As she walked toward the Gazette, she felt let down. Bob hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her job and hadn’t even asked how her first day had gone. Clearly, he didn’t give a damn. She couldn’t ignore the feeling of unease any longer. Not only was she a long way from home, but she was in a difficult marriage, one in which she’d be expected to give a lot more than she got.
Mr. Tate was already in the office when she arrived. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said. “The good news is Patsy had a baby girl at three o’clock this morning. Mother and baby are doing fine. The bad news is that from now on, you’ll be on your own.”
He looked at her anxiously. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage OK by yourself?”
She placed her handbag on her desk and gave her boss a reassuring smile. “I think so. We covered a fair bit of ground yesterday.”
Mr. Tate let out his breath in a whoosh and even smiled. “You’ve got a lot of self-confidence, Kathleen, and that’s good because Tuesdays here are wild. How about bringing your book into the conference room? The staff meeting’s about to start.”
Lunch orders were phoned in to Todd’s, which apparently was the usual procedure for Tuesdays. Johnny Mayhew winked at Kathleen when he delivered them while the meeting was in progress.
Mr. Tate smiled at him. “Thanks Johnny. You’re a little early or we’re a little late. Just set them on the end of the table and we’ll each get our own.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Tate,” Johnny said.
Kathleen smiled her thanks when he passed by her chair and whispered, “I put extra fries in yours.”
When the meeting was finally over at two o’clock, Kathleen flicked through her shorthand notebook eyeing the voluminous notes. Determined to make a good impression on her first day on her own, for the next four hours she hardly looked up from the typewriter as her fingers sped over the keys. She finally looked up when William Tate stopped at her desk. The clock on the wall behind him said five minutes past six.
“I had no idea it was so late,” she said pushing her hair back from her face. “Still, I only have a couple more pages of shorthand. Would you like me to finish this draft so it’ll be on your desk when you come in tomorrow?”
“That would be great if you don’t mind working late,” Mr. Tate said. “You were really put to the test today, Kathleen, and you’ve come through with flying colors.”
He reached for his hat. “I have to leave now but I don’t think you’ll be the last one here. If you are, don’t forget to lock up.”
An hour later, as she put the cover on her typewriter, Lennie Barlow stopped by her desk. “You look beat,” he said. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“Oh, yes please. I’ll bet Bob’s given up on me. We don’t have a phone yet so I couldn’t let him know I’d be late.”
She smiled at Lennie. “He’s barbecuing ribs on the grill tonight. They’ll be the first I’ve ever eaten.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat,” Lennie said. “They’re delicious, especially the way they do them in the South. Bob can keep them warm in the oven. And anyway, he’ll understand that working on a newspaper sometimes requires odd hours. You can tell him Tuesdays are always hectic.”
Within a few minutes, he pulled up to her driveway.
“I guess you beat him home. I don’t see his car.”
“I’m sure he’ll be along in a few minutes. Thanks for the ride, Lennie.”
“You bet. See you tomorrow, English.”
She went into the house to find no note and no barbecued ribs on the grill or in the fridge. The now familiar feeling of foreboding wrapped itself around her like a cloak. For the second night in a row the hours dragged by. She wrote letters to everyone she could think of to keep herself busy. Somehow, she knew Bob was out with his friends and the heavy feeling in her chest wouldn’t go away. Was this going to turn into some sort of nightly ritual for him? Sleep was out of the question and when he finally arrived home at one o’clock, she was propped up on the sofa, pretending to read a book.
“Hi, Baby,” he said. “What you doin’ up at this hour?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, bristling at his casual tone. “You’re up, aren’t you? And anyway, how do you expect me to sleep when I don’t even know where you are or what you’re doing? You act like there isn’t anything wrong at all with you coming home at one o’clock in the morning.”
“Well, there isn’t is there? Hell, I was only over at Rankin’s pool hall. It ain’t like I left town.”
She snapped her book shut and rose from the sofa. “But I didn’t know you were there, did I?”
“No you didn’t and I didn’t know I was supposed to let you know every move I’m gonna make.”
Even though something was dying inside her, she hated the shrewish way her words came out. And yet, she couldn’t let this pass without saying something. Some sort of code of living needed to be set, and she’d be damned if she’d settle for what they had now.
“Can’t you see I’m lonely? It isn’t easy for me you know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You said you’d cook spare ribs on the grill and I come home to an empty house. I’d just like to know is this going to be your nightly routine or what.”
“Hell, I don’t know. What I want to know is will I have to go through the third degree every time I come home a bit late. Don’t get so pissed off. It ain’t like you to nag.”
No, it wasn’t like her to nag and here she was doing it. A great throbbing was beginning in her head as she turned on her heel and went to bed.
The next morning she moved soundlessly through the house, not wanting to wake him this time, not even in the mood to talk to him.
* * *
When she arrived home that evening, Bob surprised her with the barbecued spare ribs, cooked to perfection on the grill. He’d already tossed the salad and fixed some sort of exotic rice dish. He’d also bought a bottle of wine.
She weakened as he placed a glass of wine in front of her and planted a kiss on her forehead. Maybe he did need the companionship of his friends, she reasoned. After all, he’d only gone out twice and had she even taken into consideration how long he’d been away from home. And besides, he started work next week. He couldn’t have many late nights when he had to get up early for work the next day.
For the rest of the week Bob was a model husband, but as Monday morning drew ever nearer, there was no mistaking his apprehension.
* * *
“How about fixin’ me a sandwich or something for lunch,” he said as he dressed for his first day at Phillips Hardware. “There’s no tellin’ how busy I’m gonna be, learnin’ the job and everything.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I think you’ll do just fine. Try not to worry so much. You’re probably just the man Mr. Phillips is looking for. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”
She placed his cold meat sandwich and an apple in a paper bag. “I’ll have to hurry, love, or I’ll be late. See you tonight. You’ll feel a lot better by then.”
Bob was on her mind as she took long strides toward the Gazette, and she sent up a fast prayer that he’d have a good day. If he didn’t, she’d blame herself. After all, would he have taken the job if she hadn’t pushed him?
He arrived home an hour after she did. His face was tense and he hardly looked at her as he took a beer from the refrigerator.
She started with the gentle approach. “You look like you’ve been dragged through the wringer. Was it really all that bad?”
“You could say that. You could say old man Phillips is some sort of bastard, and you could say if I stay more than a month he’s gonna be damn lucky.”
Kathleen tried to swallow but there was a lump in her throat that wasn’t there before. “Why? What did he do that was so bad?”
“Hell, I dunno. How would you understand? He just seems like he’s got it in for me.”
“But this was only your first day. Everybody fe
els anxious on their first day. It’ll be better tomorrow, you’ll see.” She forced a smile and took his hand. “Come on. Let’s go into the bedroom and make mad love. I’ll make you forget all your troubles.”
It was as if he didn’t hear, and without looking at her, he removed his hand from hers.
“Think I’ll ride over to the pool hall and see if any of the guys are there.”
“Yes, why don’t you do that?” Her voice grew louder with the hurt and helplessness at her inability to ward off a quarrel. “Why don’t you go and leave me alone.”
He hauled himself out of the chair and without a backward glance sauntered through the screen door, letting it crash to behind him.
She didn’t know what time he came home. Around two o’clock she fell asleep and he was there beside her when the alarm woke her at seven.
* * *
Even though it was Tuesday, the Gazette’s busiest day, there was a half hour break in the meeting around noon that gave her a chance to rush out to the hardware store. Bob had been on her mind all morning. As hurt and bewildered as she was at his behavior, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was making him desperately unhappy. He was so unsure of himself, and seemed to think the answer to his problems was a night out with the boys.
Before he’d left for work, he’d seemed sorry for his behavior the previous night and came as close to an apology as he was probably capable of giving. But his anxiety over his job was obvious and she wanted to see for herself how he got along with his boss. Maybe she’d catch him on his lunch hour and they could talk.
“Is Bob Conroy here, please?” she asked of the man she knew to be Mr. Phillips.
“You’re Kathleen Conroy, aren’t you?” He smiled as he extended his hand. “I saw your picture in the Gazette, and anyway, there’s nobody else around here with an accent like that.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Bobby’s out back working on some orders. Do you want me to get him for you?”
Suddenly unsure of herself and the reception she’d receive, she shook her head. “No, perhaps it’s best not to disturb him. I thought he might have been behind the counter. I only had a minute anyway, and need to be getting back to the office. Would you tell him please I dropped by and that I’ll see him tonight.”
“Yes ma’am, I sure will.” Mr. Phillips smiled, looking nothing like the bastard Bob had made him out to be.
That evening, she arrived home late and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the red car parked in the driveway. She hurried into the house, anxious to hear how Bob’s second day had gone. He sat at the terrace table smoking a cigarette, the dark look on his face speaking volumes. At least ten butts littered the brick floor and she bit her lip to keep from saying it would be a good idea if he used an ashtray.
“Another bad day?” she asked instead.
“You could call it that. It was going pretty good till old man Phillips said you’d come in the shop lookin’ for me. He was mad as hell. What did you go and do that for?”
She felt her cheeks grow scarlet as she tiptoed on a blade of anxiety toward him. “Just to say hello. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? I thought you’d be pleased. Mr. Phillips acted like he didn’t mind at all. He seemed pretty nice to me.”
“I’ll bet he did. Everybody seems pretty nice to you. Well, I don’t want you comin’ over there no more. It’s bad enough havin’ to work there without you coming in and making it harder on me.”
Her ears began to sing and she leaned on the chair back to steady herself.
“You’re all tensed up because of your job but for God’s sake don’t take it out on me. Please, Bob, don’t let’s quarrel. I’m sick to death of it. All I want is for us to be happy. If the job bothers you that much, leave it. It’s not the only job in town.”
He stared across the grass and took a long drag from his cigarette.
“Why don’t we walk over to Todd’s and get a hamburger?” she said, making one last desperate plea. “It’s cooler tonight and the exercise will help you unwind. Freddie called me at work today and said he and Mary Mayhew will be in there around eight o’clock. We could join them if you—”
“You go if you want to,” he said picking up his car keys. “I’m not in the mood.”
“But you’re going out aren’t you?”
“Yep, that’s right, Baby. I’m goin’ out. And just so you won’t worry about me anymore, I’m gonna have one hell of a good time. So when you get ready, why don’t you just turn out the light and go to bed.”
He staggered into the house at three o’clock, and it was all she could do to wake him the next morning to get him out of the house in time to go to work.
That night was a repeat performance of the night before, but on Thursday night he didn’t come home at all. Kathleen woke every hour from her position on the sofa, and at six o’clock she got up and made a pot of tea. Where could he have gone and why, in heaven’s name, was he doing this to her? He had to be at his job in a couple of hours. She remembered Otis’s words at the dinner table on her first night in Eddisville. “That Bobby ain’t never been all that reliable,” he’d said. At least in this respect Otis had spoken the truth and Kathleen didn’t know what in the world she was going to do about it.
At eight o’clock, she dressed as if for work and walked the short distance to Bennington Street. She knew Otis would be at work, and even now, with this worry about Bob, she didn’t feel she could look at the man without her skin crawling.
She held on to the rail as she pulled herself up the steps to the porch. “Beulah, it’s me, Kathleen. I need to talk to you. It’s about Bob.”
Beulah’s gray, set face appeared at the screen door. “Sit yourself down,” she said in an empty hollow voice. “I’ll bring us some coffee.”
Her rough hands were shaking as she placed the cups on the rickety table, causing the coffee to slop over.
“I was about to come over to your place when you knocked on the door. Bobby came by here no more than an hour ago. He’s gone, Kathleen. Gone back to Texas to reenlist.”
Kathleen’s voice was a whisper. “What are you saying? He only just got out. He wouldn’t do that. He just couldn’t. What about me, his job, everything?”
Beulah’s voice sounded empty, hollow. “Bobby don’t have his job no more, Kathleen. Mr. Phillips fired him on Tuesday.”
“Fired him on Tuesday? But it’s Friday today. On Wednesday and Thursday he left with his lunch bag as if he was going to work.”
“I don’t guess he had the nerve to tell you he got fired.”
“But why would he get fired after just two days?”
Beulah stared at the floor. “Mr. Phillips told Bobby he had to have someone who could read the orders.”
“What could he mean by that? If they were badly written, Bob would have figured them out in time. There’s a lot of writing I can’t read right at first.”
Beulah sighed as if trying to explain something to a child. “Bobby couldn’t read the orders because he ain’t all that good at readin’ anythin’.”
Kathleen rocked to and fro and her breath came in little shallow gasps. “What is it, Beulah? What are you trying to say?”
“Just what I’m tellin’ you. Bobby can read and write some but it sure ain’t much, not much more than his own name.”
“But that’s not possible,” Kathleen said. “There’s no way in the world I could be in love with Bob all this time, be married to him, and not even be aware he couldn’t read.”
She waved her hands wildly. “These are the sort of things you just, well, you just know.” Beulah gave a weary shrug. “Well, I’m his momma and I’m tellin’ you my son never learned a thing in school, just like me. Selma did, even though she ain’t all that smart like I told you. But Bobby, well, he was always playin’ hooky. Wouldn’t listen to nobody. When he was fifteen he ran away from home and took odd jobs here and there. Just as soon as he could he joined the army.”
Kathleen stared du
mbly at Beulah. Could it possibly be true?
“But what about those letters he wrote to me while I was still in England and he was in Texas. He’d have to know how to…”
Her unfinished sentence hung in the still morning air as she turned away from Beulah to stare out the screen door at the rutted driveway.
“You think somebody must have written them for him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
Kathleen remembered incidents then. The day in the bank when he sat back while she filled out the forms. And he’d passed the help wanted sign outside Phillips Hardware and never mentioned it. Did this mean he was unable to read even those two simple words, or did he deliberately ignore the sign because he dreaded applying for a job he knew he couldn’t handle? Then there was the application form he asked her to fill out for him, laughingly saying she could write prettier. He’d said he was sleepy so he wouldn’t have to read the article in the Gazette about the two of them, or for that matter, read the want ads. Even then she hadn’t guessed. She wondered now, now that she knew, why she hadn’t become suspicious when he told her he hated the beach. Those letters she’d received were filled with glowing reports of the wonderful Carolina beaches. And what about before they were married, when he was in England? She racked her brain for clues, for some indication. But nothing came to mind. He’d visited her home on several occasions, looked at the family album, talked about his home. Talk, always talk. Nothing that involved reading. On their honeymoon in London, she’d been only too glad to be the guide, to pick out places to go, to read the schedules for the tube, to point out the landmarks.
As devastated and furious as she was, she couldn’t help but see Bob’s predicament. How desperate he must have felt, trying to hide his awful secret. When he’d lost his job on only his second day, he’d known it was only a matter of time before she found out. This had to be the reason he’d stayed out at night and his coldness toward her. He was afraid she’d ask questions and discover the awful truth.
She saw it all now, clear as crystal. If it hadn’t been for her, he’d still be here in Eddisville. She remembered how happy he’d been on his first day home. He’d said he hated Texas, and now, all because of her, he’d gone back there to reenlist. Was it possible she’d made him feel inferior? Did her getting the job at the Gazette make him realize this was something he could never do? Was that what this was all about? Where was the handsome, glamorous, American soldier she’d seen across the dance floor at the Rialto, the one who seemed to be the stuff dreams are made of? American dreams. That night was light years away and she knew now there was no such person. She’d made him up. The man she’d married was an ordinary man from a little South Carolina town who was terrified his wife would find out his deepest, darkest secret, that he was practically illiterate.
Different Drummers Page 10
