She found it more than unsettling to contemplate her intense reaction to him. During her time with him, the whiskey soothed her nerves, made the back of her throat and cheeks warm, but it wasn’t the drink. It was him. Almost always, when she was with Miller, he made them Manhattans. Often she had two. It eased everything that came later in the evening, lulling her into a state of compliance. The drink with Henry was different. It tasted better and made her warm instead of numb. She had enjoyed herself, without any of her usual worries. It was like there was nothing but the three of them and that everything else was simply a bad dream, and for a split second, she had allowed herself to contemplate what it would be like if she were free to build a life with a man like him.
She was not free and she might not ever be again.
She considered getting out of bed, making a cup of tea and reading through the night, but was distracted from that musing when the low growl of a car coming up the driveway made the house quiver. She went hot, then cold. Miller with an unexpected visit? This was Friday and he was supposed to come Sunday. She dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered her mind, knowing he was not a spontaneous man, both because of his nature and his circumstance. It was most likely someone for Henry. This made her curious, which dismayed her, but she tumbled from bed, running hands through her hair, and grabbed her robe, throwing it over the cotton pajamas she wore. On her way down the hall, she peeked in on Teddy. He was asleep, his thumb in his mouth and half-covered by the blanket. Ducks on his pajamas. Still a baby. My baby.
She went to the front window and lifted the edge of the curtain. A car, headlights bobbing from the rough road, turned right, toward her cottage. It stopped, the engine idling for several seconds. When the sound of the engine ceased, the car’s headlights remained on as Miller unfolded from the driver’s seat. He was not supposed to be here yet. Why was he here now? She squinted and watched as he crossed through the beams of light not toward the cottage but in the other direction. It was Henry, wearing the same clothes he’d had on when she left him earlier. The men shook hands. Mouths moved, but she could not make out the conversation because of the pounding of her heart between her ears. Miller’s shoulders were squared, his strong jaw set. He looked like a rooster. Henry stood with his legs shoulder length apart, his torso stiff like he was braced against a strong wind.
Cursing under her breath, she moved away from the window and stood at the fireplace, wringing her hands. Why had she gone to dinner at Henry’s home? She’d told him too much, let him inside her world, and had found herself charmed and entertained, even understood. Less alone. A feeling she had not had since home, since Eddie. Yet, she and Henry were adults, survivors of great difficulties, more complicated than the innocent child she’d been when Eddie was her world. She seldom allowed herself to think about the days preceding her departure for California. Over the years, she taught herself to put it aside, like a package in the back of a closet. Nonetheless, her evening with Henry had stirred up memories and emotions.
**
She let Miller in, silently. He shoved the door closed with his foot and grabbed her into his arms, pushing her against the wall. “I couldn’t go another day without seeing you.” He spoke into her neck, his lips pressed against her skin. Hungry. Always hungry for her.
“How did you get away?”
“They left for the beach early,” said Miller. “It’s dark in here. Turn on the light. I want to see you.”
She went to the lamp and flipped the switch; the room flooded with light, blinding her. Her hands flew to her hair, remembering that it was set in rags. “My hair. It’s not fixed.”
“Never mind that. Women curl their hair at night. You look fine.” Miller crossed the room and took her hand, pulling her, until they stood in front of the window that faced Henry’s cottage. The houses were mirror images of one another. She’d noticed it earlier that her living room faced his. At the window, Miller stopped, drawing her into another embrace, kissing her on the mouth, sliding his hands under her dressing gown to pull her hips to his. She fought the instinct to push him away, thinking of Henry. He might see them at the window. A sensation of betrayal came over her, but why? Henry was her landlord. A pleasant evening had passed between them. That was all. And yet, she could not shake the feeling. She did not want him to know about Miller. It was inevitable. She opened her eyes, sliding her gaze without moving her face, and reaching out to touch the thin material of the curtains. They were closed all the way. No gaps. Henry could not see, even if he happened to be looking this direction. “Would you like a drink?” she asked against Miller’s mouth.
“No. I want you,” he said.
**
After Miller was done, he’d fallen almost immediately to sleep, with his leg flung over her hips, pinning her to the mattress. With some effort, she’d removed his leg and slid from the bed, rising to open the bedroom window before heading into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, she washed his climax from her thighs with a warm, damp cloth. She inspected her hair rags in the mirror. Amazingly, none were out of place. In the bedroom, she found her nightgown crumpled on the armchair and put it on, smoothing it over her bruised and tender skin. She covered Miller with the sheet and climbed in next to him. It was nearing midnight, but instead of sleeping, she lay in the dark, listening to Miller’s soft snore. He slept on his back, with one arm thrown over his face, as if shielding his eyes from light, even though the room was dark and quiet, except for the flutter of the curtain hanging over the open window.
The night air, smelling of the sea, pushed the scent of their lovemaking from the room. Still, Miller’s cologne and perspiration were on her hands and skin. In the morning, she would scrub her body in the bath and afterward douse her skin in powder and the scent Miller had given her at Christmas. No amount of scrubbing and scent would matter. It remained, imagined or not, like the guilt-induced blood on Lady Macbeth’s hands, not replaced by her perfume that smelled of lilacs and vanilla, but of him. She drew the sheet to her chin and closed her eyes, concentrating on the sounds of the waves. Two nights here and the crash of the roaring sea already soothed her threadbare nerves, like she’d always been here, like this was her home.
Her eyes were scratchy, tired, yet she could not sleep. What would she convey to Teddy in the morning about why Miller was here? Prior to this, when Miller arrived for one of their late-night sessions, Teddy had been asleep. Miller murmured something in his sleep, his eyes moved under his closed lids, as he rolled to his side. She relaxed, her body overcoming her mind, and drifted into sleep. She dreamt she was on a train headed west, hot sun withering rows of corn outside the window.
**
When she woke, it was morning. She sat up with a start. The other side of the bed was empty, an imprint of Miller’s head in the pillow and the twisted sheets evidence that last night had not been a dream. It was after nine. Teddy would have been awake for at least an hour. She threw on a robe over her nightgown and went down the hall to the kitchen that smelled of fresh coffee. Miller was at the table, wearing his glasses, reading a magazine of some kind, which he must have brought with him. Teddy sat in a chair at the table, chewing on a piece of dry bread, his short, chubby legs hanging loose above the floor. She stood in the doorway, unsure what to do. Miller looked up and gave her a smile. “Good morning.”
She mumbled a reply, her heart pounding, watching the back of Teddy’s head.
“Teddy and I are getting better acquainted,” said Miller. “I told him Uncle Miller would buy him a train set for Christmas if he’s a good boy.”
Teddy turned to look at her, grinning. “Trains.”
“You love trains, don’t you, sweetheart?” Uncle Miller? She went to the refrigerator and grabbed the butter and strawberry jam, and fixed a piece for Teddy. “Eat this up, ducky.” She set it in front of him.
“I told him I’ll be visiting a lot this summer. To keep an eye on you,” said Miller.
Teddy popped a piece of bread into his mouth.
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Keep an eye on us?
“The landlord came by. Brought your sweater over. Apparently, you left it at his cottage last night.” Miller’s gaze was on his magazine. He turned the pages one by one. For the first time, she noticed her sweater, hanging on the back of Teddy’s chair.
“Yes. Did I not mention he invited us for dinner? It was very gracious, especially for a landlord.” She poured a cup of coffee, then held it with two hands to control the sudden shaking, and looked out the kitchen window. Henry was outside, painting the fence white.
“Yes, poor fella,” said Miller. “Disfigured. I’m gathering he’s mostly a recluse, living out here all on his own.”
She turned away from the window to look at him. He continued to turn pages of the magazine. “You mean like me?”
“Pardon me?” He set aside the magazine and looked over at her.
“Living out here alone, like a recluse. A secret.”
Miller pushed the magazine to the middle of the table and crossed one leg over the other. “You’re certainly not a recluse. You have Teddy. And you have me.” He picked up his coffee cup and held it out to her. “Would you pour me another, please? This has turned cold.”
She took the cup from him without comment, her insides clenching. His veiled message was clear. She had Teddy and therefore had no choice but to live here, alone. Miller’s plaything in a cage. She poured the last of the coffee into his cup. Loose grounds floated to the top. She would leave them, let them get stuck in his perfect teeth. After setting the cup on the table in front of him, she turned away, finding her spot by the sink and leaned against it with her hands on the rim, looking out the window. Henry had finished two more rungs of the fence and was on his knees painting the bottom of the next one. A seagull landed on one of the painted sections. He stood, shooing it away with his brush, before leaning to paint over the spot where the bird’s feet had made an imprint.
Behind her, the chair creaked. Miller’s heavy footsteps as he crossed the small kitchen caused the floorboards to groan. He stood behind her, pressing her into the sink with his body. Near her ear, he whispered, as he gripped her wrists with his hands. “I don’t want you spending time with him. Not for dinner. Not for anything.”
“What harm can come of it?” She said it with no expression, as if they were talking about what to have for dinner.
He tightened his grip. “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s natural that he’ll want to enjoy your company. But you’re not available.”
“You can’t control who I’m friends with. I get lonely.” Why was she pushing him? She knew it was dangerous; she knew it would get her nowhere except to agitate him.
“Men have no interest in friendship.”
“He’s a nice man, a gentleman. He was simply being polite.”
“I will not have it.” He elongated every word with pauses between. “You belong to me, and that means I decide everything you do.”
Not what I think. You can’t control what I think.
“So help me God, Phil, I will kill before I let another man touch you. Am I clear?”
Tears started. She fought them, her lip trembling.
“Am I clear? Dammit, Phil, answer me.” His grip hurt now and she winced from the pain.
“Yes.”
“Teddy.” Miller’s authoritative voice gave the little boy no choice but to listen. “Go play in your room.”
“I’ll be in to help you get dressed in a minute. Until then, play with your new trucks,” said Phil.
“Okay, Mama.” The innocence in Teddy’s voice made her cry harder.
“Where did he get the trucks?” Miller turned her around to face him. He lifted her chin. She stared into his eyes. “You have one chance to tell me the truth.”
“Henry gave them to him.”
“You let him give Teddy toys?”
“It was nothing. Just some old things he had in the shed.”
“I’m not paying for you to flirt with other men. You’re mine.” He moved his hands down her bare arms, pressing hard into her flesh, stopping at her wrists.
“I know. It was nothing.”
“Tell me you’re sorry.” He tightened his grip on her wrists and pushed them toward the counter. She winced.
“I’m sorry.”
“Promise me you won’t see him.” His voice was husky now.
“I won’t see him. Please, Miller, you’re hurting me.”
He loosened his grip, but not enough to let her go, and kissed her neck, speaking into her ear. “You’ve made me lose my mind, but God help me, I want you. Now. Go to the bedroom. Get ready for me.”
**
Teddy played on his floor, making noises at the back of his throat like a truck, and didn’t look up as she passed by. She figured they had about ten minutes before he came looking for her. In her bedroom, she stripped off her robe and nightgown and perched on the edge of the bed, waiting. A few seconds later, Miller was there. “Lock the door,” she said. “In case Teddy decides to wander in.”
After he locked the door, he strode across the room, peeling off his shirt. At the chair, he sat, taking off his pants and underclothes. The most intimate of acts; stripping naked in front of someone. She was not his wife. This was not how it should be. She should be in Iowa with Eddie right now. They should be having lunch at his parents, then driving into town for an ice cream.
Miller, unclothed now, knelt at the side of the bed, pulling her legs apart and wrapping them around his waist. “I love you, Phil. Don’t ever forget that.” He pushed her onto her back.
She stared at the crack in the ceiling as he thrust in and out of her, a tear leaking from the corner of her right eye.
Afterward, Miller bathed and dressed, whistling while he shaved, then announced he would drive into town for groceries. A steak and potato sounded good for dinner, he said, as if this were the most ordinary of circumstances. He sat on the edge of the bed where she remained, curled up like a child, and stroked her cheek, speaking gently. “While I’m gone, fix your hair. Put on something pretty. I should get you some real curlers.” He picked up one of her curls. “These rags make you look like a maid.”
After the front door slammed, she got up to check on Teddy. He was still happily playing in his room, but she wanted him in her room so she could watch him while she bathed. Compliant, if he could bring his trucks, he followed her into her bedroom. “Play here in front of the door.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Good boy.” She went to the window. Henry had finished the fence and was no longer in the yard.
When the tub was filled with the hottest water she could tolerate, she climbed in and scrubbed until her skin was raw, but not lingering, worried that Teddy would need her. After drying with one of the soft towels Henry had left for them, she chose a yellow, bell-sleeved sundress. At the mirror, she took the rags from her hair and fixed it into waves with a roll at the top, and applied red lipstick, rouge, and mascara. Just as she finished, Teddy came into the bathroom. Staring up at her, he patted her fanny. “Mama pretty.”
Smiling, she knelt next to him and hugged him. “Thank you, my little man.”
A loud knock on the door caused her to jump. Heart thumping, thinking it might be Henry, she strode to the front door. She would tell him they were busy today, to not bother them.
It was not Henry but the postman, holding a letter. “Sorry to disturb you, but I didn’t see a box, ma’am.” He handed her a letter. It was an Iowa address. From Susan. She thanked him and went inside, closing the door behind her. She sat in one of the armchairs as Teddy settled at her feet, leaning his head against her leg.
June 17, 1946
Dearest Phil,
Thank you for writing with your new address. I’m afraid I have sad news. Your parents were killed today in a car accident while coming home from church. A hay truck unexpectedly lost its brakes. The driver panicked and swerved into their lane. Both were killed instantly. Mary, thank God, wasn’t with them. I’d asked
if I might take her home and they agreed. I wanted to give Mary your latest letter.
Mary has been staying with my father and me. Your parents had no instructions about what to do if something like this happened. The bank is taking the farm; too much debt, apparently. It’s awful to leave you and Mary with nothing, but I suppose the banks own all the farms out here in one way or another. You know I love Mary and would be happy to keep her with me, even though I have my hands full with my father, plus teaching, but I feel it would be best for both of you if I sent her out to California. As luck would have it, there is a young woman from church who is willing to accompany her on the train if you wire money for her ticket, as well as for Mary. Her name is Holly Moore and she has plans to move to Los Angeles at the end of July. After she drops Mary with you, she’ll continue south. If you agree, please send a telegram that you will be there to meet them. I will keep Mary safe until then.
I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to your parents. They tried their best to do the right things, unfortunately they never quite did.
With all my love,
Susan
The letter fell to her lap. She waited for tears to come. Instead, she went numb. Her parents were dead? Mary would have to come. Mary. She would have Mary. A second knock on the front door pulled her from her contemplation. Mrs. Thomas, dressed in a cotton dress, her sunhat hanging down her back from a string, stood on the steps.
“I thought Teddy might like to come with me to the farm. Our mama cat gave birth to six kittens in the middle of the night,” said Mrs. Thomas.
Teddy stood behind Phil, peering out from behind her skirt. Phil moved back from the door to invite Mrs. Thomas inside the house. “Come in, please. Would you care for coffee?”
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