Chapter Twenty-Six Dottie
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dottie
We went to a dinner party last night at Clara and Howard’s house.
Clara looked lovely as always, and she served a beautiful pimento cheese dip appetizer, Steak Diane, which she flambeed perfectly at the table without setting any of her guests on fire, stuffed peppers and Baked Alaska for dessert.
I have to say, it was pretty impressive.
Dickie was wonderful, while we were there.
But as soon as we got in the car, he started up again. Why can’t I arrange flowers like she can? Why isn’t our house decorated like theirs? Why don’t I wear my hair in a bouffant, like hers?
“You could never pull off a dinner party like that. You’d probably serve boiled carburetors and spark plugs à la mode. I should have married someone else, someone more . . . feminine.”
I bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted blood.
If he were married to someone else, he wouldn’t know Howard, whose father is the president of the bank, or my godfather, Roy, who’s the majority leader of the state Senate and was also there last night.
Without me, Dickie would never have been invited to that dinner party in the first place.
Without me, Dickie wouldn’t be driving a new car to a new house while wearing a fancy watch and an expensive suit.
“A man could go far with a wife like that,” Dickie said, looking thoughtful. “I should have married someone like Clara.”
A little piece of my heart flaked off and fell away when he said that. But anger flashed through me too. I could feel it, loosening my tongue, burning my cheeks.
“Maybe I should have married someone who doesn’t scream at me all the time,” I shot back.
“No one else would want you.” His tone was so matter of fact that a tiny part of me wondered if it was true. “A woman who works on cars in her spare time? Who wants a wife who can change the oil but can’t make a decent pie crust? If I hadn’t come along, you’d die an old maid.”
“I’d rather be an old maid than live with someone who criticizes everything I do.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could bite them back and the moment I said it, I realized it was true.
“Careful, Dottie.” His tone was soft, but menacing, too, like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
“Why did you marry me, if I’m so deficient?” I hated the plaintive undertone in my voice, the pain that I couldn’t quite scrub from my words.
He shrugged. “I thought I could teach you to be a good wife. But unfortunately for me, you’re not as smart as everyone said you were.” Then he gave me a charming smile. “But don’t worry. I won’t give up on you.”
He reached over and touched my belly. “At least you can supply me with a son.”
I flinched and scooted closer to the window. He scowled. “But you’ll probably screw that up too and give birth to a girl.”
I stared out the window, watching the world go by. He’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
And I wish I wasn’t married to either one of them.
April 28, 1965
I lied and told Dickie I needed the car today because of a baby appointment with Dr. Carlyle. But I didn’t have an appointment. Instead I drove over to see Ruby again.
I wanted to ask if I could stay with her for a couple days, until I figure out what to do, until I work up the courage to leave.
I wanted to tell her everything.
But as we sat there in her tiny kitchen with her beautiful baby sitting on her lap, babbling and waving her chubby little hands, I just couldn’t do it. The words stuck to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter.
Dickie doesn’t hit me or beat me. He’s not violent. He’s just . . . mean. He says I’m too sensitive, and that everything he does and says is for my own good, to help me improve, to help me become a better wife.
And what if that’s true? What if he’s doing all this out of some twisted, distorted sense of love?
I honestly don’t think he can help it. He’s wired this way. Or he learned it from his own parents, who had a very unhappy marriage before his mother died. At least, that’s the impression I’ve gotten from Dickie.
I thought about all this as Ruby sat across from me, giving her baby a bottle.
“Does your husband ever . . . give you advice?” I asked tentatively.
She laughed. “Oh gosh, yes. He’s full of terrible ideas.
Like he thinks we should plant hydrangeas on the south side of the house, even though they would absolutely fry in the heat.
I’ve told him, but he won’t listen. So I’ll let him plant them where he wants, and then they’ll all die, and he’ll see that I was right. ”
I gave her a weak smile and kept my mouth shut.
I can’t tell Ruby. She wouldn’t understand. And I have the baby to think about.
Those years after Mother died were so hard. I was always the only girl who didn’t have a mom to help her pick out a prom dress or give her advice about boys. I don’t want my baby to be the only child without a father, or worse yet, to be the only child in the class with divorced parents.
Lots of women have it worse. Lots of men have it worse too. Like poor Danny, getting shot at every day and then bleeding to death in the jungle before the medics could arrive. All I have to do is clean my house and cook some meals. I need to keep things in perspective.
And maybe Dickie is right. Maybe I am too sensitive. Plus, I’m sort of ashamed. If my marriage isn’t working, don’t I share half the blame for that? Maybe I just need to have a better attitude. Maybe I just need to try harder.