Lily of the Springs

by Carole Bellacera

  If it’s a salesman, I’m going to have a conniption fit! I got up from the kitchen table to answer it.

  “Hello!” I barked. “Oh.” The sound of Mother’s voice on the line brought immediate regret, and my tone gentled. “Hi, Mother. Is everything okay?”

  “Well, now, I thought you’d like to hear the bit of news I heard at the Key Market this mornin’, Lily Rae,” Mother said. “Bit of sad news, though, I reckon.”

  “What is it?” I longingly eyed the sheet of paper in the typewriter. So close…one more paragraph and I could type “the end.” But if Mother had bad news, and needed to share it, listening was the least I could do. No doubt, one of the old folks on the ridge had died in their sleep.

  “Remember that boy you used to go with in high school? That Nickerson feller?”

  My heart froze and my throat went dry. “Ch…Chad?” I croaked.

  “That’s the one,” Mother said. “Poor feller. Geraldine Coffey told me that his wife, a Huddleston girl, I recall, died yesterday, and they’re bringing her back home to be buried in Russell Springs.”

  Relief surged through me, followed immediately on its heels by remorse. Pat-Peaches, dead? I remembered the couple at the high school reunion—mutual adoration shining on their faces.

  “Oh, that’s awful,” I managed to say. “What happened? Do you know?”

  Mother’s voice lowered as if she were sharing a shameful secret, “Breast cancer, I reckon. It took her fast. Geraldine said they opened her up, and it had already spread all over her insides. There wasn’t nary a thing they could do for her.”

  I shook my head, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Oh, those poor kids. And Chad! Lord, he must be torn apart.”

  “I reckon so,” Mother said. “Well, there’s apt to be a notice in the Times Journal. Once we find out where they’re laying her out, we can send flowers, I reckon. Lily Rae?”

  “Hmmmm?” I thought I’d heard a car pull up out front. I walked around the table, pulling on the phone cord so I could see out through the picture window. Sure enough, a red Dodge Charger had parked in front of the house.

  Mother cleared her throat and then said briskly, “I reckon there’s something to them exams…the ones you do yourself. I don’t truck with folks using their bodies like it’s a playground, but I reckon you oughta start doing that exam, Lily Rae.” She lowered of her voice. “They say the best time is after your monthly friend is done with its visit.”

  I smiled. “Yes, Mother. I’ve been doing a self-exam for a couple of years now.” I watched as a tall, flaming redhead unpeeled herself from the driver’s seat. Could that be Betty with that lop-sided short haircut? Why, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a Carnaby Street fashion magazine.

  The passenger door opened, and a gangly teenage boy dressed in blue jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt crawled out of the car. His dark brown hair fell in luxurious waves to his shoulders. David. The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been in diapers.

  “Well, alright then,” Mother said. “I’ll let you go now.”

  “Thanks for calling, Mother,” I said, and then added quickly, “I love you.”

  There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, and then Mother said, “I love you, too, Lily Rae. Bye, bye, now.”

  Torn between sadness for Chad and his family, a welling of love for Mother, and excitement at seeing Betty after all these years, I hung up the phone and rushed into the living room.

  By the time I opened the front door, Betty was halfway up the sidewalk, looking young and beautiful, dressed in a Mod hot-pink paisley top, white hip-hugger shorts and strappy vinyl sandals--just as full of spit-fire as she’d ever been, I could see, even more now that she was a fiery redhead instead of a strawberry blonde.

  “Come here, you!” I called out with a delighted grin.

  And we were in each other’s arms, shrieking and squealing like teenagers.

  ***

  The sun had just come up when I tip-toed out of the bedroom on my way to the kitchen to make coffee. I’d had a horrible night’s sleep. Well, make that simply a horrible night. There had been very little sleep involved.

  I walked as quietly as I could through the living room to the front door, mindful of the three lumps of teenage bodies on the floor in sleeping bags…well, two teenage bodies and one 12-year-old body. With such a tiny house, there hadn’t been any other way to figure out the sleeping arrangements. I’d given the girls’ room to Betty and made two separate beds on the living room floor—Debby Ann and Kathy Kay in one, and Davy…David, he now insisted on being called…in the other. Of course, the kids had spent half the night talking, and with the thin walls, I’d heard every topic of conversation ranging from how cool the movie “Easy Rider” was to whether or not Twiggy was beautiful. It was just a good thing Jake was working nights this week or he would’ve surely raised the roof.

  But it wasn’t only the kids who’d kept me awake. It was anxiety. Just before turning in last night, I’d hauled the Smith-Corona out of its hiding place and finished that last paragraph, typing “the end” with a feeling of satisfaction that must’ve rivaled what Hillary felt when he planted that British flag on the top of Mt. Everest.

  Betty’s light was still on, so I’d picked up the stack of manuscript pages―all 250 of them—and tapped on her door. “Well, here it is. I don’t know if it’s any good or not, but you know what? At this point, I just don’t care. I love it. I love the characters and I love the story. But if you don’t, I want you to tell me, Betty. Tell me what’s wrong with it, and I’ll fix it.” I paused, and looked Betty in the eye. “I aim to make writing my career, come hell or high water. And I trust you to tell me whether it’s worth sending out or not.”

  For once, Betty hadn’t made a joke. She’d taken the manuscript, a serious look on her face. “I’m honored to be the first to read your book, Lily. And I will be honest with you. Even if what I have to say isn’t something you’ll want to hear. Okay?”

  I nodded and left the room. And that’s why I hadn’t slept the night before. Because I kept picturing Betty reading my book, and I couldn’t help but stress over what she was thinking of it.

  I grabbed the newspaper from the sidewalk and opened it to the front page, only to see the glaring headlines about more casualties in Vietnam. So senseless! All those American boys dying over there. Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today? Maybe those anti-war marchers had the right idea. If I were 15 years younger, I’d join them, by golly.

  I quietly made my way back through the living room and stepped into the kitchen, then froze at the sight of my manuscript on the table. Heart thumping, I walked over to it, and placed the newspaper down beside the stack of paper. A sheet of notebook paper lay on top of the title page, and I immediately recognized Betty’s scrawl. I sank down into a chair and grabbed the note with trembling fingers.

  Lily!!!!! Or should I just call you the next Jacqueline Susann? I knew you’d be up before me, and I also knew you’d be about to shit your pants, waiting to hear my verdict on “Swede’s Passion.” Well, honey, you can stop worrying. THIS BOOK IS FANTASTIC!!!! I swear to God, Lily, I couldn’t put it down. It was three AM when I read the last page. Where did you learn to tell a story like this? Honey, how do you know so much about Swedes? My God, that man just jumped off the page! And Laura! She wasn’t your typical beautiful but stupid heroine. She was an ordinary woman with spunk! Oh, Lily, I don’t know what more I can say to convince you that you’ve got to send this book to New York. As soon as possible. If you don’t, I swear to God, I’m going to have one of your famous conniption fits. Now, I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me until at least ten. And remember, Goddess of Excellent Romance, I like my coffee strong and black.

  Love, Betty

  By the time I’d finished reading, I had tears running down my face. But I was grinning like an idiot.

  Lily’s Meat & Cheese Loaf

  2 lbs. ground beef

  1 ½ cup dic
ed Velveeta cheese

  2 eggs, beaten

  1 large onion, chopped

  1 large green pepper, chopped

  2 teaspoons salt

  1 teaspoon pepper

  1 teaspoon celery salt

  ½ teaspoon paprika

  3 cups milk

  1 cup dry bread crumbs

  Combine ingredients in order given. Mix well. Press into 2 greased loaf pans and bake at 350 degrees for 1 ½ hours.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “So, you’ve barely said a word about Jake,” Betty said, lighting a Virginia Slim and inhaling a deep lungful. “Is everything okay between you two?”

  On the asphalt between our lounge chairs, a transistor radio played Three Dog Night’s “One.” It was a cloudless day with temperatures in the nineties. The sounds of summer were all around us at the public swimming pool—Top 40 music, kids shrieking, the thumping spring of the diving board, splashing water—and always, somewhere, the sound of childish voices calling out “Marco” followed immediately by “Polo!”

  I took a sip of my Fresca before answering Betty’s question. “Oh, it’s been fine. Jake is a different person than the one you knew back in Texas.”

  I glanced over at Debby Ann and David just to make sure the two horny teenagers hadn’t slipped off somewhere to be alone. I figured if Betty and I kept the two teenagers where we could keep an eye on them, we’d save ourselves some grief later. Betty and David had been here less than 48 hours, and already, there were signs of a romance budding between him and Debby Ann.

  I frowned. Just look at that little flirt! Debby sauntered over to the snack bar in her skimpy bikini, flipping her long brown hair and laughing back at David who followed her like an eager puppy, his long, wet hair pulled back into a sleek pony-tail.

  Down on the other end of the pool, Kathy Kay and Paul John engaged in horse-play rough enough to frequently catch the attention of the teenage lifeguard, forcing him to give a harsh blow on his whistle and cast a dark scowl their way.

  I reached for my Coppertone. Feeling Betty’s gaze upon me, I turned to her. “What? You don’t believe Jake’s changed?”

  She lifted her gold bug-eye sunglasses, cocking one neatly-plucked brow. “Oh? You mean he hasn’t brought any girlfriends home lately?”

  I felt a flash of irritation, but it faded away as fast as it came when I saw the teasing light in my best friend’s eyes. Typical Betty. She couldn’t help but say whatever came to mind. And it wasn’t as if she was going to forget what had happened in Texas.

  “Not a one,” I said with a grin. I rubbed Coppertone onto my already tanned legs. “Come on, Betty. You’ve got to admit you see the change in him, don’t you? Wasn’t he nice to you last night?”

  “He was a perfect gentleman,” she agreed, taking another draw on her cigarette. “And much more personable than I remember. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he is finally growing up.”

  “Well, I should hope so,” I said dryly. “After all, he’s 37. So, how is Eddie? I was sorry he couldn’t take leave to come with you.”

  Her smile faded. “Well, he did take leave, but he went to California to see his parents. When I first planned this trip, he was going to come with me, but then…well, the military has a way of changing your plans.” She looked at me. “He has orders for Vietnam, Lil. He ships out two weeks after we get home.”

  Fear rippled through me. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Betty.”

  She shrugged and glanced away. “What can you do? It was bound to happen. I’m actually surprised it took them this long to send him there. And it’s not like I haven’t been through this before. You remember.”

  I nodded. “Are you staying on at Fort Benning?”

  “Oh, yeah. Why uproot Davy for a year? And as busy as I am with the Officer’s Wives Club and all the jock stuff he’s involved in, the year will go by in a flash.”

  I reached out and squeezed her hand. “I know you’ll be fine. And I’ll pray that Eddie gets back safely.”

  “Thanks. I just hope this stupid war ends soon,” Betty said. “There’s way too many young guys dying over there. But I’m not worried about Eddie. With his rank, he won’t be on the front lines.”

  Just then Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising,” came on the radio, and I couldn’t help but think it was a bad omen. But that was probably the Irish in me. Apparently, Betty didn’t feel the same way because she started singing along with it, interrupting herself in mid-line to say, “Oh! Here comes Debby and Davy with our hamburgers, and thank God! I’m starving!”

  A few minutes later, halfway through her burger, Betty glanced over at me. “So, this barbecue thing is tomorrow night? And where is it?”

  I licked a smudge of mayonnaise off my finger. “Near Glasgow. It’s an annual tradition at Jake’s company. The boss opens up his mansion for the peons. Gives us a chance to see how the rich people live. But it’s actually kind of fun. Wait’ll you see Roxanne Dawson. That’s the boss’s wife. Every year the employees take bets on which young stud she’ll set her sights on. It was Jake the first year we went.” I shook my head, reaching for my Fresca. “Funny thing is…she’s not getting any younger. But she still thinks she’s Ann-Margret or something. I almost feel sorry for her. It’s really pathetic to watch her flirt with these young guys.”

  “More power to her,” Betty said, crumbling up her hamburger wrapper and tossing it into her beach bag. “It’s probably the highlight of her year. And you said your friend, Jinx, will be there? I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Oh, yeah, she’ll be there. I told you, didn’t I? About her husband getting killed on the job? I guess the boss still feels guilty about it because Jinx is invited every year. Hey, I’ll have one of those, too, if it’s okay?” Betty held out her package of Virginia Slims and I took one. “I think you’ll like Jinx.” I inhaled as Betty lit my cigarette, and then released a stream of smoke. “She’s fun…but not as fun as you, of course.”

  “Well, I would think not.” Betty grinned and lit her cigarette. Blue smoke ribboned out of her nostrils. “But hey, how could I not like a girl with a name like Jinx?”

  ***

  Midway through the barbecue, I realized I’d been right about one thing and dead wrong about another. It hadn’t taken Roxanne Dawson long to corner one of the new guys in the pool and play her special version of Tic-Tack-Toe on his bare chest, all the while with his pregnant wife looking on, nearly in tears. I wanted to go to the young girl and tell her not to worry, that Mrs. Dawson was just joking around like she always did; it was all in good fun.

  But I’d be lying, and I just couldn’t do it. To this day, I still wondered if Jake had had a little fling with Roxanne. If not, it wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to. The memory of what had happened on the way home the night of that first barbecue was lodged in my mouth where a permanent bridge now took the place of three teeth.

  I have you to thank for that, Roxanne. I glared at the woman, and then looked back at Jinx and Betty, sitting at the poolside table with me.

  And here, I thought, is what I was dead wrong about.

  Jinx and Betty couldn’t stand each other. That had been obvious almost as soon as I’d introduced them. Just after I arrived at the Dawson mansion with Jake, Betty and all the kids, Debby Ann and David had headed straight for the buffet table. So the teens weren’t with us when I saw Jinx and led Betty over to introduce her. The three of us were engaged in small talk when a scruffy-looking young man with waist-length blond hair, a handlebar moustache and a goatee ambled by us with a brimming plate of barbecued pork and potato salad.

  Jinx, who’d grown more politically conservative with each passing year, gave him a dirty look and said loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “Who let the damn hippies in?”

  “Shhhh!” I hissed. “That’s the Dawson boy. Home from UK for the summer.”

  The Dawson kid either hadn’t heard or was used to his appearance causing a negative reaction in the older generation. He’d move
d on, oblivious.

  Jinx looked mildly embarrassed, but barely lowering her voice, added, “I don’t care. He’s still disgusting! Those long-haired beatniks make me sick. Only reason he’s in college in the first place is to dodge the draft, I’ll bet. He’s probably majoring in how to overthrow the country and burn American flags.”

  A strained silence followed Jinx’s outburst. My cheeks burning, I tried to think of a way to fill it, but before I could say a word, Betty turned to Jinx with a cool smile. “Well, you surely don’t expect the rich people to send their sons to Vietnam, do you? Not when we have blue collar boys and blacks to go fight for us. Why, that wouldn’t be the American way, would it?”

  Confusion crossed Jinx’s face, and I could see she was wondering whether to take Betty serious or not. But just then David and Debby Ann walked up with their filled plates.

  Betty smiled and put an arm around her son. “Jinx, I’d like to introduce you to my son, David.”

  Jinx, taking in David’s long dark hair, stiffened, and a blush spread across her cheekbones. Seeing her discomfort, Betty widened her smile, but her blue eyes remained chilly. “He’s a little too young to be a draft-dodger, but give him a couple of years. If this damn war is still going on, and he’s made up his mind not to fight, I’ll drive him to Canada myself.”

  Oh, God, I thought, taking a hurried sip of rum-spiked tropical punch. Let the fireworks begin.

  “Mom!” David shrugged off her arm and gave her a disgusted look. “I want to fight for my country!”

  Jinx’s face had paled at Betty’s statement. She gave David a tight smile. “Good for you. I guess you’re more like your daddy than your mama.” She gave Betty a scornful look, then turned back to David. “You might want to think about getting a hair-cut, though, young man. If you want people to take you seriously.”