by Ann Tatlock
“What about all the stuff I said? You know, like she can’t cook and she snores real bad?”
“He didn’t seem to care. He just kept on coming around.”
Mara raised a hand to her chin and frowned in thought. Her eyes focused on first one thing and then another, finally coming to rest on Valerie.
“You say he doesn’t like children, right?”
“I don’t know whether he likes kids or not, but he doesn’t seem very interested.”
“Well, if he marries your mom, that’ll make him your dad, right?”
I laid a hand across my stomach. “Please, Mara, that’s what I’m trying not to think about.”
She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What?”
She hopped off the bed and shook Valerie’s shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I cried. “She’s the worst grump in the world if you wake her up.”
“That’s what I’m banking on.”
“I mean it, Mara. Don’t wake her up. You know how she can scream.”
Mara stopped shaking Valerie’s shoulder and gave me a small, crooked smile. Before I could stop her, she pinched Valerie’s thigh and started the child howling like a banshee.
I put my hands to my head in alarm. “Mara! What are you doing?”
“Trust me,” she said.
“But – ”
She wrestled the kicking, screaming Valerie into a tight stranglehold, then picked her up and floundered till she found her balance. With Valerie’s back to her chest, Mara looked like she had an extra pair of legs flailing in front of her. She gave a nod in my direction and said, “Follow me.”
I followed her out of my room, through the hall, and down the stairs. From the kitchen I heard Mom’s voice calling, “What on earth? Roz, can’t you do something about Valerie?”
Ahead of me Mara said quietly, so Mom couldn’t hear, “Yeah, we’re taking care of everything.”
She marched into the living room, where Tom Barrows sat, his balding hairline visible just above the rim of the newspaper. His stockinged feet were propped up on the footstool, and he was flexing his toes as though his feet were grateful to be loosed from the wingtip oxfords he always wore. He was the typical male, resting after a hard day’s work, waiting for his supper, unalarmed by the screams of a toddler, since childcare, of course, was not his job. He didn’t drop the paper to his lap until Mara was directly upon him, and even then his startled eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses told me he didn’t quite believe what was happening.
In the next moment he had a tantrum-throwing child in his lap. His arms flew out to his sides as though he didn’t want to touch her, this creature that had suddenly been thrust upon him from out of nowhere.
“What the – ” he cried, throwing out an oath that would have bounced furiously around the room had the word been made of rubber.
“We can’t quiet her down,” Mara explained, speaking loudly over the screams, “so we thought you could try.”
She didn’t stay to see what he would do, but turned and beckoned me to follow. Halfway up the stairs we were rattled by the shriek of “Jannnisss!” that shot forth from Tom Barrows’ throat and exploded in the living room.
Mara and I collapsed in my bedroom, doubled over with laughter. We would be in trouble for sure, but I didn’t care. Small price to pay if it would help to rid our family of that nuisance known as Tom Barrows.
chapter
32
“I hardly ever see you, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry, Roz, but it’s too dangerous.”
“What do you mean, dangerous?”
“I mean, I can’t risk being seen. If your mother finds out I’m here, everything will fall apart. She can’t know until the right time.”
“But when’s the right time?”
He shook his head. “You’ve asked me that before, and my answer hasn’t changed. I just don’t know yet, honey.”
We were back in our usual meeting place, the Hot Diggity Dog Café. Daddy had ordered me a banana split, and he was helping me eat it.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Christmas will be here soon.”
The spoon stopped halfway to Daddy’s mouth, and he looked as though he’d lost his appetite. “I know it will,” he said.
“I don’t guess we’ll all be together on Christmas morning.”
The spoon reached Daddy’s mouth and came out empty. Daddy chewed slowly and thoughtfully before saying, “Now, you know that’s just not possible, Roz.”
“Wally won’t be with us either.”
“Are you sure? Even if he’s in basic training by then, he should be allowed leave for the holidays.”
I shook my head. “In his last letter he said he won’t be home for a while, more than a year, probably. But he said not to worry about him. Mom worries all the time, though. Sometimes I see her crying, even though she pretends like she’s not.”
Daddy dug methodically at the ice cream, like he was looking for buried treasure. I waited, but he wouldn’t look at me. Finally he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I just want her to be happy, don’t you, Daddy?”
He glanced at me, looked away. “Of course I want her to be happy. That’s what I’m working toward.”
I dipped my spoon in the dish, but my stomach reeled at the thought of another bite. It wasn’t the ice cream making me feel sick; it was what I was about to say to Daddy. I licked my lips and took a deep breath. “I remember . . .”
He looked at me then, his forehead furrowed like a tilled field. “What, Roz?”
“Well, I remember . . . you know, sometimes Mom would cry because of you.”
He tightened at that, like a current of electricity had just run through him. I thought for a second that he might blow up, and I lowered my head to shield myself from the explosion. But instead of getting angry, he flexed his neck and lifted his shoulders in an attempt to untie himself and relax. “I know, Roz,” he said, “but it’s not going to be that way anymore.”
My heart beat wildly and my insides shook, but I forced myself to hold Daddy’s gaze. “Do you promise?”
“Yes.” He frowned and lifted a hand to the side of his face, his fingertips kneading circles over his temple. “I promise. Everything’s going to be different this time. I – Roz, what’s the matter?”
He must have heard me inhale sharply, and undoubtedly my face registered both shock and fear.
Daddy glanced back over his shoulder. “Roz, do you see someone you know?”
I could do little more than nod.
“Listen to me, Roz. Don’t say anything. Just come over here and sit beside me.” He pushed his jacket aside and patted the bench.
Too afraid to breathe, I followed Tom Barrows with my eyes, watching silently as he strode across the café toward our booth. I braced myself for what was about to happen, but instead of coming to the table and confronting Daddy, he stopped at the counter and removed his hat, gloves, and coat. He laid the coat across one of the stools and planted the gloves and fedora on top. With a hitch of his pants, he settled himself on the next stool over. He must have said something to Darlene, because she smiled and nodded and placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
With my gaze still firmly on Tom Barrows, I started to rise, but Daddy stretched a hand across the table to stop me. “Don’t get up,” he said quietly. “Go under the table. That’s it.”
I slid down under the table like I was inching my way under a limbo bar, scooted over the sticky linoleum floor, and popped up on the other side next to Daddy. He put his arm around me, and I nestled there between him and the wall, hidden to Tom Barrows and to anyone else who might happen into the Hot Diggity Dog Café.
I leaned my head into the hollow of Daddy’s shoulder, and he tightened his grip around me. He was strong and solid from years of construction work, but his embrace was just as I remembered: at once tough and tender. I took a long deep bre
ath, savoring the moment. A warmth rose up from Daddy’s skin; the opposing odors of sweat and soap collided and mingled in the fabric of his plaid flannel shirt. With my ear pressed heavily to his chest, I heard the faint echo of his heart, heard the air making its journey through his lungs, in and out, slowly and rhythmically. His life sounds were hypnotic, and in another moment I may have actually drifted off to sleep if Daddy hadn’t interrupted.
“Roz, who is that guy?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “The one who just sat down.”
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him. A teacher, I could say, or the man who lives next door. But then, if Daddy knew, if he realized his position in the family was in danger, maybe he’d come home sooner. Besides, I realized I couldn’t get rid of Tom Barrows on my own. Mom had docked me two weeks’ allowance for dropping Valerie in his lap – a bigger punishment than I’d expected. I could hardly afford to keep annoying the man in an effort to make him go away. So I said, “He’s Mom’s friend.”
His breath stopped. His chest was still. I waited. Then he said simply, “Her friend?”
I nodded, my hair rubbing static against his shirt.
“You don’t mean she’s . . . seeing him?” As he spoke, his left hand – the one that had been resting on the table – began to work, opening, closing into a fist, opening again.
I immediately began to second-guess myself; maybe I should have lied. “Kind of, I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess?”
“I mean, they’ve gone to the movies a couple of times.”
Daddy was quiet for several long minutes. I looked up and saw that he was looking intently at the profile of Mom’s suitor, as though trying to memorize the man in detail. By now Tom Barrows had removed his suit jacket and was sitting there in a white dress shirt, the edge of a dark tie peeking out from beneath his collar. He held a coffee cup in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other.
“What’s his name?” Daddy asked.
“Tom Barrows.”
“What’s he do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, for a living. What’s he do?”
I tried to remember. “I’m not sure. Tillie says he works for the county or something.”
Another pause. Then, “Who’s Tillie?”
Now I was really sorry. I never meant to tell him about Tillie. If he knew an old lady was living with us, he’d never want to come back. As I looked up at Daddy, our faces were only inches apart. I hadn’t been this close to him for a long time. “Oh,” I lied, “she’s just someone who comes and helps Mom with Valerie.”
“You mean like a nanny?”
“Yeah. Because, well, Mom has to work now, you know. So she can’t be home all the time, even though she wishes she could.”
Daddy looked back at Tom Barrows, then down at me. Something about his eyes had changed, though I couldn’t say what.
When he didn’t speak I said, “Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“What if he sees me?”
“He won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He took a deep breath.
“Well, what if he stays here for a long time? I’ve got to go meet Mom pretty soon. If I don’t show up, she’ll go looking for me at the library.”
Daddy’s eyes narrowed, and his lips formed a small tense line. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”
I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t say anything.
“But, honey?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re going to have to be even more careful. You and your mom, you’re not strangers in town anymore. People are starting to know you. I think, to play it safe, it might be a while before I can see you again.”
“How long, Daddy?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re coming back to us someday, and things are going to be better, right?”
He tried to smile. “You already asked me that, Roz. I wish you’d quit asking and just believe me.”
A small ache rose up in my heart and sent shivers down my spine. Daddy must have felt it, because he held me a little tighter.
“Daddy,” I pleaded quietly, “tell me what it’s going to be like when we’re all together again.”
I wanted to hear visions of happy Christmas mornings and birthday parties and family vacations. I wanted to hear Daddy tell me that we’d all sit down together to eat supper at night, with him and Wally both there with us, and we’d all get along and talk and laugh, and afterward Mom would wash the dishes while Daddy helped me with homework and Valerie played with a puppy that Daddy had brought home for us. I wanted to know that he’d bring Mom flowers for no special reason, and he’d tell her she looked beautiful, and she would look beautiful because she wouldn’t cry all the time anymore, and she’d never again have to cover the bruises on her cheeks with makeup or the black eyes with dark glasses. There would be none of that, none of that at all, because Daddy would be different, he’d be good, a real Daddy, one who loved us and took care of us and wanted the very best in life for us.
But when Daddy finally spoke, he said, “It’s going to be good, Roz.” That was all, and I had to do my dreaming without him.
chapter
33
I sat on the edge of Valerie’s bed, listening to her say her prayers with Tillie. “Our Fadder, it’s hot in heaven . . .”
I bit my lower lip so as not to laugh. Tillie didn’t miss a beat but quietly recited the prayer along with her, then pulled the covers up tight around her chin and kissed her cheek. “Good night, little one,” she said.
“Night, Tillie. I love you.”
“I love you too. Sweet dreams.”
Tillie turned off the light on the bedside table, and a small nightlight took over, holding back the dark. I slipped off the bed and kissed my sister good-night. Her cheek was soft and smelled sweet and clean from her bubble bath.
“Night, Roz,” she said sleepily.
“Good night, Valerie. See you in the morning.”
Tillie and I treaded lightly out of the room and down the stairs. In the kitchen Tillie tied her apron back on and set about slicing apples for a pie she was making. I sat down at the table, resting my chin in the cup of my hands.
“What time did Mom say she’d be home?” I asked.
“She didn’t,” Tillie said, cutting an apple into halves. “It’ll be late, since she and Tom have gone to Chicago to see the show. All she said was don’t wait up.”
I sniffed at the thought of her going all the way to Chicago with Tom Barrows on a Friday night. “How come she has to spend so much time with him?” I complained. “I wish she’d just stay home with us.”
Tillie paused in her cutting and shook her head. “I don’t have a good answer for you, Roz. Between you, me, and the lamppost, I don’t think she ought to be seeing anyone.”
“You don’t? That’s not what you said before. You said we should all just want her to be happy.”
“Yes, I know,” she said. “Frankly, though, I thought she and Tom might go out once, maybe twice, and that would be it. They don’t really seem like a good match to me.”
I raised my eyebrows, startled and happy to hear her say so. “They don’t seem like a good match to me either, Tillie.”
“So I thought the whole thing would just kind of peter out on its own,” she went on. “I sure never thought Tom would be coming around here so much. What I think your mother really needs is a chance to heal and get over your father. That’s going to take some time, and I don’t believe the real healing will begin until after the divorce is final. Heaven only knows when that will be, since they haven’t even filed all the paperwork yet.”
“The divorce?” I echoed. That was the first time I’d heard the word used in relation to Mom and Daddy.
“Well, sure. There’s got to be a divorce, you know. That’s what happens when husbands and wives end a marriage. But your grandfather has only just found your mother a lawyer. They’re
just getting started. Eventually they’ll serve your father with the papers, and then there will be a lot of legal stuff to figure out. It might take some time before your mother’s free to marry again.”
“What does it mean that he’ll get served with some papers?”
“Just that there are papers about the divorce that both your parents will have to sign to make it final.”
“What if Daddy doesn’t sign them?”
“He will. He may not want to at first, but he will eventually.”
Not if they don’t find him, I thought.
“Tillie?”
“Yes, Roz?” Tillie stirred sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg in a bowl with a wooden spoon.
“We had another air raid drill in school today.”
“Oh?” She added cornstarch and salt to the sugar mix, then sprinkled all of it over the apple slices. She may have thought I was changing the subject, but I wasn’t.
“Every time we have an air raid drill, I think about what it would be like if the Russians dropped a bomb on us and killed us all.”
“Merciful heavens!” Tillie said, turning to look at me sharply. “You shouldn’t be worrying about something like that. I’ve half a mind to go to the school board and tell them to stop those silly drills. No one’s going to drop any bombs on us.”
“They aren’t? Because we sure are practicing a lot for something that’s not going to happen.”
“Tell me, Roz, who’s the principal out at your school now?”
“Mr. Waldrop.”
“Wayne Waldrop?”
I gave a small shrug. “I think so.”
“That figures,” Tillie said with a satisfied nod. “That Wayne, he always did like the sound of a good siren. Fire truck sirens, police sirens, ambulance sirens. I bet you have a lot of fire drills at your school too, huh?”
“Yeah. It seems like it. Then we have to put our coats on and go stand outside in the cold.”
Another nod. “Pay no attention to the drills, then. Wayne Wal-drop was in the same grade as Lyle. I didn’t know him so much, but I knew his mother well. Poor thing, she told me how Wayne was always getting into trouble for pulling the fire alarm at school. And he’d go down to the fire station too and ask the men if he could ride in the trucks with them and work the siren next time they had a call. Now that he can sound the alarm legitimately, it seems he’s having a little bit too much fun with it.”
