Boardwalk Summer

by Meredith Jaeger

  I pressed a hand against my chest, a smile spreading across my face. Then I pulled the door open. “Jason! What are you doing here?”

  My heart flooded with love, looking up at the strapping young man my grandson had become. He had Gene’s kindness and the most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen. He bent down and wrapped me in the most delicious hug. I pressed my arms against his strong back and held him close, feeling small in his arms.

  “Surprise! I decided to visit.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming home until the holidays. This is a welcome surprise indeed. Come in!”

  I ushered him inside, still unable to believe how tall he’d grown. How old was he now? Twenty-eight? How time had flown.

  “Is Pops home?” he asked, running a hand through his messy hair.

  “He’s in the kitchen. He’ll be so thrilled to see you.”

  Jason smiled, but his eyes held sadness. My smile faltered. Oh dear. What could be troubling him? But when he looked at me, his eyes brightened. “You look beautiful, Grandma. You haven’t aged a day.”

  I laughed. “You’re too kind. Are you hungry? Can I fix you a sandwich?”

  Jason grinned, tugging the collar of his flannel shirt. “No, Grandma, don’t trouble yourself. If I get hungry, I can make myself a sandwich.”

  “Let me do it,” I said, walking toward the kitchen. “It keeps me young.”

  Every morning, I put on a swipe of red lipstick, and noted how my smile hadn’t changed. The multitude of wrinkles around my eyes and mouth came from years of laughter. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And now that Eugene and I weren’t getting by on tins of beans and plates of rice like we did during the war years, I made an effort to eat healthy—fruits and vegetables. Eat your colors, as the doctor said.

  “Look who’s here,” I said, clapping my hands together as Jason followed me into the kitchen. Gene looked up from his paper, and then broke into a wide smile.

  “Is that you, Jason? Holy moly, I thought you weren’t coming home until Christmas. It’s still summertime, isn’t it?”

  “No, Gene,” I deadpanned. “It’s December. Go shovel the driveway and put the lights up like I asked you to.”

  “Oh hell,” Gene said, laughing until he coughed. “She loves to tease me.”

  Jason laughed too, a wonderful sound, deep and contagious. He gave his grandfather a hug, but there was something in his posture—I could tell he was unsettled.

  “How’s your new job?” Gene asked, patting Jason on the back. “Do you like living in California? We sure do miss you.”

  Of all places, Jason had found a job in Santa Cruz. I’d nearly had a ministroke when he’d told me where he was moving. My heart ached to set my feet in the sand, to dip my toes in the Pacific Ocean, but I’d never returned.

  “It’s going well,” Jason said. “I love California. Great weather, great people.”

  “Have you met anyone special?” I nudged him in the ribs.

  “Actually, yes,” he said, his brown eyes meeting mine. “And if it’s okay with you, Grandma, I’d like to talk to you in private.”

  My stomach flipped, the way it would when I’d reached the peak of the Giant Dipper roller coaster, before it tumbled downward at full speed. I hadn’t ridden that rickety old thing in over sixty years, but I still remembered the sensation.

  “Sure, dear. Let’s go into the sitting room.”

  “What, I’m not invited?” Gene said, setting down his coffee.

  Jason patted him on the shoulder. “I need to talk to Grandma alone. Sorry, Pops.”

  My slippers padded across the hardwood floors as I walked toward the living room. I settled in the window seat overlooking the garden. Jason sat down next to me, the wood creaking beneath him. He’d gotten a bit of a suntan, and it suited him.

  “So what is it you want to tell me?” I asked, placing my hand on his. “You’ve met someone special?”

  He looked down at our hands, and then up again, his eyes serious.

  “I have. Her name is Mari. Marisol Cruz.”

  “Lovely name. Is she a Spanish girl?”

  “Her family is Mexican American. They’ve lived in Santa Cruz for generations.” He took a deep breath in, and then let it out. “Grandma, have you kept a secret from me? About your life before the war?”

  My heart began beating so fast. Was this the beginning of a heart attack? But I took a deep breath in and counted: 2, 4, 6, 8. My heart slowed its beating when I let the air out.

  “Why do you say that, dear?”

  Jason shook his head. “Grandma, this isn’t easy for me. I need you to tell me the truth. Did you know someone named Ricardo Cruz? Did he save your life?”

  I shut my eyes, my heart flooded with memories of that night. The fear, the desperation, then the exhilaration of riding that train to freedom.

  He knew.

  I opened my eyes. “Yes.”

  Jason blinked rapidly. “It’s true, then? You were a beauty queen married to a man who tried to kill you? Was your name Violet Harcourt?”

  Over the years, I’d slipped into the comfort of living life as Vera Stanek. I didn’t want to step out into the harsh cold world beyond that. It would mean I had harmed those I loved most by lying to them.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

  I wanted to hug him, to tell him that it was okay to cry, but his jaw set in a hard line as he fought his emotions.

  “Jesus,” Jason said, rubbing his face. “How did you do it?”

  “I used my Social Security card from Woolworth’s. In 1938 a wallet manufacturer decided to show how well a Social Security card would fit in a wallet. A sample card was included with each wallet, printed with the actual number of the company president’s secretary. It worked when I used it as my own.”

  “What?” Jason said. “No way.”

  “It’s true. You can search it on the Google.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Well, I never. Do phones have the Internet now?”

  “Yep. They’re called smartphones.” He typed away, and then his eyes widened. “Grandma, this article says that by 1943, five thousand seven hundred and fifty-five people were using the secretary’s Social Security number.”

  I smiled. “That card was the wrong size and had the word ‘specimen’ printed on it, but I wasn’t the only person who used the number. In fact, I was quite relieved when I found out I wasn’t alone.”

  A crease formed between his thick eyebrows. “So that’s how you were able to remarry?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Does Pops know?”

  “You’d be surprised what comes out after sixty-three years of marriage.”

  His eyes widened. Someday he would learn to love and trust someone as deeply as I trusted Gene. It had taken me ten years before I told my husband my secret, but one evening after a bottle of wine, the truth came spilling out. He’d hugged me and held me close, promising he wouldn’t tell a soul. And decades later, he remained true to his word. In private he called me his gal from the movies, though he knew I was more at home mucking around in the garden.

  “It was a painful time,” I said, my voice breaking. “I didn’t have anywhere to turn. I was in a bad marriage, and I tried to leave when I moved to Hollywood to become a film actress. But Charles, my first husband, he came for me.”

  Jason squeezed my hand. “Grandma, I’m so sorry you went through that.”

  I pushed the image of Charles, fists raised, to the back of my mind. I’d made a choice to let the pain go, to wake up every morning with a smile on my face, to befriend other positive people, to cherish every moment, to snuggle my dogs, to appreciate my time digging in the garden, the sun on my shoulders.

  I smiled at him. “It’s all in the past.”

  His face clouded over. “But Mom. Is she . . . is she?”

  I nodded. “She’s his daughter.”

  Jason grimaced.

  “And Pops, so he�
�s not . . .”

  I gripped Jason’s hand. “Jason, look at him. You’re practically wearing the same flannel shirt. Pops might not be your flesh and blood, but in his heart and in yours, he is your grandfather. You know that.”

  Jason’s eyes filled with tears. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. My heart broke for him. “I know this is a lot to take in. We never meant to hurt you. We thought it was easier this way.”

  “How?” Jason asked. “Everything I’ve known my entire life is a lie.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, rubbing his hand. “My love for you, your mother’s love for you, and Pops’s love for you, that’s the truth. It’s the only truth that matters.”

  “Shit,” Jason said, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I didn’t mean to swear. This is so overwhelming for me.”

  I rubbed his back, like I used to when he was a little boy who couldn’t stop crying after he’d taken a fall and scraped his knees. But then I began putting the puzzle pieces together. “How did you know the name Ricardo Cruz?”

  “He’s Mari’s grandfather.”

  “The girl you’re dating? Oh my word.” I blinked back tears. “Ricky Cruz was a dear friend. I wondered over the years if he told anyone the truth about me, but I don’t believe he ever told a soul.”

  My heart ached to reach out to my old friend, to thank him again.

  “How is Ricky?”

  Jason’s face fell. “Oh, I’m sorry. He passed away.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. I should have expected as much. So many of my friends had passed over the years, Gene and I hardly had any left. But that didn’t make the news any easier. I had lost my chance.

  “But his family?” I asked, looking up at Jason. “He married and was happy?”

  Jason smiled. “Yes, very happy. He bought a house on Beach Hill in Santa Cruz that his kids and grandkids live in. Mari has told me so many stories about him. It sounds like he lived a full and wonderful life.”

  “How did Mari find out about me?”

  “She discovered the note you wrote Ricky. She’s actually been following your story for a while. She found your obituary—God, that’s weird to say—in an old magazine, and got hooked on figuring out what happened to you.”

  I laughed. “And here I thought I could disappear.”

  Jason frowned. “Why didn’t you come forward? Try to get Charles arrested?”

  I pressed my lips together. “I feared the legal consequences of what I’d done. I wanted a normal life for your mother. And a second chance for myself.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin. “When Mari showed me your note, and told me that Violet Harcourt was you, I freaked out.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I panicked, left her house in a huff. Mari works for the Santa Cruz museum and wants to tell your story. But I told her it isn’t her story to tell.”

  My stomach knotted, and I pressed down the familiar fear of being discovered—a fear that had haunted me my entire life. But Charles was dead now. Would anyone really send an old woman like me to jail if I came forward with the truth?

  “Grandma?” Jason asked, his eyes concerned.

  “Sorry, dear, I was thinking.” I smiled. “Do you love her?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Yeah. I do.”

  “And have you told her yet?”

  “Not yet. I’ve thought about texting her to let her know.”

  “Psssht.” I waved my hand. “We’ll have none of that hogwash. A young man should not communicate his love by text.”

  Jason laughed. “Okay. Should I call her?”

  I gripped his arm, suddenly filled with a giddy sense of excitement, like I was a young girl riding my bicycle down West Cliff Drive with the wind in my hair.

  “I have a better idea.”

  Chapter 31

  Marisol Cruz

  2007

  Order up for table seven!”

  Mari looked at Manuel, sweating beneath his hairnet as he called out another breakfast order, his face red as a tomato.

  They had been slammed this week. Students had their families in town, and everyone had decided the Jupiter Café was where they wanted to have brunch.

  Picking up the hot plate of hash browns and eggs, Mari carried it over to table seven.

  “Hash browns and eggs?”

  The girl in front of Mari wrinkled her nose. “Are those scrambled? Gross. I did not order scrambled. I ordered sunny-side up.”

  “Are you sure?” Mari asked, sweat dripping down her back as she looked around the restaurant. They were understaffed, thanks to Wanda. Glancing at her notepad, Mari saw “scrambled eggs” written in her neat penmanship.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” the girl scoffed, looking down at her long acrylic nails.

  “Sorry,” Mari said, biting back her frustration. “We’ll make it right this time.”

  As she walked away, the girl turned to her friend and said, “I won’t be tipping her.” Then they both erupted into giggles.

  Gritting her teeth, Mari returned to the kitchen.

  “What’s the problem?” Manuel asked.

  Mari shook her head apologetically. “She wants sunny-side up.”

  He threw up his hands and then muttered a string of curse words. His bad mood permeated the air.

  “Hey.” The new waitress with a pierced lip and blue hair walked up to Mari. “I think I screwed up. I switched table eight and table four. Can you help me?”

  Mari took a deep breath, summoning her last drop of patience. Today could not get any worse. “Sure. Just give me a minute.”

  “How’s it going in here?” Wanda asked, appearing in the kitchen, her eyes wide behind her rhinestone glasses. She frowned. “Looks like those folks need coffee. What’s the holdup, Marisol? Andale, Andale!”

  “I’m on it,” Mari said, anger creeping up her neck. She began to reach for the coffeepot, but stopped midway. What was she doing here? Time seemed to stand still as she realized she’d spent the last four years doing exactly this—yielding to Wanda’s demands and smiling at rude customers.

  Was she too afraid to put herself in the position of wanting something bigger, because she might fail? Sure, the hours of waitressing had suited her schedule, and the pay was steady, but working at the museum booth had shown her she could do more.

  Mari spun around. “You know what, Wanda? I speak English. You don’t need to tell me to andale. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

  Wanda curled her lip, her bright red lipstick creeping into the wrinkles above her mouth. “Are you giving me attitude?”

  “No. I’m pointing out that we’re understaffed because you didn’t hire enough servers this week. And we’re all doing the best we can. In fact, you could help us by bringing that coffee to those folks yourself.”

  “Listen here, missy. You’re lucky to have this job.”

  Mari took a deep breath, and then straightened her shoulders. “I’m going to stay until the end of my shift, because I’m not leaving Manuel and Bridget in the lurch. But then you’re going to mail me my last paycheck. Because guess what? I quit.”

  Turning her back on Wanda, Mari stormed out of the kitchen. Manuel raised his eyebrows, and then smiled ever so slightly before returning to the sizzling stovetop.

  Bridget followed her, wide-eyed. “That was badass.”

  “Thanks,” Mari said. “We’ll fix your order. I’m only going to be here for a few more hours, so pay attention, okay?”

  UNTYING HER APRON, Mari smiled. She hung it up on a hook for the next waitress to wear. Punching her time card for the last time, Mari enjoyed the satisfying thump of the stamp. Some of the kitchen staff wanted to get beers, but she declined.

  Mari waved goodbye, then stepped out the back entrance into the parking lot. It was a beautiful summer evening, the sky still light and the air warm. Smoothing her short blue dress, Mari hoped she’d never smell like greasy French fries or onion rings ever again. He
r future wasn’t certain, but she knew she could do more than waitress—she had her museum position on her résumé now.

  It was scary to have terminated her main source of income, but hopefully it would light a fire under her to find a new job as soon as possible. Something she really wanted this time—a career that would make her daughter proud.

  Mari walked across the parking lot. The driver’s-side door opened on a silver Honda, and Jason emerged, holding a bouquet of pink roses, orange tulips, purple orchids and yellow sunflowers. Mari blinked, trying to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Then she brought her hand to her mouth. “You’re back already? Why didn’t you text me that you were coming?”

  Jason smiled. “Because I wanted to surprise you.”

  He looked so handsome in his flannel shirt, his brown eyes sparkling. He’d only been gone for a few days, but she’d really missed him.

  “How did you know when my shift ended?”

  “I called your mom.”

  “Well, don’t tell her yet, but I quit.”

  “What? Just now?”

  Mari laughed. “Yeah. It was time.”

  “Come here,” Jason said, wrapping his arms around her. “Congratulations.”

  She hugged him tightly, breathing in the scent of his cologne. Then she kissed him slowly on the lips, savoring the moment.

  Jason handed her the bouquet of flowers, which she took, burying her nose in their soft petals. They were so beautiful.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  He swallowed, his eyes locking on hers with an intensity she hadn’t seen before.

  “Well, I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

  Looking into his warm brown eyes, Mari felt a rush of emotion. Her heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Then she said the three words she’d never uttered to anyone, except members of her family.

  “I love you.”

  “Whew,” Jason said, breaking into a giant grin. “I was scared for a moment there you were going to tell me to get lost.”

  “Never.” She nodded at the silver Honda. “Did you buy a car?”

  “It’s a rental. Come around to the passenger side. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Mari’s stomach dropped as she saw a petite woman sitting in the passenger seat, her short hair dyed brown and neatly curled.