Yours Until Morning

by Patricia Masar

  That night Claire had a seizure. As she lay in bed, on the verge of sleep, she felt the familiar aura, the taste of metal in her mouth, the sharp smell of the sea and then it was black. She was sucked down into darkness, struggling for air, and then nothing. When she woke, only seconds had passed but it seemed she’d been gone much longer. Evie was asleep, arms flung over her head, lost in dreams. Claire listened for a minute to the slow rhythm of her breath. She inhaled carefully, tasting the air with her tongue, and ran her hands over her body, patting the sharp jut of her hipbones and moving down to her toes. Everything was in its place, her body intact, if sluggish with fatigue. But her mind felt clearer, sharper, as if the seizure had scrubbed clean the inside of her skull, polished the bones, tightened the sinews in her neck. Claire was glad the seizure had come at night, while she was in bed, where no one else could see her. There was a spot of drool on the pillow and a fleck of saliva on her chin. She wiped it away and pulled the sheet over her head.

  The air in the room was heavy with the stale breath of the day. The house was quiet, nothing to hear except the occasional creak of wood and the beating of moths against the window screen. She wouldn’t tell her mother about the seizure. It was one more thing she was learning to hide.

  3

  The Fourth of July dawned hot and clear. The girls fidgeted at the breakfast table, too excited to eat, but June was afraid they’d faint in the heat with no food in their stomachs, so she stood over them like a sentinel, making sure they finished their bowls of cereal. Right after breakfast they rushed upstairs and struggled into their costumes, even though the parade wouldn’t start until noon. June had sewn red and white swirl skirts for them and spent hours embroidering blue stars onto two white blouses. They were part of a group of girls from the local school who would march in the parade under the theme “Stars and Stripes Forever.” It was the last year they would march with the grade school children. In the fall they’d be going off to the junior high in Hammett Mills, marking the start of a new era in their lives.

  When the girls were in their costumes and their hair had been tied back with red and white bows, June lay on her bed with a cool washcloth over her eyes. Normally she liked the Fourth, the heat and the excitement, the parade that wound like some exotic dragon through the streets of the town. But this year was different. A strange torpor had taken hold of her body and her mind. She didn’t seem to have the energy for anything.

  Ben woke up and June dressed him in a sun suit and fed him his breakfast. She would take him out in his stroller to watch the girls. If he started to fuss, she could bring him back home as soon as they’d passed by. She hoped John would be there at least long enough to see the girls walk by. He said he would come in early from the morning charter to watch the parade, but he would have to leave again at one sharp with the afternoon customers.

  June carried Ben outside and set him in his playpen under a tree. She shaded her eyes to look at the sky. Not a cloud in sight or a hint of breeze. Maybe after lunch the offshore breezes would pick up and they’d get some relief. The storm they thought might hit them last night had never materialized, even though they’d waited and waited for the clouds to burst. June couldn’t remember another Fourth this hot, when the air had been this still and the town so quiet with an air of expectancy. She had her doubts about letting Claire march in the parade this year, but John didn’t think it was fair to keep her out of everything. She’d just have to keep a sharp eye on her for any signs of exhaustion. The doctors didn’t say so, but June was convinced that over-exertion would bring on a seizure.

  In the kitchen she raised her voice and called up the back stairs. “Come on, girls. Let me take a look at you. I want to get some pictures before we have to head off.”

  Evie and Claire bounded down the stairs, their red and white hair ribbons fluttering behind them.

  “How do I look?” Evie, asked, twirling around to make her skirt flare out.

  “Very patriotic. Those costumes turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself.” June laughed at her foolishness. She’d never been very good at sewing, but here she’d managed to make these two costumes for the girls and they didn’t look half bad. “I’ve got some white shoe polish if you both want to brighten your sneakers before we head off.”

  June went off to look for the shoe polish, while the girls stood in the kitchen admiring each other in their costumes. But while rummaging in the back of the hall closet June became distracted. She picked up a dust cloth from her box of cleaning supplies and began to wipe down the furniture in the living room. Agitated, she stared at the faded and stained gingham on the sofa. Tomorrow she would take some of the housekeeping money and buy some fabric to make a slipcover – she couldn’t bear it anymore, that ratty old couch. She’d never made a slipcover before, but how difficult could it be? She had a sewing machine. She’d made the girls costumes, hadn’t she? And while she was at it she would buy enough white muslin to replace the curtains and some bright fabric to cover the pillows and throw out those disgusting braided rugs, so old and worn it was impossible to tell what their original color had been.

  “Mom? Where’s the shoe polish. It’s getting late.” Evie stood in the doorway, a puzzled look on her face. “You were talking to yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, Evie. I started to clean and I guess I got carried away. I think it’s on the bottom shelf of the hall closet.”

  Evie turned on her heel. Her long legs were lean and tanned from the sun. She was a tall girl. As tall as I am, June realized, and still growing. The world was spinning too fast on its axis; time was slipping away from her. All too soon the girls would be grown and gone. Nothing could stop the inexorable march of years. June put away the dust rag and went to find the camera.

  By some miracle they were all out the door by ten, Ben strapped into his stroller, Claire and Evie sauntering ahead, their skirts swishing around their thighs. They were headed for the parking lot of the First Presbyterian church where the marchers were to gather before the start of the parade. The walk to town was hot along the treeless road and June wondered how the girls were going to manage in this heat, but they didn’t seem to be bothered by it. She made sure they were settled with their group of marchers before waving good-bye. “I’ll be in front of the hardware store,” she said. “Look up when you pass by and I’ll take your picture.” She had loaded their old Brownie camera with film that morning and had already taken a couple of snaps. “Smile, girls. Let me take your picture one more time, while you’re standing still.”

  Claire and Evie stood side by side, so different from each other, in spite of their identical costumes, that a stranger would never have guessed they were related.

  “Smile.”

  They smiled obediently and then hurried to join the other little girls who were milling excitedly in the corner of the parking lot. Not so little, June mused, tucking the camera in her handbag. Like Evie, some of the other girls were starting to develop breasts and the curve of their calves and slope of their shoulders made them look like the grown women they would soon become, rather than the young girls they still were. June pressed her straw hat firmly on her head and wheeled the stroller around toward Main Street. She was supposed to meet John in front of Murray’s Hardware where they would watch the parade in the shade of the green and white striped awning. Murray always had pitchers of lemonade for the thirsty spectators and he handed out free flags for people to wave.

  When June reached the hardware store, Main Street was already crowded with onlookers, many carrying their own folding chairs so they could watch the parade sitting down right at the curbside. There was no sign of John. She looked around anxiously. He promised he would be here. No doubt he was still at the boatyard, lost to the world, deep in one of his endless discussions about boats and the sea. She looked at her watch. The girls would be so disappointed if he wasn’t here to see them.

  At last June saw her husband moving through the crowd, working his way up from the bottom of Main Street
, his black hair gleaming in the sun. It still caught her off guard sometimes what a handsome man he was. He had changed out of his work clothes and was dressed in clean chinos and a blue button down shirt open at the neck.

  “Not late am I?” John said as he reached his wife. He kissed her on the cheek and then bent down to lift Ben out of his stroller. “How’s my little man.” He tossed Ben into the air. “I don’t know when this heat’ll let up. I can’t remember a Fourth this hot. Where’s Murray with his lemonade? Maybe I should go pick up a couple of ice cream cones for us.”

  “I could do with something cold to drink.” June maneuvered Ben’s stroller into the shade of the store’s awning, jostling for space in the crowd. She and John nodded and waved at friends and acquaintances, although most of the people were strangers to June, summer residents who delighted in Lockport’s festivities, put on for what they thought was their benefit. While Lockport didn’t have much else to offer with its one movie house and two white tablecloth restaurants, it did manage to put on a good parade for the Fourth, trumpeting its patriotism in the blare of the marching band and the frantic waving of flags.

  “I guess this is as good a place as any to watch the parade,” John said. “Can you see over all these people?”

  “It doesn’t matter, June said. “Just let me know when the girls are coming by and I’ll pop over to the curb to take their picture. I’m fine standing here in the shade.”

  “Well, at least we should have a clear evening for the fireworks. Got all the food you need? I can stop at the market on my way home. I’ve got a charter this afternoon, but we’ll be back in the harbor at six sharp. Fish or no fish. We had a good run with the group this morning. Fellow from Providence caught a great big tuna. Never seen a grown man grin so much in my life.”

  “Hmm. That’s nice,” June said absently, shading her eyes with her hand. The parade had started. Over the murmuring of the crowd she could hear the brass band heading their way.

  The heat was making her dizzy. When Murray came out with a pitcher of lemonade she gratefully accepted a glass and pressed its icy coldness against her cheek. The brass band grew louder, the clash of the cymbals shook the air and reverberated in June’s head. She closed her eyes and sipped her lemonade, feeling the cold liquid slide down her throat.

  In a whirl of fervor and a blasting of trumpets, the first of the marchers was upon them. They passed by in a blur of color and noise, stomping feet, pumping arms, sneakers on asphalt. Baton twirlers and floats crowded with children swept past, flags merrily waving. A drum corps and majorette marched by in perfect syncopation. Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts, convertibles with the town councilmen and their wives, red and white carnations pinned to their lapels, waving prettily. And then their own two girls, bravely marching with heads high, hidden in a gaggle of school children, the youngest already bedraggled and limp in the heat. John hauled Ben up onto his shoulders. “Wave to your sisters, Ben, wave.”

  June pushed her way through the crowd and lifted the camera. But by the time she was ready the girls had passed by and she was only able to get a shot of their retreating backs. “Darn,” June muttered. Oh well, at least she’d taken pictures of them earlier in the church parking lot. Those ought to come out okay.

  After a few more minutes of standing in the glaring sun, June, said, “I think I’d better take Ben back to the house and give him some lunch.”

  “And I’d better head down to the dock,” John, said, consulting his watch. “Hope my clients show up on time. Nothing worse than waiting around when you’re raring to go. If I can sneak a couple of my own lines in the water, I’ll bring us something home for Sunday dinner.”

  June wrinkled her nose. “I’m tired of fish, John. Why don’t you be a dear and catch me a nice roast for Sunday dinner, instead.”

  He laughed. “I’ll give it a try. The sea’s just full of roasts.” He leaned over and kissed her near the ear. “See you tonight.”

  June waved at her husband’s retreating back, sorry to see him go back to work so soon. They rarely saw each other these days, like two ships passing in the night. He was in the boatyard all day during the week and every weekend out with the charter customers. He came home exhausted most nights and slept like a stone. The housework and caring for the children were her responsibility in the summer. Sometimes during the winter months when John didn’t have to work so hard he would help her out with the household chores or baby sit one or two nights of the week so she could get out of the house. But in the last few weeks it was almost as if John weren’t in her life at all, as if she were divorced or widowed, and forced to carry on alone.

  But that’s silly, June said out loud, shaking her head sharply. Of course she wasn’t alone. John brought in the money, such as it was. She didn’t have to work as a chambermaid at the Sea Palace Motel like poor Alice Watkins, who’d lost her husband when his boat had sunk in a storm. It was a struggle for Alice to support herself and three children on her meager wages. Last time June saw her it looked like she’d aged ten years, hair all gone to gray, a shapeless dress hanging limply on her thin frame. Compared to Alice she was doing okay. In a couple of days when the Fourth of July festivities had died down, June would make a casserole and take it over to Alice and the children for their supper. Alice was one of the first people to befriend her when she came to Lockport. Every now and then she tried to do something nice for her. It was the least she could do.

  The parade was petering out. June wheeled Ben around and started toward home. They hadn’t gone ten yards, when he began to cry, a steady wailing that stabbed into the base of her skull. She jiggled the stroller, trying to distract him. People were turning to stare, frowning at her and her child, purple in the face, shrieking at the top of his lungs. June pushed the stroller faster and when she broke through the last of the crowd she was practically running, trying to get home as fast as she could and away from disapproving eyes. Her hair was disheveled, sweat had pooled under her arms and breasts, prickling her skin. She slowed down as they reached the outskirts of town. It was only another half mile to the house. Ben had not stopped crying. Now that there was no one to see her, June stopped the stroller and lifted him out. She set him down hard on the ground and slapped him on the bottom.

  “Now that’s enough,” she said, her voice low and fierce. But June’s slap and angry words only succeeded in bringing on a fresh bout of wailing. Defeated, she settled Ben back into his stroller and plodded toward the house. She turned into their lane. All was quiet. As she passed Stone cottage, she glanced over and saw Elizabeth Hutchinson through a window, her hat pinned to her hair as if she was about to go out. Obviously she had decided to forgo the parade. She wondered where their son Paul was, if he was ever allowed out, if he had anyone to play with. She pressed her lips into a tight line, mustering as much dignity as she was able and pushed the stroller around toward the back of her house. She left it at the base of the steps and lifted Ben out. He had quieted a bit now, whimpering and snuffling, like a wounded animal.

  In the kitchen she sat him in his highchair and gave him a bowl of applesauce and two vanilla wafers. His face was stained with tears and he looked at her with such a sense of betrayal and fury that her heart seized up. Was she such a bad mother? Did her youngest child hate her? The thought was wrenching and she tried to console herself by the thought that he wasn’t even two yet, still a baby trying to make sense of a difficult world.

  “Nawwh,” Ben said, pushing the applesauce away. The bowl slipped off his high chair and clattered on the floor. June left the kitchen, leaving Ben strapped in his chair. If she could just lie down for a minute in peace she’d be able to cope better. She pressed her fingers to her temples. All she wanted was a few minutes of silence and then everything would be all right.

  But as soon as she lay down on her bed she straightened up again and pulled the washcloth from her eyes. There was no time for sitting around feeling sorry for herself. There was chicken to fry and potato salad and coleslaw to ma
ke for their picnic this evening. Usually she liked the Fourth, was excited by the parade and the thrill of fireworks exploding in the sky over the beach. But this year with Claire sick and Ben getting into everything she didn’t know how she was going to cope on her own. Not with this nagging tiredness in her bones. All she ever wanted to do these days was sleep. If only Meg were here to give June a strong shoulder to lean on.

  June eased herself upright and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Ben had made a mess of his food, but at least he was quiet now. She pulled a platter of chicken legs and breasts out of the icebox and plugged in the electric frying pan. The cord was frayed at the end and June made a mental note to ask John to fix it. That and oil the hinges on the backdoor, fix the leak in the roof that drained water down into their bedroom when it rained. June sighed. It was a constant struggle against the encroaching elements, the rain and the damp.

  She dusted the chicken with flour and black pepper. When the oil was hot, she put the pieces in with a pair of tongs, stepping back and shielding her face from the spattering grease. Listening to the sizzling fat, she realized that although it was only just July she was already looking forward to the end of the summer, when the girls would go back to school and it would just be Ben she had to worry about during the day. Once fall came she could get back to the weekly bridge games she played with another couple her own age and a widower in his sixties. John didn’t play, but it was the one evening a week that June could get out of the house and enjoy a little adult conversation.

  June turned the chicken pieces so they could brown on the other side. When they were done, she lifted them out and allowed them to drain on a layer of newspaper. She continued like this for nearly an hour, mechanically browning the chicken until the platter was empty and the cooked pieces were piled up, grease soaking through the paper and onto the Formica counter.