Chapter 7
My history book had a map of the United States in the back, and though it did not note the location of Fort Knox, I knew it was close to Louisville.
Every morning, l opened my book to the map and moved my fingertip around that part of Kentucky, sending good wishes.
I’d written to Leonard that I regretted how mean I’d been to him on that cold day at Triplett’s.
But I had no idea if my letters reached him.
After a month, and then two, no letter came back for me.
My friends did their best to cheer me up, and I did my best to be cheered.
Irene had joined the girls’ basketball team, and Roberta and I went to her games.
As the weather warmed and the days grew longer, I found I could finish my shift at the library and get to Spa Beach before sunset.
Or a big group of us would meet out on the pier, eating salty fries and watching the waterskiing teams race by in pyramids, sometimes three rows high.
Through all of this, the ache in my chest remained.
Mae liked my friends, and if I had them over, she did her best to keep Janet busy and out of the bedroom we shared.
Usually, it was just Irene and Roberta who came over, but one rainy Sunday in March, our friend Marjorie came, too, and she brought along a Seventeen magazine to show us a quiz she’d taken: “Do You Know the Score for the Job of an Airline Hostess?” Marjorie had gotten eleven out of eleven, and she told us we could each take the quiz if we wanted, or she could save us some time and just tell us the job qualifications, which she then counted off on one hand: between five foot two and five foot seven; single; with good health and eyesight; and attractive in appearance and personality.
We were all sitting on the floor between my bed and Janet’s. Each of us looked at the other three.
“I’m not single,” Irene said.
Marjorie waved this off. “They just mean you can’t be married. And if you’re a high school graduate, you can make two hundred dollars a month.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “While meeting pilots.”
Roberta crawled past me to the record player so she could reset the needle.
She’d bought an album of flamenco music that afternoon, and it was all she wanted to hear.
“No thank you,” she said. “My cousin’s friend was an airline hostess, and she said a baby once threw up on her, and once a month, she had to kneel so her supervisor could check her roots. It’s a rule you can’t dye your hair.”
Marjorie pointed out that none of us dyed our hair, and Roberta said it was the kneeling she found offensive.
But I asked to see the magazine. I’d never been on an airplane, and I cleared five foot two by a hair.
Part of me thought it would be exciting to fly all around the world, not to mention making so much money.
But even when I was taking the quiz, and doing okay on it, I knew that even if I never heard from Leonard again, I didn’t want to be an air hostess.
I wanted to stay close to my family. It wasn’t that I was fearful of new people or new places.
I think that because I’d lost my mother so suddenly, I was always aware that another loss like that was possible.
And even if nobody died, if I were far away, I’d miss everyone.
Also, I didn’t care about meeting any pilots. I missed Leonard. I lowered my head and tried to focus on the flamenco record. It was then that I heard the stutter and glide of roller skates out in the hall. I looked up as the door opened a few inches. One of Janet’s eyes peeked in.
“You’ve grown, sweetie,” Roberta teased, as the skates made Janet look taller. “What are you, seven now? And already taller than Nora.”
“Ha ha,” I said, and motioned for Janet to roll in. She was supposed to stay out of the room for another hour, but unless we were talking about something private, nobody minded her. To my surprise, she stayed where she was. She opened the door a little wider, blinked at me hard, then did it again.
“Is the music too loud? Did your mom say to turn it down?”
She shook her head. I excused myself and stepped out into the hallway. She motioned for me to lean close, and when I did, she used a hand that smelled of peanut butter to push my chin to the side. She used her other hand to cup my ear, and I felt the heat of her breath on my cheek.
“You got a letter.” She rolled back on the skates, but caught herself, and again drew close to whisper. “You got a letter from Leonard.”
“Where?” I asked. “Honey. Where’s the letter?”
“Mom has it. Don’t tell her I told you.”
I kissed her forehead and stepped past her to the kitchen, where I found Mae on her knees, scrubbing the inside of the oven.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Did the mail come today?”
I’d spoken quietly. My father and Bobby were on the other side of the wall, listening to a ball game. But Mae must have heard the mad in my voice, because the scrubbing inside the oven stopped. She yelled for Janet, and we both heard the skates roll into the bathroom, and then the door slam shut.
“Mae? Could I have my letter please?”
She stood, wiping her hands on her apron. The armpits of her housedress were stained with sweat, and she had a streak of soot on her cheek. I knew my stepmother loved me. She’d been in the kitchen working while I lounged with my friends. But at that moment, I didn’t care.
“Settle down,” she said. “It just came this morning. I was going to give it to you as soon as your friends left.” She climbed the step stool and retrieved an envelope from the top of the refrigerator. “You seemed like you were enjoying yourself. I’d hate for you-know-who to ruin it.”
I could see Leonard’s writing from where I stood. I reached for the envelope, but Mae held it high above us both.
“I’m going to say something to you first.” She kept her eyes on mine.
“You were pretty torn up when he ended things. It seems to me you’re finally starting to be your old self again.
And I just want to say, from experience, that you can’t trust anything a man says when he’s got a bunk bed and a locker and not much else.
They get lonely, Nora. They’ll say anything. ”
“Yes, ma’am.” I held out my palm.
She handed me the envelope. “Why did he join the army anyway? Wasn’t he going off to college?”
“I guess he changed his mind.” I turned and carried the envelope into the hallway, where I could hear the flamenco record coming from my room, and the ball game from the other side of the house.
Dear Nora,
I hope you aren’t still too mad to read this.
I’ll get right to it: I have ten days leave in late April.
My parents believe I’ll get in on the 23rd, but I’ll actually get into Tampa late on the 21st, a Friday.
I’m going to spend the weekend in Bradenton, just across the bay.
My parents don’t know anyone there. They’ve never even been there, and neither have I.
I understand what you would be risking. But I would very much like you to take the ferry to Bradenton and meet me on Saturday morning. It leaves from Pinellas Point on the half hour. I’ll wait by the dock all morning.
Love,
Leonard
When I looked up, I saw Mae leaning on the kitchen doorway, watching me. I put the letter back in the envelope.
“You’re right,” I said, smooth as soap. “He’s just lonely.” I managed a rueful smile.
Before I returned to my room, I folded the envelope and pushed it deep in my back pocket. I would not mention it, or our plans, even to my friends.
—
I told Mae that Roberta had no date that Saturday and wanted me to stay over.
I’d carefully chosen the moment—my stepmother was preoccupied with making a grocery list while Bobby and Janet were making unbidden suggestions.
When Mae asked them why they couldn’t be more like me, meaning not always pestering her to buy every sugary item in the store, Janet pointed out that I was old enough to have my own job and buy what I wanted myself.
“That’s true.” Mae looked up at me. “But if they really talk me into getting those dadgum Oreos, I’m giving some to you and Roberta both.”
I was amazed. I could apparently lie with real competency, now that I was properly motivated. But I hated having to lie to Mae again. I was also breaking my promise to Leonard’s mother, while she’d held up her end of our deal.
But when the big morning finally came, and I got on the ferry, all I felt was impatience.
The sky was cloudless, and the water glinted in the sunlight.
We were halfway across the bay when someone spotted a dolphin, and then a whole pod of them, racing alongside us.
The woman seated next to me yawned and said, “That and a nickel will get you a Coke,” but I went out to the deck to get a better look.
At school, I’d just learned the word portent, and this seemed to me a good one.
I did lament forgetting a hairbrush. The night before, I’d slept with my hair in rollers, and by the time we docked, my curls were gone, whipped out by the wind.
We hadn’t even docked when I saw Leonard.
He was standing in the crowd of people behind a metal chain.
He wore a straw fedora I’d never seen and a green-checkered shirt I knew well.
When a ferry worker lowered the chain, most of the crowd moved toward the water.
Leonard stayed where he was, his hands in his pockets.
Under the fedora’s brim, his face was serious and still.
Even after I waved, he didn’t see me. I started to wave again, then stopped.
Soon enough, I would be beside him, our time together already slipping away.
For now, it was all ahead of us. I wanted to seal these last seconds in my mind: the gasoline-scented breeze on my cheek, and the way he stood so straight, and looked so hopeful, waiting for me.