All Manner of Things

by Susie Finkbeiner

  I wondered if I’d been wrong all that time.

  November days always ended early. Mom was anxious to get on the road before it got too dark. Aunt Rose wrapped up leftovers for us to take home including a whole extra pie that Joel declared would be his breakfast the next morning.

  Frank walked us out to the car. He shook Joel’s hand, even going as far as putting his left hand on his shoulder. And when Joel pulled him into a hug, he didn’t make a face. Instead, he put an arm around his neck, giving one back.

  “You’ll come to our house for Christmas, won’t you?” Joel asked.

  “If I’m invited,” Frank said, slapping him on the back. “You’ll be taller than me by then, I bet.”

  “Bye, Frank,” I said, giving him a hug of my own. “See you soon.”

  “Take care of them,” he whispered. “Will you?”

  “I always do.”

  When he let go of me he looked me right in the eye. I expected him to say something, but he just smiled. That said much more to me than any words could have.

  We all climbed in the car, except for Mom. She stayed out, talking to Frank.

  “What do you think she’s saying to him?” Joel asked.

  “I have no idea,” I answered.

  “Whatever it is, he’s smiling,” Oma said.

  “I knew it,” Joel whispered to me, nodding. “Something’s happening.”

  For the first time in twelve years, I hoped. For Frank.

  Dear Mike,

  Thanksgiving was nice. Aunt Rose even laughed at one of Joel’s stories! And not her robot laugh, either. A real one that made her eyes water. Can you believe it? Her face didn’t crack, even. Really, she behaved herself and so did Mom.

  Grandma is doing better than you could ever imagine. She pretended to be curmudgeonly, but I could tell it was an act. You should write and ask her what she’s been up to. She has friends, Mike. Grandma has buddies. It truly is the best we could have wished for.

  I guess that’s what I’m most thankful for this year.

  Well, I really could have used my big brother around today. A little advice could have helped me a whole lot. Why, you ask?

  Walt Vanderlaan is taking me out tomorrow night. I think we’re going to catch a movie and maybe have some dinner afterward. When he first mentioned it a week ago, I didn’t think it was a date. I pictured it as old friends getting reacquainted. But then he called today and the way he asked me over the phone, the formality of it all, I think he wants it to be one.

  Should I have said no? Should I have asked if Joel could come along? Am I doing the right thing by going? What if he tries to kiss me? Should I knock his lights out?

  Okay, I know how you’d answer those last two.

  I’m sweaty and shaky and nauseous just thinking about it. How am I supposed to eat if I feel like upchucking whenever I think about it? Can you believe I even thought about calling Frank to ask him?

  No, I haven’t told Mom yet. She’ll blow her lid. This will be worse than when you told her about you joining the Army.

  Maybe I’ll talk to Bernie. Strike that. That is a horrible idea.

  Anyway, I’ll write you to let you know how it goes. Thank goodness Jocelyn is still home on Thanksgiving break. At least I have one voice of reason still around.

  Go ahead. Laugh at me. I know you want to.

  Miss you,

  Annie

  45

  Have you completely lost your mind?” Mom slammed the cupboard shut. “You do remember how awful he was to you, don’t you?”

  “That was before,” I said, moving out of her way when she reached for the canister of sugar. “He’s different now. Besides, it isn’t a date.”

  “Do I need to make a list of the names he called you? Or the times you came home crying about how mean he’d been?”

  “No, I remember them well enough, thank you.”

  “You aren’t going on this date,” she said, pointing at me.

  “I already told you it isn’t a date.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Well, I’m not sure.”

  She dug her ring of measuring spoons from the drawer. “What does a boy like him want with a girl like you?”

  It felt like a slap to my face. “What do you mean by that?”

  Mom closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. Her voice softened and lowered in tone. “Not what you think.”

  The numbness started in my toes and my fingers, spreading inch by inch so fast it took my breath away.

  “You aren’t like Caroline Mann,” Mom said. “Before you jump to conclusions, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

  I nodded.

  “You care about more than the kind of clothes you wear or how you do your makeup. For goodness’ sake, you don’t even own any makeup that I know of. You know that your worth isn’t in what we’ve saved up in our bank account.” Mom stepped toward me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “There’s depth to you. The soul inside you is startlingly beautiful. And I wonder how a boy who could love a girl like Caroline would ever be good enough for a girl like you.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “You can go on that date with him. Or whatever you’re calling it,” she said. “But don’t let him make you forget who you are.”

  Jocelyn had ironed my hair as straight as a board. When I saw it in the mirror, I hardly knew it was really mine. It fell around my shoulders, soft and sleek. But our attempts to draw on eyeliner failed miserably.

  I decided it would be best if I didn’t wear any makeup at all, especially if I didn’t want Walt to get the wrong idea.

  Joel answered the door when Walt knocked, standing as tall as he could, his chest puffed out like he was trying to be bigger.

  I came out of the dining room just as he was about to give Walt the third degree, I was sure of it.

  “See you later, Joelie,” I said, reaching up and ruffling his hair.

  “Hey, quit it,” he said.

  “Don’t wait up,” Walt said, putting an arm around my shoulders.

  I tried to remember to breathe.

  The movie theater in Fort Colson only showed two shows at a time. That night they had either The Jungle Book or Cool Hand Luke. Without asking which I’d rather see, Walt bought two tickets to the Paul Newman flick.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to see the cartoon,” he said, holding the door for me to step inside. “You want any popcorn?”

  I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  “You aren’t afraid of getting fat, are you?” He looked at my waistline.

  “No,” I answered, putting a hand on my stomach. “I’m just not hungry.”

  “Good.” He ordered a bucket of popcorn with extra butter. “Caroline was always worried about getting fat like her mother.”

  I raised my eyebrows and looked away from him, glad that soon the movie would start and he couldn’t talk about her anymore. Since he’d picked me up, all he seemed to want to talk about was Caroline this and Caroline that. How she was always looking at herself in the mirror or how she complained about going to the movies all the time. We were only ten minutes into our evening and I was already wondering when I could ask him to take me home.

  “At least let me get you something to drink,” Walt said, nudging me with his elbow.

  Had he been one of my brothers I would have socked him in the arm. I hated being nudged. Instead, I told him I’d like a Dr Pepper and pushed up my glasses.

  Blue, tan, green, and red. The whole movie flickered on the screen in muted colors the way I imagined they were in the South. Fist fights and egg eating and slow conversations drew my attention away from the buttery smell of Walt’s popcorn and the munching sounds of him eating it by the handful.

  At the very end, the crack of a gunshot made me jump and cover my mouth with my hand. Warm tears rolled down my cheeks, and I was glad I’d decided to forgo the makeup.

  It was a rough-edged movie and somehow so beautiful. By the time the
credits rolled up the screen, I felt like all the air had been knocked out of me and that I’d been refilled by something with just a little grit to it.

  “Ready?” Walt said, sounding bored. Popcorn fell from his lap when he stood up. “You wanna get some burgers or something?”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering if he’d seen the same movie I had for how casually he was able to go on with the evening. “Did you like the movie?”

  “It was all right, I guess.”

  He didn’t bother asking me what I had thought of it.

  I decided I was going to order the biggest burger on the menu, wherever we ended up going. And that I would eat every single one of my french fries dipped in ketchup. And if he said one more word about Caroline Mann, I would order a shake to go with it.

  If I was feeling especially annoyed, I determined to dump that shake in his lap.

  Just like your mother, Frank would have said.

  He would have been right.

  Walt walked me to the front door after driving me home, hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket. The front of his pants were not soaked in milkshake and I was glad he’d behaved himself. I stood on the first step and turned toward him.

  “I had a good time,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Listen, I don’t know how to do this.” He breathed in through his mouth. “Caroline really threw me for a loop, you know.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  He rubbed at the back of his still-short hair. “Gosh, here I am with you and you’re beautiful and all I can talk about is her. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Do you want me to come up with a list?” I smirked.

  “I don’t know that my ego could take it.” He grabbed one of my hands. “You’re funny. I mean that in a good way.”

  “Thanks?”

  He moved closer to me. I blinked and then felt something warm and wet touch the corner of my mouth. I pulled my head back and looked at his puckered-up lips and closed eyes. Then he smiled and opened his eyes.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked. “Was that a kiss?”

  “I thought you wanted me to,” he said. “Didn’t you like it?”

  “No. I mean, it was all right,” I lied. “But you don’t have to do it again.”

  “I don’t?”

  “I thought we were just going to be friends.” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “You’re a swell guy and all, but you’re like a brother to me.”

  “Oh,” he said. “All right, I guess.”

  “Did I hurt your feelings?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I’d better get home.”

  “Thanks for the movie and dinner.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, walking to his car. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

  I put my fingertips to my lips, hoping he wouldn’t look back to see me wiping away the first kiss I ever had.

  It was nothing like I’d always hoped it would be.

  46

  No set of rules in our home was more strict and fiercely kept than Mom’s table rules. We were to always chew with our mouths closed and to never speak while we had food stuffed in our cheeks. We weren’t to reach across the table for something, and when we asked for it to be passed, we were to remember our pleases and thank-yous.

  And, no matter what, we didn’t take telephone calls during supper. The next-door neighbor’s house could be burning to the ground and we wouldn’t get up to use the phone. Not until we were finished eating and had put our dishes in the sink.

  So, when the phone rang not once, twice, or three times, but four during our Monday evening dinner, Mom was more than a little miffed. She stood and walked to the kitchen, pulling off her right clip-on earring before answering.

  “Jacobson residence,” she said in a voice that could have turned boiling water to ice. “No, she may not come to the phone right now. It’s the dinner hour.”

  She listened for a moment before going on. “Is this some sort of emergency, Walter? No? Then you may call back in thirty minutes. Not a moment sooner. Do you understand? And I won’t have you calling over and over until someone answers. That’s just bad manners.”

  Mom sighed and listened again. “I accept your apology. Good-bye.”

  The receiver clicked into place and Mom came back to her seat.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, putting my fork on the edge of my plate.

  “Did you tell him to call four times in a row?”

  “No.”

  “And did you ask him to call during dinner?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then you have nothing to apologize for.” She picked up her fork.

  “Why’s he calling you?” Joel asked.

  “Beats me,” I said.

  Thirty minutes—exactly—passed and Walt called again. That time I answered before anyone else had the chance.

  “Annie?” Walt said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day. No one ever answered.”

  “I was at work,” I told him.

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, I wanted to ask if I could see you again.”

  “Walt, I . . .”

  “Tomorrow night? I can pick you up.”

  “I . . .”

  “Six o’clock.”

  I pulled in a breath so that I could tell him I couldn’t. My mind spun, trying to find an excuse to say no.

  “Annie? Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Annie? Are you still there?

  I sat in my bedroom, those words echoing in my mind, stirring a memory that had laid still and quiet for so long.

  “Annie? Are you still there?”

  It wasn’t in the voice of the twenty-year-old Walt. The voice in my memory was higher, from a Walt before puberty hit. Before we moved to the other side of Old Chip.

  “Annie? Are you still there?”

  It was early evening, just after dusk took the shine off the day. The shed was dark already, the small windows didn’t let in much light.

  “I’m here,” I’d answered.

  “You aren’t going away, are you?” His voice had trembled, and I reached out, taking his hand.

  “If I do, I promise to come back.”

  “Please don’t leave me alone.”

  For all of Frank’s bad days, he’d never hit us more than a spank on the behind or a slap on the back of the hand, neither of which ever hurt all that much. He had never blackened our eyes or bloodied our lips like Walt’s father had done to him. And he’d never roared at us so loudly that the neighbors had to close their windows.

  The memory passed, but its after-image had burned into my closed eyelids. And with it, Walt’s small, young boy voice.

  Please don’t leave me alone.

  47

  I hung up my apron on the hook, all my jobs done for the day. Larry had come in after school to wash the windows, mop the floors, and scrub down the restrooms. He came most days, working a couple hours doing odd jobs around the diner. I knew Bernie had found plenty of what he called “make-work” for the boy, hoping to help their family in the best way he could think of.

  As a result, the diner had never been so clean or smelled so fresh.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said to Bernie, headed for the back door.

  “Hold up,” he called to me from the office. “Come have a seat in here for a minute.”

  “Are you going to fire me or something?” I asked, standing in the doorway of the office.

  “Nope,” he answered, pulling a deck of cards from the middle drawer of his desk. “Not today, at least.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I said, laying the sarcasm on thick.

  He pointed at the extra chair he had in the room. “Sit down.”

  The cards were old and didn’t make a crisp sound when he shuffled them. It was more of a whisper. He tapped them against the desktop after each shuffle, paying close attention so he wouldn�
��t lose control of them, sending them flying across the room.

  He dealt us each ten cards. “Gin rummy,” he said. “Every time you put down a set you say why you think being around Walt Vanderlaan is a good idea. Every time I do, I say why I disagree.”

  “But I . . .” I began.

  “You go first.”

  I drew a card, adding it to my hand and discarding the two of diamonds. He picked up my two, putting the heart and club beside it and laying it on the table in front of him.

  “He’s full of himself,” Bernie said before discarding a five of spades.

  I drew off the pile, completing a run of clubs. “He’s smart.”

  We drew, discarded, laid down cards, and gave our reasons.

  Bernie had plenty. Walt didn’t go to church with his parents. He hadn’t found a job. He’d always caused trouble for his folks. Before he’d gone into the service he’d had a reputation for drinking too much. And on and on.

  I couldn’t find nearly as many. He’d held the door for me at the movie theater and paid for my ticket. He thought I was funny. He said I was beautiful.

  “Ha,” he said, going out with a set of threes. He rubbed his chin as if really trying to come up with a good one. He looked me straight in the eye and smirked. “David’s a better man.”

  I couldn’t disagree with him. Not in the slightest.

  Bernie picked up the cards, putting them back in their tidy stack and returning them to the desk drawer.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” I said. “But I don’t think you understand.”

  “I don’t, huh?” He frowned and made a hm sound.

  “I don’t feel anything for Walt other than friendship,” I said, putting my hands in my lap. “And I’m not even sure he’s all that good of a friend.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “I tried.”

  “He wouldn’t listen, would he?”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t owe him anything,” Bernie said, lowering his voice and resting his forearms on the table.