by Janet Beard
He came to her and put his arms around her waist. “Lawrence was very happy. He wants to get dinner tonight. Is that all right? I know we had plans.”
“It’s fine. I’ve been wanting to go to the movies anyway.”
He patted her bottom and went toward his own office. “Thanks, honey. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go out tomorrow. Oh, I almost forgot. I actually have some work for you to do and need you to stay late tonight. You might still have time for the movie, though.”
“Sure. If not, I can catch it another time.”
He stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Thank you, June. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He held her gaze for an extended moment, his eyes shining with gratitude and affection. She felt her cheeks, already rosy from the heat, redden even more. He still had the power to look at her and make her feel like an altogether more capable, exciting, better person than she had ever felt herself to be before. One look like that, and a hundred petty grievances and worries would disappear. And maybe this approval from Lawrence was what he needed to cheer him up.
Once he was gone, she got to work on the letters he’d left behind for her, and the time went by quickly. The hallways became quieter and quieter as everyone left for the day, until the only sound was the rhythmic clatter of her typewriter.
(Courtesy of the Department of Energy)
Chapter 17
TOM WAS NEVER LATE. IN FACT, HE MADE A HABIT OF ARRIVING early wherever he went, which sometimes irritated Cici when she was running behind herself, taking an extra five minutes to do her hair, knowing he was waiting for her outside the dorm. Cici glanced at her watch again. Ten minutes late! She sat on a bench by the entrance to the rec center, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief to try and hide her perspiration. She wasn’t worried—with another guy, she might have wondered if he was losing interest or stepping out on her. But Tom was devoted.
He had written to his mother about Cici, and Mrs. Wolcott had actually sent Cici a letter. She had read it dozens of times. Everything about it was elegant: the return address was stamped on the flap of the envelope, Mrs. Wolcott’s penmanship was excellent, and even the paper was softer, smoother than normal. The letter was short and formal but kind.
Dear Cecilia,
It is unfortunate that due to the circumstances of this terrible war, we cannot meet at the present time, except via correspondence. I look forward to the happy day when you can travel with Tom to New Jersey and be introduced to our family in person.
Since he was a boy, Tom has been an excellent judge of character, so I trust him when he tells me you are a young woman of superlative character and innumerable charms. A mother cannot help but have strong opinions on the type of woman her son should marry. Having no daughters of my own, perhaps I feel this even more strongly than most. If his accounting is true, Tom would be lucky to have a girl like you by his side.
The Wolcotts are a welcoming family. I can assure you life amongst them is exceedingly comfortable, though not without its responsibilities. I hope you will accept my guidance should you become a member.
With warmest regards,
Eleanor Wolcott
Cici had to go to the library to look up superlative and innumerable in the dictionary. It was as though one of the fancy Nashville ladies she used to greet as a hostess had written her a letter, and was in fact inviting Cici to join her family. This had always been her objective, yet Cici could hardly believe she was this close to crossing the finish line.
She looked around idly. Out of habit, she found herself assessing the array of soldiers on hand. None were intriguing, not that she was tempted to step out on Tom, anyway. Things had progressed past the point of creating any useful jealousy; the key now was merely to keep steady, on course. She saw June and Dr. Cantor coming through the entrance. What a nuisance to have to make small talk with them. June had been a fine girl, but she had changed around that awful scientist, smiling up at him constantly, seeking his approval. Cici had never fawned over a man that way. And June was putting on airs. Not the useful kind that Cici had cultivated in herself, but foolish pretensions. She talked about the news and the war with this knowledgeable air that Cici knew was fake.
“Hi, Cici. Meeting Tom?”
“Mmm-hmm. You two have fun.”
Luckily, they went on past her without any further conversation. She knew Dr. Cantor didn’t like her, though Cici couldn’t care less about his opinion. He’d gotten June a job as his secretary, which was infuriating. Cici had thought about reporting their relationship to the Army. The trouble was she couldn’t prove they were doing anything against the rules, even if it was tacky for Dr. Cantor to get his girlfriend promoted. Now June wore suits and only had to work day shifts. Not that Cici particularly wanted to be a secretary. That was short-term thinking. She was going to be a wife.
She saw Tom walking toward her on the boardwalk before he noticed her. His head was down, and he was walking fast, distracted. She waved, but he didn’t see until he was standing practically in front of her. He looked at her with an expression she’d never quite seen on him—his brow creased, mouth clenched. “What’s wrong?” asked Cici.
“I’ve had a letter from Bobby,” said Tom. Cici had heard all about Bobby, Tom’s best childhood friend who was in the Navy.
“What did he say?”
“He’s been injured.” Tom didn’t elaborate.
“How serious is it?”
“He’s been in the hospital for weeks. He was burned.”
Cici began to understand the look on Tom’s face. She put her hand on his.
“I’m so sorry, Tom.”
“His face is burned. Can you imagine?”
Cici shook her head. Tom looked close to crying. “Poor Bobby,” he said. “He’ll never look normal again.”
“We don’t have to go inside. Do you want to go home?”
Tom stared at the ground and said nothing. Cici watched him, unsure of what to do next. She usually knew just what to say to a man, but then again men were usually happy around her. After a long silence, Tom seemed to become energized and grabbed Cici’s hands. He looked her in the eye and began speaking quickly, as though in a rush to get his thoughts out. “Let’s get married, Cici! I’m sorry—I know this isn’t how I should propose. I promise when the war is over I’ll get you a proper ring and a white dress, too, if you want. But let’s get married now, right now. I don’t want to wait any longer. Will you say yes? Will you marry me?”
Cici was shocked. She had never known Tom to be impulsive. She was about to get everything she wanted, and the feeling was almost too much for her to bear. “Of course I want to marry you. But we can’t even live together.”
“I know, I know. But listen, if anything happens to me—”
“What would happen to you? You’re perfectly safe here.”
“If I get sent to Japan. When we invade.”
“You think that will happen?”
“I don’t know.”
Cici thought of the letter from Mrs. Wolcott and squeezed Tom’s hands. “I’ll marry you, Tom. But you should tell your family first. I don’t want to go behind their back or get off on the wrong foot.”
Tom’s shoulders dropped as though relieved. “You’re right. Of course. I’ll write to your aunt as well to ask her permission.”
Cici dreaded forging a reply to Tom from her mythical aunt, but at least she had Mrs. Wolcott’s letter to guide her now. “That would mean a lot to dear Aunt Faye.”
“I love you, Cici.”
He kissed her fiercely, and the pressure of his mouth on hers made Cici feel like she couldn’t breathe. When he finally pulled away, she put a hand to his cheek. “I love you, too.”
It was the first time in her life she had said those words. Her family had never been given to emotional declarations, and they felt ill suited to her mouth.
Tom gave her a squeeze. “Cici Wolcott. How does that sound?”
“It sound
s wonderful.”
They went to the canteen and the roller rink, Tom telling everyone they saw along the way that they were engaged. His mood had completely transformed. Bobby was forgotten, and he wanted to celebrate. Finally she had to send him off to bed, but not before a long session of necking on the boardwalk, more than she’d ever let him get away with before.
She went straight to bed when she got to the dorm. They’d stayed out too late, and she was exhausted. Still, she found she was unable to sleep. She had done it. He would marry her tomorrow if she said the word. It was everything she wanted. Her future was secure—there would be no hunger, no hand-me-down dresses, no tobacco harvesting, no Baptist preachers.
Yet she didn’t feel quite happy. Success was unsettling. She had expected something more, something deep and satisfying. Instead, she felt empty. For so long, she had devoted all her energy to achieving this goal, and she hadn’t the faintest idea how she would occupy herself now.
***
IT WAS SAM’S idea that they go on a real trip together. They could get only one day off from work, so they couldn’t go far. But he’d heard colleagues talk about going to Gatlinburg for the weekend, a little town at the edge of the new Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Ann and Charlie had gone themselves a couple of months earlier and recommended a hotel. Sam made all the arrangements and told June all she had to do was meet him at the bus depot Friday morning with a suitcase.
He’d put it in romantic terms, saying it would be a chance for them to have some time to themselves, not at Y-12 but in a lovely mountain chalet next to a burbling brook. Still, June knew there was more to Sam’s urgency than he was letting on and suspected his main motivation was to get her into bed. He was always coming up with strategies for getting her over to the house when Charlie and Ann were out. The night before the trip, however, her monthly period came.
She didn’t know how to tell Sam. It was all she could think about that morning, waiting at the depot, her abdomen knotted in pain. It was a hot, hazy day already at eight o’clock, and she wanted to find a seat on the bus, hopefully by a window.
“Hello, gorgeous,” said Sam, putting an arm around her.
“Ready for our adventure?” she asked, and he nodded.
At least he seemed happy. Lawrence’s visit had cheered him briefly, but as soon as the physicist left town, Sam’s mood had turned sour. It was obvious he didn’t like his new job. He was irritable and short-tempered, snapping at June over the smallest things. He was also drinking more, and she was no longer able to distract him from his whiskey.
They had to take one bus to Knoxville, and then transfer to another that would take them the eighty miles to Gatlinburg. June leaned on Sam’s shoulder when they sat down.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm. Just sleepy.” The perfect opening for her to tell him, but she couldn’t.
They had time to kill in Knoxville, and Sam suggested a big breakfast at the bus stop diner. June ordered scrambled eggs and toast.
“Come on, is that all you want? It’s my treat. Sausage? Pancakes?” He was in such a jaunty holiday mood that she hated to disappoint him.
“I’m just not that hungry.” She smiled weakly.
The bus to Gatlinburg was only about half full, and they sat in the back, away from the other passengers. He put his arm around her and whispered in her ear, “Do you know what I’m going to do first thing when we get to the hotel?”
She didn’t want to hear about it. “Why don’t you wait and tell me about it when we get there?”
He leaned back into the seat to doze. She looked out the window as they crossed the Tennessee River. Two men were fishing off the side of a boat. It would be nice to be down there, able to jump right in the river for a swim, about the only way a person could cool down these days. Soon the buildings of the city gave way to farmland, and then a mountain rose up in the distance. The bus stopped in Sevierville, where the driver pointed out the historic courthouse with a tall clock tower in the middle of town. The majestic Mount Le Conte loomed in the distance, its muted blue standing out against the hazy summer sky.
Gatlinburg was hardly more than a village, populated with a few new inns and restaurants meant to cater to national park visitors. The park had been completed less than a decade earlier, and parts of it came over into Blount County, not that far from where June grew up. It had been another government project that forced people out of their homes. But June liked the idea of it better than that of a dam or bomb-building factory. The land had to be kept exactly as it was to be a gift to future generations. It was a comfort to know there were still places that no one could touch.
Their hotel overlooked the Little Pigeon River, and though the room was furnished simply, it did have a balcony with two rocking chairs, where you could sit and watch the water burble by. Sam seemed satisfied by it, and as soon as they had a look around, he tossed June on the bed. She had to speak now. “Honey . . .”
His eyes were closed, and he was kissing her neck, working his hands up her thigh. He paid no attention to her voice. “Honey, I have to tell you something.”
His hands were on her breasts, his mouth approaching her lips. “Sam!”
She had his attention, and he opened his eyes.
She swallowed. “I have bad news.”
“What?”
“My monthly period started last night.”
He sat up straight. “Oh. Do you not feel . . . up to it?”
“Um, I don’t know. Does it bother you?”
“Not if it doesn’t bother you.” He began kissing her neck again.
But the further his lovemaking progressed, the more she realized it did bother her.
When his hand tried to make its way between her legs, her muscles clenched almost involuntarily. She felt awkward and dirty. “I don’t want to ruin the sheets,” she said.
“I’ll get a towel.” He went into the bathroom and returned with one, a pristine white.
“It’ll ruin the towel.”
He tossed it on the bed. “What if we do it in the bath?”
“In the bath?” June wasn’t sure exactly how that would work.
“Sure, it’ll be fun.”
Her flesh pressed into hard porcelain, horribly self-conscious about the blood, June was sure that their romantic weekend was off to an inauspicious start.
They ate lunch at a nearby diner, both too embarrassed to make much conversation. June wondered if he was disgusted by her. As they finished their sandwiches, the afternoon loomed in front of them like a threat. June suggested they walk to the national park.
They walked in silence through the town, both lost in thought. June wondered what was going through his mind. She wanted the weekend to be good, wanted to think of some way to salvage it. She picked black-eyed Susans from along the side of the road as they walked, making a bouquet.
“We should look for a nicer place to get supper tonight,” she said. Sam nodded.
There was a small visitor’s center at the entrance to the park, and they browsed separately. June was relieved to have a few moments to herself, away from the oppressive silence that had dogged them ever since they left the hotel. It was already getting to be late afternoon, and when they got back to the hotel, she suggested a nap. They lay next to each other on the bed, fully clothed, but June wasn’t able to sleep. She knew this wasn’t what Sam had planned and wished she could will her body to cooperate.
She got up off the bed, deciding to take a bath instead. She ran cool water into the tub and dropped her hot body into it, savoring the chill it brought to her skin. When she got out, she put on her favorite summer dress, a delicate pink with a full skirt and little sleeves that just skimmed her shoulders. She filled a coffee cup with water and put the black-eyed Susans in it on the dresser.
“How do you like Gatlinburg?” she asked that night over their respective chicken and pork chop. She was determined to sustain a conversation.
“Not much of a town,
but the mountains are beautiful.”
“I’ve never been here before. Funny, ’cause I grew up so close. I’m glad they built the national park.”
“It looks lovely. It’d be nice to see more of it.”
The discussion continued along those lines. It was as if they had run out of things to say to each other. When they were done, they trudged back to the hotel room and Sam took a bottle of splo from his suitcase and went out to the balcony. She was fairly certain he’d already been into it before supper as well. She didn’t like it. It hurt her that he needed to drink that awful stuff, even on their romantic weekend. Why was she no longer enough to make him happy? She wanted to say something but knew if she did it would probably cause trouble. Idly she picked up one of the flowers from her bouquet and began ripping off the petals. He loves me, he loves me not. She felt she knew the answer without having to rely on a flower to tell her so.
For a moment she watched him. He was standing by the rail, looking down at the small river. She went out and stood beside him. He offered her the bottle, but she shook her head. The dark outline of the mountains was illuminated by an almost-full moon.
“You shouldn’t drink so much, Sam.”
“Why not? Because it’s sinful?” He was laughing at her.
“No. Because it makes you unhappy.”
“I’d be unhappy without the liquor. Drinking just makes the unhappiness easier to take.”
“Is your life really as bad as all that?” she said, accusing.
“Don’t worry. It’s not your fault, June.”
She didn’t know what to say to him and tried to think of a way to change the subject, soften the mood. “Daddy always says you can see God in the mountains.”
Immediately she regretted saying this, knowing Sam would think that sort of thing was silly. He didn’t laugh but replied, “They’re big and beautiful, but I don’t see God in them.”
“Well, it’s an idea, you know. You’re not really supposed to see him, I suppose.”
“I get it.” It was hard to get a good look at his face in the darkness, but his voice sounded mean.
