Authors: Julie Johnston
Little Red Lies (19 page)
Tim or Tom says, “She’s not got a cold.”
I frown. “She said she did on the telephone.”
“Why did she say she has a cold, if she doesn’t?” Jamie asks.
“I don’t know. What she has is a new boyfriend. She asked me to tell you.”
Jamie is stunned into silence, so I fill in. “Oh, yeah? Well, tell her the same goes for Jamie. In fact, he’s the next thing to engaged. Hope you can come to the wedding.”
Jamie glares at me as he closes the door behind Mary’s brother. “Just once,” he seethes, “just once, could you possibly mind your own business?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I guess the way I said that, it sounded as if
you
had a new boyfriend.”
“Whenever you butt in, you make me look like an incompetent idiot.”
“Open the present,” I say.
“Did you even hear what I said?”
“It’s tattooed on my brain. Let’s see what she gave you.”
“I’m throwing it in the garbage.”
“Don’t you want to see what a girl who is about to dump her boyfriend would give him for Christmas? Let me open it.” I peel back the tissue. It’s a scarf, black and gray striped. It looks like something you’d wear to a funeral.
The day before New Year’s Eve, our whole family is still around the kitchen table, after breakfast, drinking coffee. Jamie’s going back to Toronto, but not until the afternoon. Even I am allowed half a cup, with plenty of cream and sugar.
The doorbell rings and Jamie goes to answer it. Mother pulls her dressing gown a little more securely across her front.
Dressing gown
. This is a breach of personal grooming
that happens rarely, if ever. I am appalled. What has become of the straitlaced, prim and proper mother who bugs the life out of me, but who, nevertheless, is the one I’m used to, the one who preaches that proper etiquette means you come down in the morning fully dressed to greet the day? Sure, she’s brushed her hair and put on lipstick. In fact, it looks suspiciously like mine, which is still lurking in a corner of the kitchen cupboard. On her, though, it looks a little more subdued, more like
Little Pink Lies
.
It’s Will Cooper at the door. He keeps his coat on and follows Jamie into the kitchen, saying he can’t stay.
What’s he doing here?
I wonder.
Checking up on me, again?
I don’t even rate a glance, however, as he says hello to the others.
“How are things at your place?” Jamie asks.
It takes Will a moment before he answers. “It’s a bit eerie,” he says. “We just got a letter from Arthur, written the day before his plane went down over Germany.”
I have to translate Arthur into Coop, before I know who he means.
“A letter?” Jamie looks startled.
Dad motions Will over to an empty chair, but he shakes his head and leans against the sink.
“These things happen, I guess,” Will says. “In a war, letters get lost. Maybe somebody found it and meant to mail it, but didn’t for some reason. Who knows?”
“You’re right,” Jamie says. “I had a picture I kept meaning
to give back to a friend’s widow, but I kept it a long time before I got up the nerve to face her.”
“Will, it must have sent your parents into a tailspin,” Granny says.
“Sure did. I thought my father was going to have a heart attack.”
“What does the letter say?” Jamie asks.
“The usual. Mostly about flying. He mentions you. I copied it out to show you. You can keep it if you want.”
Jamie takes the copy gratefully and goes into the dining room to read it.
In the kitchen, Will says, “He mostly just says that everyone on the flight crew was nervous about the next mission, but he wasn’t. He never was superstitious. Bit like Dad.”
Jamie comes back into the kitchen looking pale. His hand shakes when he picks up his coffee cup. “He writes the way he talks, doesn’t he? He sure loves flying.”
“Yup. He loved it, all right.”
The change in tense is not lost on me. Will believes he’s dead. Jamie doesn’t. Will looks at his watch and says he has to leave. Jamie’s rereading his copy of the letter, and so I walk with Will to the door.
He smiles. “Santa good to you?” A teasing, joking grin, but, I have to admit, a nice grin. Sort of.
“Nope. He only brings things to good little girls, and I am neither good nor little.” I want to see him smile again, and he does. It seems to go on for three seconds longer
than is absolutely necessary and causes me a little red-faced flutter. Do I look like some little juvenile? I rub my hand across my face because I probably have half my breakfast smeared across my cheek.
After Will goes, I ask Jamie if I can read the letter. It isn’t long, so it doesn’t take much time. The letter begins with something about the last parcel his mother sent, how he shared the food with the other crew members, and how they envy him the hand-knit socks.
Near the end, he wrote:
Another bombing mission tonight. The other guys are sweating bullets and biting their nails till they bleed. They’re spooked by this one, for some reason. I’m all smiles every time we take off. I wish my buddy Mac was here. He’d get a thrill out of being inside the belly of this giant bird as it takes flight. The earth just falls away, like old clothes. The roar is so loud, it’s part of you. As the plane slices through clouds, you wonder if this time you’ll get to touch the stars. Too bad Mac didn’t choose the air force. Too bad we have to drop bombs, but we do.
It’s a morning of callers. No sooner has Will left than there’s a knock on the kitchen door. This time it’s our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Hall.
Normally Mother would have bustled about—finding another cup, pouring coffee, apologizing that it wasn’t very strong or was too strong—but she sits calmly while Granny gets the coffee. I’ve never seen her like this, so placid, oblivious to everything around her, sitting with her hands folded across her stomach. She looks as if she’s swallowed something divine, like a whole chalice of communion wine.
Mrs. Hall waves an envelope at us. “A Christmas card, I think. Delivered to us by mistake,” she says. “I meant to bring it a few days ago, but you know how it is. Busy, busy, busy. Happy New Year, everyone! Don’t get up,” she says as Dad pushes his chair back. “Sorry to disturb.”
“Join us for a cup of coffee,” Mother says, coming out of her reverie.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly. I can’t stay.”
Dad pulls an extra chair up to the table, anyway.
Granny says, “I made a big pot. It’ll just go to waste.”
Mrs. Hall sits down fussily, loosens her coat, and straightens her skirt over her knees. She pats Jamie’s hand solicitously, grins at me, beams at Mother, and says, “You’re looking radiant, my dear. When does this darling new baby make its grand entrance?”
No one says a word. It’s as though everyone has stopped breathing. Mother’s face moves from blank serenity to flushed embarrassment. Dad looks as if he’s committed treason. Granny puts the breakfast frying pan into the sink with a clatter-bang.
“I hope,” Mrs. Hall says, her finger to her lip, “that I haven’t just let the cat out of the bag.”
Mother suddenly takes repossession of her brain and says, “Certainly not. I’m sure Jamie and Rachel are well aware of … we just … haven’t talked much about it. You know how it is, you like to wait a bit until you’re sure of … everything.” She smiles brightly. A smear of
my
lipstick has come off on one of her teeth.
Jamie looks hard at his watch, as if he were just learning to tell time. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he says. “I have some packing to do.” He pushes his chair out from the table.
“Wait, son,” Dad says, “I think your mother deserves a minute of your time.”
He nearly sits down again but doesn’t. He says brightly, glibly, “Congratulations, you two. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with this fresh, new addition or edition, whichever the case may be.” He leaves the table and hurries upstairs.
I follow him, but he closes his door in my face.
Letters not sent
.
I left an unfinished letter to you a while back, telling you about the day we were bombed by our own planes. You know, I don’t think we ever really got over that. I remember the way I felt after the disaster, as the drone of the Allied bombers drifted away. Stabbed in the back. Sucker punched
.
Dragging my bloody leg, I hobbled away from Leeson’s corpse. I had the picture of his wife in my pocket. My dead comrades were scattered like broken toys, carelessly left by a spoiled child. Then, I heard someone cry out. When I looked back, nothing moved except a cluster of wildflowers, petals still whole, drooping in the heat. I staggered back, listening. Again, an anxious cry that turned into a steady moan. My leg was killing me. All I could think of was getting back to what might be left of my platoon, to get relief from the pain
.
I heard the moaning sound again and stopped. “Mother?” I heard someone call. I tried to keep going, one foot, drag the other, one foot. But then I stopped. I didn’t want to, but I turned around
.
Following the sound, I nearly stumbled over Herman Visser, a guy we used to call Herman-the-German. He had a gaping hole in his midsection that displayed blood and guts and I don’t know what all, and there was a stench that made the bile come up in my throat. I took off my shirt and covered his wound
.
Visser called out, “Nurse?”
I said, “It’s Jamie.”
He said, “Would you call my mother and ask her to come and get me?”
His icy blue eyes always used to send a chill through me because he was such a worrywart. I felt as if his anxiety would spread to me. But, this time, his eyes were swimming with tears, and I felt like crying myself
.
“Mother!.” he called. It came out almost a gasp. I didn’t know what to do, so I put my hand on his forehead, like a mother checking for fever. He said, “Did she say she’d come?”
“Yes
,”
I said
.
The whole time, in the back of my mind, I wanted to yell at him to pull himself together, to get up, be a man, stop talking about his mother, for God’s sake. But, after sitting with him for a while, in my undershirt, I kind of got caught up in the myth that Herman’s mother would come and save him, that all our mothers would come and save all of us. I could just hear them! “Put down those guns right this minute before someone gets hurt
,”
they’d say
.
“Is she here yet?” he said
.
“Almost
,”
I said
.
I saw Herman’s eyes lose their luster and stare straight up. Something gurgled in his throat. I put my hand on his forehead again, cool in spite of the sun, and ran it down over his eyes hoping to close them, but they
wouldn’t close. I wondered if he had felt as betrayed by the Allies as I did. I would never find out
.
Jamie’s pretty upset, that much is clear. I go back downstairs to see what other bombshells will be dropped around the kitchen table. I’m still in a state of shocked embarrassment. How will I explain this to my friends?
Guess what? My ancient Mother’s having a baby!
God! Parents of teenagers and grown-up sons just don’t start having babies again.
There should be some sort of law!
How can I face Ruthie? I can just hear her.
Some people’s parents! Snicker, snicker
. Yeah, mine!
Mrs. Hall is on her way out when I come down. “Thank you, my dears, for the coffee. Must run. I have a hair appointment in fifteen minutes.”
Right
, I think. She’ll have to rehearse her lines for the ladies at the Crowning Glory Beauty Salon. I can imagine what she’ll say about Jamie and me.
And they didn’t even know! Those great, grown children hadn’t even guessed
.
How would we know? Why would we even guess that our parents would, would … I’m not thinking about this anymore.
When Jamie comes down with his suitcase, Mother is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. “You’re not going this early, are you?”
“I need to get back. I’ll get the earlier train.”
“Jamie, you’re upset about our news. I meant to tell you. I was waiting for the right time.” He stands holding his head back and off to one side because she looks as though she’s getting ready to plant a slobbery kiss right on his lips. “Don’t you think it’s exciting?” she asks.
“What?” He frowns.
“The baby, of course. A little brother or sister for you and Rachel.” She smiles brightly.
I watch Jamie glance from her face to her belly and back to her face. “I wish this was a joke,” he says.
“It’s the farthest thing from a joke, son. Don’t look so cross.”
He brushes past her and goes out to the kitchen, where Dad is halfheartedly gathering up coffee cups. With muted anger, Jamie says through his teeth, “How could you let this happen?” Dad just stares into the sink.
Emptying coffee grounds from the percolator onto a newspaper, Granny says to Jamie, “If there was ever a time to grow up, lad, it’s now.” He’s still staring at Dad.
Mother stands in the doorway between kitchen and back hall. “Jamie! Think of it. We’ll all have a little one to cuddle and play with.”
“Aren’t we all just a little too old for this?”
Mother turns and goes weeping down the hall and up the stairs. Dad leaves the kitchen to follow her.
Jamie grabs his coat, picks up his suitcase, and opens the side door.
Granny says, “I thought you weren’t going until later.”
“I have to get back to study. I have a chemistry exam next week.”
“There’s no train for at least two hours.”
“I’m sure there is.”
“I’ll drive you to the station. No need for you to walk.”
“I want to walk.”
“It’s too cold to walk all the way to the station carrying a suitcase. Now wait right there while I get my coat and galoshes. Where are
your
galoshes? They should be on your feet.”
I ran to get my coat, too. “I’ll come along for the ride.”
The three of us are crushed together in the truck. Granny drives like a maniac, tooting at anyone who threatens to get in her way. She glances past me at Jamie. “You’re behaving like a child.”