Chapter Fifteen
MILLY
When the children got home from school, Milly realized she’d been so busy unpacking the last of the moving boxes, she still hadn’t bathed or changed out of her tennis clothes.
Debbie and Jack started happily playing with blocks in the living room, so she took the opportunity to freshen up and change.
“Debbie, please keep an eye on your brother until I get back down,” Milly said from halfway up the stairs.
By the time she got out of the shower and heard the Mouseketeers counting off their names in roll call, she was grateful that Debbie had turned on the television for Jack, and she allowed herself a few extra moments to fix her hair.
But when she heard a squeal of laughter coming from outside, she rushed to the window.
She had made it very clear, on multiple occasions, that the children were not to leave the house without her permission.
They were still new to the area and could easily wander off and get lost—especially Jack.
She pushed back the curtains to see them both in the yard playing croquet with one of the young men from her guest cottage.
Ducking from view and pulling on a yellow plaid sundress, she rushed downstairs to the yard.
“Jack, Debbie,” she called from the back door, “please don’t bother our guests.”
“Hi, Mrs. Kincaid,” the young man greeted her. His name was Wesley, if she remembered correctly. “They’re no bother at all. In fact Jack’s really getting the hang of croquet.”
“Look, Mommy,” Jack said as he swung the wooden mallet toward the ball and let go of the handle, sending it flying in the air toward the young man.
Wesley quickly stepped aside, out of the way, then bent down to pick up the mallet and hand it back.
“You’ve got to hold on real tight, buddy,” he said, taking Jack’s hands and placing them on the handle again, this time directing his aim. “That’s it, champ,” he said as Jack tapped the ball more gently this time and sent it rolling through the wicket.
“It worked,” Jack called out, jumping. “I scored.”
“Nice work,” Milly said. “But you must leave poor Mr. Wesley here alone. I’m sure he has much more pressing things to attend to.”
“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Kincaid, really. They are great kids, and we’re having a blast.”
“See, Mommy,” Debbie chimed in, “he said we can stay. I’m really good at this game too.” Milly looked to her guest and he nodded.
“I promise, it’s fine.”
“Well at least let me bring you something to drink.” She remembered seeing a few of Lloyd’s beers in the back of the fridge.
“That would be swell,” he said. “I just rented a board and paddled around the island, so I’m parched. The rest of the boys are sleeping off last night’s fun.”
Milly nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
She grabbed two beers, two glasses of milk, and chocolate chip cookies that she’d baked the night before and placed them on a tray.
Before returning to the children, she watched from the window.
Debbie and Jack were squealing with laughter as Wesley chased them around the yard, and she smiled at their youthful innocence, how easy it was to laugh and smile, and how free they were with their limbs as they leapt to escape his reach.
She too felt more youthful since her tennis lesson that morning, giddy almost with the promise of what was to come.
She had never played a sport before, nor had she had any interest, but she’d loved being so active and was already thinking about what she might learn in her next lesson.
She stayed a moment longer, enjoying the laughter and squeals of delight coming from a home that was in such a state of silent upheaval.
Milly had expected her guests to be female and hoped it would be a treat for Debbie, but maybe having these young men around wouldn’t be so bad after all, especially for Jack, since Lloyd wasn’t planning to show his face anytime soon.
While she was at the window, she opened the kitchen drawer and put on a touch of lipstick, just to make herself presentable, then she carried the tray out to the yard.
“Those look amazing,” Wesley said, sitting down across from Milly at the patio table and picking up a cookie.
“I think I’ve perfected the recipe,” Milly said, waiting for him to take a bite.
“Oh, you have,” he said, catching a crumb as it fell on his lip. “You definitely have. What’s the secret?”
“I can’t reveal that,” Milly said. “Or I’ll have nothing to bribe you with when I need someone to play with the children.”
Jack and Debbie launched themselves toward the plate of cookies, then took off again running.
“Don’t eat and run,” Milly said. “You might choke.” She shook her head and laughed when they took absolutely no notice of her.
“It’s good advice,” Wesley said. “I’ll heed your warning.” He picked up his beer and held it up. “Cheers.”
Milly clinked his. “Cheers.” She couldn’t help but notice, now that she got a good look, that he was quite a catch, with those dark-brown eyes and disheveled, wavy brown hair.
If he wasn’t already going steady with a college girl, he was sure to win one over this week.
“So where do you all go to school?” Milly asked.
“UCLA,” he said. “I’m in my final year.”
“UCLA? That’s where I went too!” She was excited at the coincidence at first, then a little embarrassed. “Well for a year, before I got engaged and left.”
“That’s too bad,” Wesley said, “that you didn’t finish up, I mean, not that you got married.”
“Oh.” She laughed. “I know, I should have stayed, but you know what it’s like … or maybe you don’t. Everything felt so urgent, like I had to hurry up and do all the things—get married, have children—as if the world wouldn’t wait for me.”
Wesley nodded, but Milly was sure he had no idea what that was like; the world waited for men like him.
“Well, you’ve got some great kids here, Mrs. Kincaid.”
“Please, call me Milly. Mrs. Kincaid makes me sound so old.”
“All right, Miss Milly,” he said grinning.
“Now I sound like a schoolteacher,” she laughed.
“Well, if I should call you Milly, then please call me Wes—that’s what all my friends call me. Every time I hear Wesley I think of my grandfather. Probably because I’m named after him, but still…”
“You’re the one who introduced yourself as Wesley,” Milly said, smiling.
“I wanted you to think I was respectable.”
“You seem respectable to me, Wes,” Milly said.
He smiled and held her gaze until she looked away, blushing a little.
“Thank you so much for the cookies,” he said after a moment. “And for the meatballs last night. We didn’t pay you enough for that kind of generosity.”
“I like to cook when I know someone will appreciate it. It’s actually very satisfying.”
“Well, good, we do appreciate it.” He took a swig of his beer.
Jack ran up to the table and swiped another cookie. “That’s your last one,” Milly said as he ran off again. She watched them play for a while. Wes got up to help Jack with his swing and almost got hit in the face a second time.
“I should probably take them inside before you lose an eye,” she said to Wes, though she didn’t really want to. She was enjoying sitting out in her yard with the warm afternoon sun on her shoulders, and she was enjoying his easy company. “I have to start thinking about dinner.”
“Yeah,” Wes said. “And I’d better wake up these guys, otherwise they’ll sleep all day.”
“Yes, yes,” Milly said. “You do that.” She turned to Jack and Debbie. “Come along, you two, let’s go.”
“Can we have pancakes tonight?” Debbie asked, running to Milly’s side and taking her hand.
Milly thought about it for a minute. Lloyd wasn’t coming home for a week; she and the kids could eat whatever they wanted. And she loved the idea of not making another trip to the market. “Why not?” Milly said. “I love pancakes for dinner.”
Later that evening Sylvia knocked hard on Milly’s door.
“Can I come in?” she asked, as Milly swung the door open, sensing an emergency.
“Of course. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, absolutely fine,” Sylvia said, flashing one of her beaming smiles, but Milly saw a strain in her face.
“Can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine? A gin and tonic?”
“No, thank you.” Sylvia said. “Do you have a smoke?”
“I doubt it,” Milly said, digging through her kitchen drawers. “I thought you didn’t like them?”
“I don’t, usually. But desperate times…”
“Well, hold on, I might be able to find one.” She’d seen a few of the boys from the cottage stand out in the back alley and smoke from time to time, so she walked across the yard and knocked on the door.
“Oh gosh, sorry to bother you,” Milly said, looking away when one of the young men opened the door in his underwear.
“For Christ’s sake, Mickey.” Wes rushed to the door to take Mickey’s place and pulled the door closed behind him.
“I apologize for him, he’s … we’re getting dressed to go to dinner.
” Wes was in athletic clothes and had a deep V of sweat down his T-shirt.
When he caught her looking at it, he placed his hand on his chest. “Sorry. I suppose none of us are all that presentable.”
“Oh. No, sorry.” She did a quick calculation: First he paddled around the island, now he’d done what? Gone running? “I was just wondering if you maybe had a cigarette to spare.”
“You know”—he raised an eyebrow—“I read a study recently that smoking might not be all its chalked up to be.”
“Well, it’s good for nerves, and that’s all I care about, but anyway, it’s not for me, it’s for my friend.”
“Oh, well in that case, I think Johnny has a pack, and Mickey too.” He stepped away from the door and came back with a cigarette and book of matches.
“Thanks, Wes, I appreciate that,” she said, and she walked back into her house. She set a crystal ashtray on the table and handed Sylvia the goods. She lit it right away and inhaled deeply.
“What’s so desperate?” Milly asked, joining Sylvia at the table.
“Oh, it’s nothing urgent,” Sylvia said, but Milly didn’t quite believe her. She had an edge to her; she wasn’t her usual calm self.
“You said it was desperate times,” Milly said.
Sylvia waved away the comment and the smoke unfurling from her cigarette. “I have a favor to ask of you.” She hesitated. “I was just wondering if you could ask your sitter, Leticia, to watch your children Friday night.”
“I could…” Milly said, “but for what reason?”
“I’m assuming Lloyd won’t be home to watch them, right?”
Milly sat up abruptly and suddenly wished that she’d asked Wes for two of those smokes.
“Why do you say that?” she asked. How could Sylvia know about Lloyd?
Had she started noticing his absence? Had she somehow found out about their arrangement, that their marriage was in shambles, a farce?
Maybe people had started talking after she’d shown up at Sylvia’s party alone.
“You said he was working lots of late nights?” She put her hand on Milly’s arm. “Milly, it’s fine, it’s normal; men have to work.”
“Oh yes, a lot of late nights and early mornings,” she said as calmly as possible, but her mind had already begun to race.
If Sylvia, of all people, caught on to the fact that she and Lloyd were living as occasional roommates rather than as man and wife, surely the whole town would find out. Sylvia knew everyone.
“It’s just that Judith, as you know, loves music, and she thinks that the Rendezvous Ballroom is just ‘coolsville’—they’ve got all the hot acts coming to town for Bal week—and she’s absolutely desperate to go.”
“Will you let her?”
“How can I not? She’ll despise me if she’s the only one of her friends who doesn’t get to go, but I don’t want her getting in with some greaser, you know?”
Milly looked at her and squinted. “Are you sure that’s what you’re worried about?”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Of course it is.”
“Does this have anything to do with that man hanging around your party?” Milly asked.
Sylvia took a deep breath and cradled her head in one hand, her cigarette shaking in the other.
When she looked up she looked fragile and breakable in a way that Milly had never seen in Sylvia before. “I’m worried, yes.”
“Who was he?” Milly asked.
“I don’t know, but I think it’s got something to do with Walter and the money problem.” Sylvia straightened up as if she knew she’d said too much. “So, will you go with me? To the Rendezvous?”
“I don’t know, Sylvia. I want to help but I’m a mother of two. Won’t the place be crawling with eighteen-year-olds?”
Sylvia forced a laugh. “It’ll be a bash, I promise. It’s not just the young kids who go; everyone loves to go dancing there. I just need to keep an eye on things, and I can’t go alone.”
“What about Walter?”
Sylvia stared at her cigarette. “He’s been a little under the weather,” she said, bringing the cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag. “Come on, Milly, that’s what friends are for, right? I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
Milly nodded. Sylvia was right: She had been such a good friend to her in her short time on the island, and besides, a night out on the town might be fun.
“All right, I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Milly.” Sylvia stood up and hugged her tightly. “You’re a doll, you really are. I’ll pick you up at eight.”