Her hand flies to her hip, elbow bent. “Now, I never said I was a dumb Dora. I only said I’m no genius.” She chuckles at herself, then her laugh lines disappear. “Okay, so Clyde.”
“So Clyde.” I wring my hands together. I already let one non-Roy distract me, and I saw how good that turned out. “I think it’d be best if I kept my distance from him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something ’bout Clyde, and with the wedding in a few days—”
“Bonn,” she says, and taps me with her hip. I stumble to the side. She reaches for a glass, puts it under the faucet. “It’s okay. Just keep your finger to yourself then.”
I chuckle at her nonsensical response. “For someone so smart, you seem to have forgotten to use soap to clean those glasses.”
She splashes me. “Go make sure your fiancé is enjoying himself. I doubt Clyde will still be here.”
“You think he left already?”
She bobs her head. “Most likely. He doesn’t have much reason to stay, now.”
I cock my head at her, but she ushers me back into the main room. There’s no Clyde—or Roy. I knit my brows, not able to stop the nerves churning inside of me, the worry that Roy could be having it out with Clyde somewhere. But why would he? This is my insecurity talking. Pre-wedding jitters.
I survey the room, peering ’round the dancers, and exhale, finding Roy at a poker table, Clyde nowhere in sight.
That’s a good thing, I tell myself, and close the book on Clyde Barrow.
21
Buster uses his good hand to fidget with his bow tie. I swat him.
“Stop that. You’ll only mess it up.”
“It’s too tight.” He smiles at me, crow’s-feet appearing next to his eyes. “How come I’m the nervous one?”
“I’m good and nervous,” I say, smoothing my hands down Ma’s old wedding gown. I chew my bottom lip, looking at the church’s double door I’m set to walk through, as soon as the music begins.
Marrying Roy was always in the plan, I suppose. But after almost losing him, after almost losing the only love I’ve ever known, “one day” simply became “now.” It was desperate of me to use my ma’s sickness to lure Roy back. It was compulsive of me to tell Roy I’m ready to marry him, while sitting at her bedside. Yet, here we are, no more distractions or roadblocks, and marrying Roy feels like a necessity to fixin’ things, if I want a chance for those doodles that sat atop my bureau my whole life to come true. There’s no way I’m letting some devil-may-care boy lure me away again.
It doesn’t matter how Roy and I got to the point, just that we’re here. I’m ready to become Mrs. Roy Thornton.
“Hey,” Buster says, holding out his bandaged arm. “Help me out of this.”
“You don’t need the cast?”
“I’ll be okay for today.”
“Does that mean you’ll be back at the plant soon?”
Buster laughs.
“What?” I didn’t mean for the question to come out sounding so desperate. I slide the soft cast off his arm. “Of course I’ll still help Ma out with money, but I’ll have a duty to Roy now, too.”
“I was thinkin’ I may try my luck with duck.”
My eyes widen. “You think you’re going to support our family shooting duck? Buster, I can’t believe—”
“Oh, Bonnelyn, you make it too easy. I’m only razzing you. Been having some thoughts recently ’bout getting a job as a broker.”
“You’d know how to do that?”
“Have some faith in me, would ya? I’ve been studying up on stocks. Been keeping it to myself, didn’t want to jinx it, but I made some connections already. Even got myself a snazzy suit for the interview.” Buster pats our daddy’s old jacket that he wears. The piano roars to life on the other side of the door. “I reckon it’s time to get you hitched.”
I swallow. “I reckon it is.” Looping my arm through Buster’s, I say, “Don’t let me fall.”
Buster squeezes my arm against his side. “Not like I could stop you, if you set your mind to falling.”
As the doors open, I lower my head, slowly raising my gaze again, bit by bit. At the end of the aisle, there’s Roy—hands behind his back, tall, handsome, a smile on his face. Pastor Frank stands beside him, his grin bigger than Roy’s, larger than mine.
Buster starts walking first, taking me with him. With each step, the gown’s heavy fabric shuffles ’round me. The high collar itches my neck, and I restrain myself from fidgeting with the buttons like my brother did with his bow tie.
The piano music is slow, steady. I think it’s fitting for the life Roy and I will have together. No surprises. Roy’s doodles coming to life: posing in front of the Eiffel Tower, riding horses with dogs running ’round our feet, holding hands by the sea’s crashing waves. Maybe even a new drawing of me, up onstage, Roy in the front row.
I broaden my smile, finally meeting Roy’s eyes. I see love there, the kind I hope to be long-lasting and enduring, and release the breath I’ve been holding.
Buster leads me past the few in attendance: my sister, my ma, my aunt, Blanche, and Buck. And on Roy’s side, only his parents, sitting hand in hand.
A flash blinds me, and Blanche peeks out from behind her camera.
Roy stretches a hand toward Buster, shaking it, before Buster passes me to him. Roy’s hands are clammy, and it puts me more at ease. So does the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the same way it did when he first said he wanted to marry me, outside our one-day home.
“Thank you all for sharing in this day,” Pastor Frank says, pure happiness in his voice. There’s no “Dearly beloved,” no formalities. Pastor Frank knows I wouldn’t want any hullabaloo. He begins sharing a story of Roy and me as pups, and how he knew we’d end up holding hands at the front of his church.
Blanche coughs, my attention shifting to her. She gives me a thumbs-up, but a tight smile.
Now, of all times, ain’t when I should be dissecting Blanche’s brain instead of listening to Pastor Frank, but her gesture and that expression don’t seem to match. Lately, she’s been so supportive of me marrying Roy and, only moments ago, helped me into my gown, followed by a rather uncomfortable First time with a man pep talk. But part of me wonders if my best friend has simply been on her best behavior, trying to fix her mistake from when she wrote that note.
Blanche glances over her shoulder, back at the church doors. Buck nudges her, and she lips something to him.
“I didn’t think so,” Pastor Frank says, humor mixing with the glee in his voice.
Roy squeezes my hands. Heat rushes up my back as I quickly, guiltily return my focus to Roy, where it should’ve been all along.
Pastor Frank lays a hand on Roy’s and my shoulders. “Let us proceed, now that we’ve unnecessarily established that no one objects to this matrimony.”
At our pastor’s remark, a chuckle or two comes from my right. An overwhelming urge wells up inside of me to have a silent conversation with Blanche ’bout why she looked over her shoulder at the exact moment Pastor Frank asked if anyone objected to Roy and me getting married.
Roy tightens his grip. His blond hair is slicked back today, a style he’s never worn before. It appears darker, ’cause of whatever he’s put in it. And, somehow, it makes him look more dangerous, ’specially with his square chin and prominent brows.
I lean closer to Roy as Pastor Frank presents our vows and asks me if I’ll take Roy’s hand in marriage.
“I do,” I whisper.
Roy returns the sentiment, and then he’s dipping me, his mouth landing on mine, even before Pastor Frank can pronounce us man and wife.
Little Billie squeals from the first pew, and our families clap at the fact that we’re now Mr. and Mrs. Roy Thornton.
Roy grins, sweeps me into his arms, and carries me down the aisle. He doesn’t put me down ’til we’ve gone a block over, him hugging me closer against the biting wind, and we’ve stepped through the door to my ma’s house.
“Hey,” I t
ease. “This doesn’t count as carrying me over the threshold. I don’t live here no more.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Thornton, I’ve got plans for you later.”
Nerves jumble my belly at finally making Roy my Roy Toy, but I play the part, licking my lips, leaning closer. “’Bout time for those plans, don’t you say?”
“Yes.”
I laugh at the quickness and the firmness of his answer, and decide telling Roy ’bout my tattoo ain’t so crazy anymore. “I’ve got something to show you.”
“Do you now?”
I nod. “But ya can’t see it yet. It’s in a spot that’s a bit … private.”
“What is?”
“I may’ve gotten your name on me.”
His eyes light up, and he reaches for me. “Where?”
I swat his hand away. “Now, Mr. Thornton, where’s your patience?” But I realize I don’t got a lick of it either. I pull Roy out of the doorway, hiding us from our family walking toward the house. Eyes trained on my husband, I gather my wedding gown, pulling it higher, higher, having to gather the dress ’cause of its volume.
I know the exact moment my dress is high enough. And I do believe Roy doesn’t suck in air for a few seconds.
“Bonnelyn,” he finally says, pauses, whistles. “I’m going to need a closer look at that. Much closer.”
I drop my dress, biting my lip to hold in a laugh. “Not with everyone headed this way.”
Roy moans, and I laugh freely, successfully leaving Roy wanting more for a second time.
Little Billie wraps her arms ’round us both, offering us her congratulations. From there, it’s one hug after another, ’til both our families are packed into Ma’s tiny house.
I let Blanche slip by without questioning her. It’d be poor form to ask her, in front of the husband I just propositioned, if she was expecting someone to burst through the chapel doors and shout, “Don’t marry him!” And, as far as our silent conversations go, she doesn’t take the bait when I cock my head at her.
My shoulders rise, fall with a steadying breath, and I join my family in the living room for an afternoon of food and, as the day progresses toward night, some secret hooch from Buck.
In the end, my aunt and the Thorntons have gone home—Roy’s father stumbling out of the house—and I sit at a table with my wedding gown sprawled out ’round me like a moat, playing cards. Ma is wrapped in a shawl on the couch, laughing along with us young’uns, covering one yawn after another.
“Bonnelyn, honey…” Ma gestures down the hall.
I push back from the table, rustling Little Billie’s hair as I pass her, and meet my ma in her bedroom.
She pats the bed beside her. “I have something to tell you, but I wanted to tell you privately, as not to steal any attention from your big day.” I start to laugh, but her tone is serious, if not giddy. She grips my hands together in her lap. “Dr. Peterson said I’ve got a clean bill of health.”
“No more cancer?”
“He’s going to keep an eye on it, but he says I’m okay. We’re okay. Once these stitches are out, I’ll be back to work. And now, with Buster getting that job … I’m just feeling so relieved. Everything will go back to normal.”
Happy tears form, and I squeeze my ma’s hand.
“Which,” she adds, “includes you going back to school, Bonnelyn.”
School. I’ve been avoiding it while I’ve cared for my ma, and, ultimately, ’cause of Hazel and her gossip hags. But now I smile at the idea of Hazel seeing me prance down the hall with Roy’s ring on my finger.
Ma kisses me good night before shooing me out of her room, encouraging me to enjoy the rest of my night.
Back in the living room, Roy’s stack of poker chips is higher than anyone else’s.
“Y’all,” he says, his voice booming from the hooch, “this is getting embarrassing—for y’all.”
I shush him.
Blanche objects, “That’s only ’cause none of us know how to play. Your pile would look like mine against a real shark.”
He shrugs. “Well, I reckon it’s time for the real celebration to begin, anyway. Think you can get all of us into Doc’s tonight?” Roy asks Buck.
Buck sips from his flask, passes it to me. “Yeah, I can make that happen.”
I take a mouthful of brown, dulling the itchiness of the gown’s fabric, and watch Little Billie straighten, all her tiredness gone.
“Billie, we need you to stay here,” I say. Her pout isn’t unexpected, but she doesn’t put up a stink. Billie just gives Blanche a hug and disappears into her bedroom.
“Poor li’l thing,” Blanche says, her eyes trailing Billie. Then she turns those eyes on me, excitement making the greenness of ’em brighter. “Your ma and I made you something. Well, it was more your ma than me. I can’t sew a lick.” She gives Buck a Sorry look, and he laughs. She pulls a box out from under the sofa. “I wanted to take you out yesterday to celebrate your last night as a free woman, but your ma didn’t want you hungover on your wedding day. Go on, open it,” she says.
Roy’s hoot overpowers my awestruck gasp. I dangle the thin, white fabric, embellished with pearls and diamonds.
“Them gems ain’t real,” Blanche says with a wave. “But I reckon this is more fitting for dancing than that bulky gown you’re wearing.”
Truth be told, I can’t wait to get the gown off. I love my ma for keeping her dress for me, and hope to pass it on to Billie and then my daughter one day, but, my Lord, it’s heavy.
In no time, we’re climbing out of Big Bertha and slipping through the apartment-side door into the physician’s office. Raymond quickly greets us at the top of the stairs, a cheek kiss for me and a shoulder slap for Roy, then ushers our group down the stairs, not wanting us to linger on the main floor.
Being at Doc’s after the wonderful day I’ve had couldn’t seem more right. Rosie is onstage, belting out a tune. The dance floor is packed. Mary is running up and down the bar, serving drinks. I don’t even feel bad that that snarky gal is manning it alone.
Blanche clearly doesn’t, either. She’s got Buck by the hand, dragging him out to dance. Roy takes my arm, leading me, and my mind flashes to weeks ago, when I daydreamed ’bout Roy swinging me ’round on this very dance floor.
He twists me toward him, and I slam into his chest. We burst into laughter, the sounds getting lost in the volume of Doc’s. Apparently, I never fully imagined the extent of dancing with a very clumsy and slightly intoxicated Roy. But a smile never leaves my lips, and we don’t stop dancing ’til our clothes are soaked through with perspiration.
“I didn’t think I’d get you this sweaty ’til later,” I say, and I mean it. I’m done saving my love; no more leaving Roy wanting more.
“Does that mean I’ll finally get another—more intimate—look at that tattoo of yours?”
“And then some.”
His jaw nearly hits the floor. “I’ll drink to that, Mrs. Thornton.”
* * *
I open my eyes once, twice, straining to keep ’em open the third time. Sleep clings to me, and I groan. As I roll over and see my husband, disappointment only makes me groan again. Even with my nerves at becoming Mrs. Thornton, yesterday had gone wonderfully—’til the whiskey flowed too smoothly.
Last night, there was no carrying me over the threshold. Supporting Roy’s weight as he drunkenly stumbled into our house was more like it. My sexy dress wasn’t crumpled on the floor ’cause Roy haphazardly threw it there in the heat of the moment. I tossed it to the ground after slipping into a long nightgown, covering up Roy’s name.
My wedding night hadn’t gone like it does for the lovey-dovey couples in my books or films.
I turn my back to Roy. He stirs, the mattress dipping as he moves closer. I pretend to be asleep. His fingertips brush against my neck, moving aside my hair. His lips touch my skin, gentle. Roy shifts, his hand moving to knead my stomach. Slowly, his palm drifts up ’til he cups my breast. He tightens his hold, and that’s
when I’ve had enough.
“No, Roy.”
The bed shifts again. I turn onto my back. Roy is propped on his elbow. “What?”
“If you think this is the backdrop for my first time making love, you’re sorely mistaken, ’specially after how you acted last night.”
He runs a hand through his greasy hair, now sticking together in clumps. “I’m sorry. I guess I got caught up in everything. You looked so good in that dress.”
“Stop. You got caught up in whiskey, not in me. The dancing part was fun. The many shots that followed, not as much.” I sit up, pulling the covers with me. “Buck had to carry you out of there.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he grumbles, but it almost sounds like it’s more in annoyance than regret.
“Are you, Roy? Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?”
Roy runs a hand down my cheek. “Let me make it up to you.”
I can forgive Roy for last night. Lord knows he’s forgiven me for worse. But the fact his breath smells like a possum died of alcohol poisoning leads me to swing my legs off the mattress, which is still lying directly on the floor, and say, “No.”
I storm away, not sure where I’m headed.
PART II
A BONNY LASS
22
Blanche sits with her legs crossed, a slew of photos surrounding her. On Buck’s coffee table, a shoebox is filled with even more.
I lean back against Buck’s couch, unable to help the smile that creeps onto my face. “Blanche Caldwell.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, creating another stack of photos.
“When did you become so sentimental?”
She holds up a photo. In it, my elbows are on the bar top, my feet on the ground, my back arched. Roy leans over me and my sparkly dress, our faces barely touching. We counted down from ten after that, bringing in 1928. That was nearly half a year ago, only weeks after we said “I do.” An attempt to start the new year on a good note.
“When did you become such a vixen?” Blanche asks.
I snort. “Tell Roy that. He says we don’t do it enough. He wasn’t complaining that night, though.” I wasn’t, either. I slip off the couch, tug on my sweaty dress, and sit beside her on the floor. “Here, let me see some of those.”
Becoming Bonnie Page 19
