by Shawn Inmon
She walked out and let the warm water wash over her. She dunked her head under, then pushed her hair back away from her face.
There were a few clouds in the sky and as she looked up, the moon moved out from behind them. She turned and floated on her back, kicking gently and watching the stars and moon. Finally, she took a deep breath, turned, and swam away from shore. She swam until her arms were lead, then pushed on more.
When she could push no more, she stopped trying.
Good enough.
She slipped below the waves.
Chapter Forty-Five
Veronica McAllister opened her eyes and gasped for air. Her body jerked, and the paperback on her lap flew onto the floor.
Who said drowning is a good way to die? I don’t think I’d choose that again.
She looked around at the now-familiar Weaver living room. I’ve gotta see this kid I’m supposed to be babysitting.
She picked the book off the floor, then ran quietly up the stairs and pushed through a door that was cracked open. Inside was a white crib, a changing table, and, in one corner, a sturdy rocking chair. Veronica crept into the room. Don’t wake the little guy up, or Mr. & Mrs. Weaver will be unhappy, and he might not tip me that extra twenty-five cents. Her eyes adjusted to the near darkness and she walked to the crib.
Inside was a perfectly cherubic baby. Dark curls framed his face. Chubby cheeks moved in and out with each deep breath. Zack Weaver, you are one beautiful baby. Glad I finally got to see you.
She closed the door as it had been and was coming down the stairs as the Weavers came in the front door.
“I was just checking on Zack. He’s such a beautiful baby.”
“Hope you didn’t tell him that,” James Weaver said. “Not even a year old, and he already has a pretty big head.”
“Oh, James,” Anne said. “Will you pay Veronica and give her a ride home?”
“Of course.” He looked as though he wanted to walk the house and make sure Veronica hadn’t gotten into anything, but instead he cast his eyes around the living room. He smiled at Veronica and said, “Shall we?”
Back home, Veronica slipped inside, took her shoes off and walked quietly up the stairs. She met Doris at the top of the stairs. I’ve made up with you so often now, it’s hard for me to remember that we hadn’t been getting along. That’s for another day, though. Right now, I’m tired.
She didn’t speak to Doris—just gave her a peck on the cheek and a wan smile, and went into her bedroom. Five minutes later, she was fast asleep.
VERONICA WENT THROUGH the items of her checklist—build bridges with Doris, reconnect with Ruthie—but she did so without as much enthusiasm. She had built what she had thought would be the perfect life, and found it hollow and unfulfilling.
She drifted through her first few months back in Middle Falls, not paying much attention to anything. It was hard to get too excited for her high school graduation, when she had already done it four times.
Throughout the summer of 1958, Veronica continued to work at Artie’s. Through all her lives, it had been a touchstone for her, and she felt like she needed the comfort of it more than ever.
One unusually hot day in mid-July, she reported for the late shift a few minutes before noon. Western Oregon is typically moderate, even in the summer, but on this day the thermometer outside the front door, which was decorated with happy, chilly, snowmen, read 92 degrees. You cute little snowmen should skedaddle if you have any sense. You’ll melt in this heat.
Inside, both the dining room, and the grill area, had moved past hot, were well into stultifying, and edging toward unbearable. Perry Zimmerman was already a bit wilted as he stood at the counter, taking orders. When he saw Veronica, he reached under the counter and pulled up a white bottle.
“Salt tablets. Take a couple. I don’t want you passing out on me today. Drink lots of liquids with them.”
Before sports drinks, we always had salt tablets.
Veronica accepted a small handful and slipped them into her pocket. She noticed DJ back by the grill and wandered over to him. He was whistling along to the Frank Sinatra song playing on the radio. He looked remarkably fresh for someone toiling over a grill. He gave Veronica his crooked grin and said, “It’s Artie’s answer to Piper Laurie. How’s tricks?”
“What, are you superhuman or something? I’d be half-dead if I had to work around this grill all day.”
“Why yes, I am a superman. Thank you for noticing, oh lovely one.” He flipped a row of burgers and spun open another bag of buns and began buttering them. “Seriously, though, the heat never bothers me. No idea why. Lucky to be this cool, I guess. Boring, huh?”
“DJ, you are many things, but you are never boring.”
“Truer words and all that,” DJ said, flipping a top bun on a burger and nestling it in a basket with an order of golden fries. “Number sixteen for that one.”
For the rest of the day, Veronica watched DJ work. He complimented every woman who worked there and told them they were beautiful, but he had the knack of doing it without being creepy or overbearing. In all her lifetimes, she had never seen him go out on a single date.
Could he be gay? That wasn’t the kind of thing you trumpeted about in the fifties, especially in a small town like Middle Falls.
Finally, when she took her dinner break in the late afternoon, she decided to find out. This isn’t the kind of thing young ladies did in the late fifties, but I’m not really a fifties girl.
As she stood by the grill waiting for DJ to make her a “Ronnie Special,” she leaned in close to him and said, “DJ, will you go out with me?”
DJ’s cool demeanor melted away like an ice cube dropped on his grill. His mouth fell open a crack and he stuttered out a few syllables that did not actually form words.
“You’re gonna give a girl a complex, you know.”
DJ spun his right hand around in a gesture that would normally be to tell someone to continue with their story. In this case, it was an effort to connect his mouth to his brain. He nodded his head several times, like a stuttering boy trying to spit out a word with too many syllables.
Finally, frustrated, he stopped. Took a deep breath, and said one word. “Yes.”
“That’s better. Now, what’s the next evening we both have off?”
Chapter Forty-Six
They were both off the following Saturday, so they decided that would be the day. It would be more accurate to say that Veronica decided. It took a lot of effort to get a straight answer out of DJ. He had always been bathed in hipster cool, but for the rest of that shift, he was more bathed in flop sweat. His resistance to the heat had evaporated.
Veronica found that completely endearing. She noticed that DJ was looking at her every time she glanced his way, then he would immediately look away. I think he’s a complete flirt until someone calls him on it, then he doesn’t know how to handle it.
DJ picked Veronica up at her parent’s house that Saturday afternoon at 5:00. When he knocked on the door, Barbara answered it, and with a giggle she said, “You look like Elvis, but not as cute. Mom! You can come look at him now!”
Some things never change. Veronica hustled to the front door to rescue DJ from Barbara. Doris emerged from the kitchen and said, “Hello, DJ, so nice to meet you. Ronnie has told me so much about you.”
Veronica had never seen DJ out of his Artie’s uniform, and she was glad to see that he did own other clothes. He was wearing a blue sports coat with a light blue shirt underneath it and charcoal gray, somewhat baggy slacks. The outfit was completed by a red bow tie.
“Thank you, Mrs. McAllister. It’s nice to meet you. Veronica has never mentioned her parents. I thought perhaps she was orphaned.”
Doris blinked once, then twice.
Veronica swatted DJ on the arm. I see he’s recovered his terrible sense of humor. “Oh, DJ, it’s better if you get to know my mom before you kid around with her.” She shot him a sharp look, and he looked properly abashed.
“Oh, I see,” Doris said, but her expression revealed that she may not have seen at all. “May I ask how old you are, umm...” she left the question hanging in the air.
“DJ, ma’am. My parents named me Dimitri John, but I’ve been DJ since before I can remember. And, I’m nineteen, as of last month.”
Doris nodded. “Veronica has only just turned eighteen, which means in some ways, she is an adult. But, as long as she lives under our roof, she lives with our rules. Those rules include a midnight curfew for her, even on weekends.”
My God, how old am I actually? It took Veronica a few moments to do the math, and she came up with one hundred and nine years old. She reached up and touched her face. I look pretty good for an old broad, if I do say so.
“Of course,” DJ said. “That won’t be any problem.”
“And where are you taking her?”
“Well, I was hoping it would be a surprise, but ...” DJ leaned forward, cupped his hand around Doris’s ear, and whispered for several seconds.
Doris’s face softened. “Oh, I see. Yes, that’s very nice. Good for you, DJ.”
I have no idea what you just told my mother, but you won her over. There might be hope for you after all.
“Well,” Doris said, “you kids have fun.”
When they got to the curb, DJ opened the passenger door to his ’51 Dodge Coronet. It was a bulky, unattractive car, but it was clean inside. DJ hustled around to the driver’s side, fished in his jacket pocket for the key, inserted it and gave it a twist. There was a slight, muffled sound from the engine, then silence.
Veronica glanced over at him, and the life seemed to have gone out of DJ. He slumped forward for a minute, then perked up, and said, “Be right back.” He clambered out, opened the trunk, and she could hear the thud and rustling of metal. A moment later, he was in front of the car. He opened the hood, and she thought she heard him say, “Not now, ya old bitch,” but couldn’t be sure.
He slipped behind the wheel again, tossed a pair of locking pliers into the backseat, gave a hopeful smile to Veronica, and made a show of crossing his fingers. He gently turned the key again, and the engine rumbled to life.
“Couple of teeth missing from the flywheel. It starts almost every time, but at the worst times, like when it’s pouring rain—“
—or you’re out on a date,” Veronica interjected.
“—or I’m out on a date,” DJ agreed, “it seems to happen with alarming regularity. Not that I’ve dated a lot.” He glanced to his right to see how this revelation was taken by Veronica, then he turned the wheel away from the curb and accelerated.
It is not a major surprise that you haven’t dated a lot, DJ. I was pretty sure that was the case when you about died when I asked you out.
“So, what’s the big secret you and Mom are keeping from me?”
DJ raised a hand, indicating he would not be answering any further questions on the subject. He turned KMFR up, and they listened to Bobby Darin, Fats Domino, and The Diamonds as they drove. They passed through downtown, then continued on. Finally he turned into the last neighborhood inside the city limits.
He made two quick rights and pulled up in front of a two story house. It was a boxy house, gray with white trim. It was well-maintained, but not ostentatious. There were three other cars already parked in the driveway, so he parked in the loose gravel in front.
Veronica looked at the house, then looked at DJ. “So, where are we, exactly?”
“Oh, this is my grandmother’s house.”
“You’re bringing me to meet your family? On our first date?”
DJ looked slightly nervous, but stood his ground. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Why, do you bring girls here all the time? Is that why it’s not a big deal?”
“In this lifetime, you are the first girl I have ever brought to my grandmother’s.”
Veronica sighed. “You are impossible. But, charming, in your own way.”
“Halleluiah. That’s exactly what I was going for—charming.” DJ slid out of the car and hurried around to open Veronica’s door. He crooked his arm and offered it to her. He didn’t knock on the door, but pushed through. They walked into a maelstrom of laughing, conversation, the slamming of cupboard doors and scraping of floors. The kitchen and dining room was overflowing with both people and noise.
I swear, if everyone stops dead and looks at us, I am turning heel and running.
No one seemed to even notice they had arrived. DJ winked at her and led her by the elbow into the kitchen. A small gray-haired lady stood at the stove, an oasis of calm among all the hubbub. “Bunica? This is Ronnie, the girl I told you about. Veronica, this is my Bunica—my grandmother.”
The old woman, who stood no taller than 4’10”, turned and looked up at Veronica with sharp dark eyes. She inspected her from her red hair to her saddle shoes.
I’ve had MRIs that felt less invasive than her stare.
Finally, she nodded and said, one word. “Good.” Then she opened the oven door and a heavenly smell emerged that made Veronica’s stomach growl.
“You made sarmale! Mmmm.” He turned to Veronica. “Cabbage rolls. Everything I know about cooking, I learned from my Bunica.”
The old woman didn’t look at DJ, but in a heavy accent, said, “You know nothing. Not yet. In time.”
“Come on, let’s run the gauntlet. I mean, let me introduce you to my family.”
“I owe you, DJ.”
“Yes, but you can take your time paying me back. Besides, this is only part of the family. If everyone showed up, it would be really loud in here.” DJ took Veronica’s hand and led her into the huge dining room next to the kitchen. He introduced her to his mother and father, three brothers, a sister, two aunts, an uncle, and a bevy of cousins, nieces, and nephews.
“I hope there won’t be a test at the end of the night, because I won’t remember half these names,” Veronica whispered into DJ’s ear.
He grinned. “No hurry. You’ve got plenty of time.”
The noise level in the house never dipped below a dull roar, except for sixty seconds of quiet prayer before the meal.
There are a dozen conversations happening around me, and it feels like they’ve all been going on for years and years. I don’t know how they do it, but I feel included, without being made the center of attention. This is a family.
There was a feast spread out on the table. Not just the sarmale, but an incredible soup DJ said was called Ciorba de Burta, a polenta dish they called mamaliga, and half a dozen others that she didn’t catch the name of.
Also, if they eat like this every meal, how come none of them are fat?
When the meal was over, the men went out into the backyard to smoke, and the women and DJ cleared all the dishes. “You go sit down, Bunica,” DJ said. “Ronnie and I will do the dishes.”
The old woman didn’t argue. She pointed out how she wanted the leftovers saved, then toddled off to a comfy rocking chair in the living room. She was asleep before the sink was full of dishes. His aunt and older female cousins sat around her, talking quietly.
“I know, I know,” DJ said. “Kind of a crazy first date, isn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t think I could have gotten a better meal anywhere in Middle Falls, or maybe all of Oregon tonight. And, if my goal was to get to know you a little better, I think we’ve accomplished that.”
“Ah,” DJ said. “Then this is the part where you run fleeing into the night.”
“This is the part where I say, when are we going out again?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The next few months were heavenly for Veronica. She lived at home, spending time with her Mom, Dad, and Barbara; she got to work at Artie’s; and best of all, she spent a lot of time with DJ. Although the two of them were often together, they rarely went on what would ordinarily be conside
red a teenage date in Middle Falls.
Once, they drove up to see a special traveling art exhibit in Portland, and another time they did go see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Pickwick. Most of their time together, though, was spent either with his family, or hers, or going for drives and walks and talking. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about.
When autumn rolled around and Veronica had shown no forward progress in planning a life for herself, Doris began to inquire about what her plans were. One morning, as Veronica sat at the breakfast table eating a bowl of Cream of Wheat, Doris broached the subject.
“You’ve got three days scheduled at Artie’s this week.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Veronica agreed.
“What else is on your agenda? And, before you answer, it should probably be something other than ‘spend time with DJ’. You know we love him, but time is slipping away, and I don’t sense much forward momentum for you. I thought you would enroll in City College.”
Is time slipping away? It seems like it is just repeating, to me. “There was nothing I wanted to study at City. There’s so few opportunities for women. I can be a secretary, or a nurse, right?”
“Or a teacher. If you don’t get married right away, you’ll always have that to fall back on.”
Teaching. The third of the Big Three Career Opportunities for women in the fifties. I’ll never get rich, but now I know how much I care about that. For a moment, Veronica let her mind wander over the idea. I’d have a set schedule. I’d get to work with kids. It would give me a reason to get out of bed every morning.
“I’ve never thought about teaching, Mom, but you’re right. I could look into that.”
Doris jumped at the chance to help. She had many superpowers. Chief among them was organization and planning, but she also loved to throw herself into a project for the kids. She had once spent an entire Sunday building a map of the Canadian provinces out of clay with Johnny because he had procrastinated an assignment.
