you. I’m deeply fond of you—no—I love you. But I can’t break up the family; I can’t abandon Felix.

  He’d get mad. He’d say, You promised me. He’d say, This is your last chance to be a real person, a regular person, and you are about to throw it away.

  At ten after six, she got up and took a bath. The bathroom was cramped and dim, with a small window overlooking a light shaft. She scrubbed herself zealously and washed her hair for good measure. She peered in the mirror as she combed it out. She hadn’t looked at herself so closely in years.

  A heavy rap on the door startled her, and her comb clattered to the floor. “Just a minute!” she called breathlessly. After a moment of panic, she put her nightgown over her head and opened the door.

  Sol slipped in, his face ablaze with happiness. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t slept a wink.” He leaned against the wall and shook his head in amazement. “But I’m wide awake; I never felt better. I couldn’t wait to see you, dear. Not another minute. I started thinking about when I could come over—at four, I started thinking about it. I thought I should wait till seven, but I couldn’t.”

  She couldn’t help smiling a little. “That’s funny. That’s what I was thinking, too.”

  “Were you?” He seized her hands. “Were you awake, too?”

  “I was.”

  He didn’t hear the grimness in her voice. He laughed. “You should have banged on the wall. I would have come over.”

  “You could have banged on the wall just as well as I could,” she said.

  He nodded. “I didn’t want you to—well, to feel like, like I was, uh, importunate.”

  “Importunate?” She loved Sol, she truly did. “Importunate?”

  He flushed. “You know.”

  She nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “You were being considerate.”

  He nodded eagerly.

  “Makes a nice change,” she said.

  He smiled. “Can I kiss you good morning?” He reached for her. “In honor of how considerate I was at four?” She nodded and stepped into his arms. “Good morning,” he murmured, pulling her close. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

  It was wonderful, the way he held her. As though she were something precious. She softened. Maybe she’d been too hasty. Maybe she could work it out somehow. Maybe she could marry him and live at home, like Minerva—

  Sol’s voice was gentle, next to her ear. “You want breakfast? There’s a café—what’s it called? The Paddock or something. Anyway, it’s across the street. We could get something to eat before the first race.”

  “The first race,” she repeated.

  “It’s not until ten,” he said. “We’ve got lots of time.” He pulled away from her and smiled. “But I’m hungry now.”

  Her heart sank. “I guess I’d better get dressed, then.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go wait next door.”

  “Unimportunately.”

  He smiled. “You watch out. I’ll be plenty importunate once we’re married.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze as he opened the door. “I can’t believe you’re going to be mine.”<
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  She nodded. Her head felt like a skull.

  —

  “Sol?”

  He looked up and frowned with concern at her plate. “Don’t you like your pancakes?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “They’re fine.” She looked down at the pool of syrup. “It’s real luxurious to have someone else make my breakfast for me.”

  He nodded, satisfied.

  “But, Sol?” she persisted. “I got to talk to you. About this”—she couldn’t bring herself to say marriage—“wedding business. There’s a lot of things that need figuring out.” That was a good phrase, she thought.

  He put his fork slowly down. “Jottie? You’re not backing out on me, are you?”

  She blinked. “No. No! That’s not what I meant. I’m just fussing, is all.”

  “About?”

  “About the girls,” she said. She licked her lips. “I—I have to think of the girls. You see, I promised Willa I’d come back.”

  He cocked his head. “Come back when?”

  “Well. Today. But she’s—you know, I have to take care of her. Bird, too. I’ve been taking care of them all their lives.”

  His eyebrows met. “Felix works you like a convict.”

  “No!” She touched his wrist. “No, it’s not him. I wanted it this way. They’re my girls.” She thought of Willa’s dark eyes. “They’re my children.”

  “They’re Felix’s children,” Sol said. “And Sylvia’s.”

  She twitched her shoulders dismissively. “Oh, Sylvia. I raised them. And Willa, she’s something else. Smart as a whip, but she takes things hard, you know? She struggles. By herself, too; she doesn’t ask for help. She wants to understand everything, wants to make sense of things, and God knows, plenty of things don’t make much sense—”

  “Especially if you’re Felix’s kid,” Sol said, his voice harsh.

  Jottie nodded. “Yes, there’s that, but she adores him.” She pressed her fingers around her temples. “I have to hold on to her, Sol. I have to make sure she knows she’s not alone. I have to keep her—safe.”

  “What about the little one? Bird?”

  Jottie smiled. “Bird. God bless Bird. Tough as shoe leather since the day she was born.”

  “So she’s like Felix,” Sol interjected.

  He didn’t understand. “I suppose she is. But Willa is, too. The way Felix really is—” She broke off, unable to finish, unable to express her unease.

  Sol held out his hand across the table. After a moment, she placed hers in it. “Listen, Jottie. She can live with us, if you want. Both of them can. If that’s what’ll make you happy, that’s what we’ll do.”

  Her eyes dropped to their linked hands. He had no idea that his generosity conferred nothing, that she had never envisioned herself without them. She looked up at him and smiled. “You’re sweet, Sol. You’re awfully sweet.” She peered across the crowd of tables to a wooden telephone booth in a corner and stood. “What time is it?”

  He looked at his watch. “Almost nine.”

  “I’m just going to make a phone call.”

  He watched, frowning, as she wove between the tables.

  —

  Honestly, thought Jottie, listening to Minerva’s phone ring for the eighth time. You’d think she could bestir herself a little.

  “Morning.” It was Henry.

  “Henry. This is Jottie here. How-you?”

  “Fine. I’m fine. Where—”

  “I’ll be coming along pretty soon, Henry. But it’s going to take me a while. I’d better talk to Minerva.”

  “She isn’t here. She and Bird got up at the crack of dawn and went off to the river with Mae.”

  “Well, it is awful hot, I guess. I’ll talk to Willa, then.”

  “Willa?”

  “Yes. You said Bird went to the river with Minerva.”

  “She did, but Willa’s with you. Minnie said.”

  Henry never paid attention to anything. “Willa’s there,” Jottie said. “She spent the night there.”

  “No, she didn’t. The two of you went to Moorefield, is what Minnie said.”

  Her brain refused the information. “No,” she said to Henry. “She’s there.”

  “No. She isn’t,” Henry insisted.

  “Willa’s not at your house?” Jottie whispered.

  “No. Are you saying she’s not with you?”

  “No.”

  “No yes or no no?” Henry demanded.

  Lost. Jottie closed her eyes tight, trying to find her.

  “Jottie!” yelled Henry.

  Where would she go? What would she want? Her mind wasn’t working, there were no ideas, no pictures, no traction. Finally, who knew how long it took, there was an itch—where did it come from? Yesterday. Yesterday, what had she said? Something about Layla, about leaving her alone in the house. It had seemed so strange. As if she were worried about Layla—but she didn’t care about Layla. It was Felix she cared about, and Felix wasn’t home. He wasn’t. Though she hadn’t checked.

  “Henry, I got to go. I’ll call back later.” Jottie held down the hook, her unseeing eyes fixed on a table of old men in front of her booth. Blindly, she fumbled for another nickel and dropped it in the slot. “Collect call, please,” she said to the operator. “Macedonia again.”

  Layla woke to the blaze of full morning, hot and heavy. She was trapped under the weight of Felix’s leg, bound by his arm. She stirred restlessly, her sticky skin peeling away from his.

  He didn’t move.

  She could wait. After all, wasn’t she where she wanted to be? She smiled to herself, looking proprietarily at the mixture of their bodies. She’d surprised him, she knew. That must’ve been some finishing school. She giggled.

  “Shh.”

  He was awake! She burrowed deeper against him. “We should get up,” she murmured.

  Nothing.

  She kissed his neck. “Get up,” she whispered.

  His hand moved from her waist to her mouth and covered it.

  She laughed against his palm. She wanted to exult with him. He needed to be awake so she could love him. “It’s late,” she urged. “Rise and shine.”

  He rolled off her and turned away. Far away, downstairs in the hall, the telephone rang.

  “Telephone!” she called, hoping to rouse him.

  Nothing.

  She listened to it ring until it stopped. Then she examined the ceiling. She waited, her stomach gurgling. She was starving. He wouldn’t want her to starve. She leaned over him and hesitated, remembering his strange, silent flight the night before. After a moment, she exclaimed, “It’s after nine!” Silence. She tried again. “Do you know how many hours we’ve been in bed?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Twelve!” she said. “Almost twelve hours.”

  “In bed isn’t sleeping,” he mumbled.

  “I know. But aren’t you hungry?”

  He nodded, his eyes closed.

  She could touch him now, she decided. She leaned over his shoulder, her hair falling in a curtain around his face. “We’ll have years to sleep, Felix. Years and years of sleeping, you and me together. I’m too happy to sleep now.”

  His eyes opened then and slid sideways in her direction. He smiled. “You want to know something?”

  “What?”

  “Jottie’s always right.” He was almost laughing.

  She shook her hair, tickling him. “Jottie?” She stroked his chest. “Pooh. I’m the one who’s always right.”

  With a swift movement, he reached around, flipped her onto her back, and rolled over, pinning her hands down with his own. She felt a prickle of alarm as his eyes traveled over her speculatively. “What was Jottie right about?” she asked, subdued.

  “Mm,” he grunted.

  “What?” She wiggled and his hands tightened. “What did she say?”

  Finally he looked into her eyes. “I’ll tell you later. It’ll be a surprise.” He released her and rose.

  “Stop,�
�� Jottie said as they drove through Martinsburg. “There’s a drugstore. I’m going to call again.”

  Sol nodded and pulled the car up to the curb.

  Inside an airless booth, she listened to her telephone ring fourteen times. She could hear its angry blare pushing at the walls of her house. Why didn’t they answer?

  Jottie swallowed. “Macedonia again,” she said to the operator, and gave her Mae’s number. It rang and rang.

  “Guess nobody’s home,” the operator’s voice came crisply into the fifteenth ring.

  “Oh God,” whispered Jottie.

  “Ma’am,” said the operator reprovingly.

  “All right. Try this one,” said Jottie. Please, Emmett.

  “In Macedonia?”

  “No, this one’s in White Creek.” Be home.

  It rang only twice. “Hello?”

  “Emmett!” she cried.

  The operator interrupted. “Will you accept the charges from a Miss Jottie Romeyn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go ahead,” said the operator.

  “Emmett, can you go down to the house? Willa’s missing, and I think—”

  “What? Where are you? Jottie?”

  She was crying. “Emmett, I’m—well, I’m in Martinsburg now—I’ll explain it all later, but I told Willa to take Bird over to Minerva’s to spend the night while I was gone, and she never went, and I think she’s in the house with Layla, but they don’t answer the phone, and”—she caught her breath the best she could—“can you go over and see? I’ll be another forty-five minutes at least, and I just can’t—”

  “Sure, yes, I’ll go now. Where’s Bird?”

  “She’s with Minnie; they’ve gone off to the river or something. It’s Willa. She never went—”

  “Okay, I got it. I’ll go right down. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”