The Diary (17 page)

Sarah wasn't one for hanging on to things, either. Besides, what would the letters have told her that she didn't already know? “What's important is that they kept in touch,” she said. “I suppose it's true what they say: Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Wouldn't the same be true of AJ?”

“Maybe, but she would've needed more to go on than a few postcards. He certainly kept her guessing.”

“Men.” Emily heaved an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Just when you think you have them where you want them, they up and disappear on you.
That
they're good at.”

Sarah thought of her own husband, waiting up for her at their house. Jeff had been a constant in her life since college. He'd been at her side during every one of those painful tests and procedures during the early years of their marriage, when they'd been so desperate to conceive. Just as he had been when she'd finally given birth to their first son and, three years after that, their second. No, he would never walk out on her, any more than their dad would have walked out on their mom.

“Not all men are like that,” she said. “Dad certainly wasn't.” She didn't point to Jeff as an example, not wanting to rub it in that her marriage was a success, whereas Emily's had failed.

“True,” Emily acknowledged. “He was about as loyal and dependable as they come.”

“Remember that story Mom used to tell about how he insisted on being in the delivery room when I was born? No one did that kind of thing back then. He had to threaten to sue the hospital before they'd agree to it.” Sarah chuckled at the thought of their dad asserting himself. Those who hadn't known him very well had often been fooled by his laid-back temperament into thinking he could be counted on to bow unquestioningly to authority. But nothing was further from the truth, as anyone who'd ever butted heads with Bob Marshall had learned. When he cared deeply about something or saw an injustice, he was always the first to speak out. “A good thing, too, because Mom claimed she wouldn't have been able to get through it without him, it was such an ordeal.”

“I guess that's why you're such a goody-two-shoes,” teased Emily. “You've been trying to make up for it ever since.”

“Speak for yourself. I'm not the one who spilled orange juice all over Mom bringing her breakfast in bed.”

“I was eight!” Emily giggled at the memory. “Anyway, Mom told me she'd been looking for an excuse to get rid of that old bedspread for years.”

“I just wish she'd told us the whole story.” Sarah looked down at the diary she was holding, marking their place with her thumb. They'd read all but the last two entries. “We could have talked about it. Then there wouldn't have been any question.”

“About Dad, you mean?”

Sarah nodded, hastening to add, “Not that she didn't love him—we already know she did. I mean, okay, maybe there weren't a lot of fireworks, but what they had was a lot more meaningful than a night of passion under the stars with a man who couldn't give her what Dad could.”

“Too bad she couldn't have it all.” Emily gazed thoughtfully into the fireplace, where the ashes had long since grown cold.

“Very few people get to have it all,” Sarah pointed out, thinking once more of herself and Jeff. As devoted as they were to each other, their lovemaking, she had to admit, had grown a bit predictable with the onset of middle age. At times she missed the spontaneity of their newlywed years.

“If I ever get married again, I'm not going to settle.” Emily spoke with a vehemence born of painful experience. “Next time it's going to be the whole package or nothing at all.”

“If everyone felt that way, there'd be far fewer babies in the world. Legitimate ones at least,” joked Sarah, though she didn't discount the sentiment. She thought Emily was right.

Emily turned to her, frowning. “How do we know she wouldn't have been happier with AJ?”

Sarah sighed. “That's a question I don't think even Mom could answer.” Such things fell under the heading of what-if. “We don't even know whether it was AJ who dumped her or the other way around.”

“There's only one way to find out.” Emily pried the diary from her sister's hands and began to read aloud.

CHAPTER TEN

N
OVEMBER
10, 1951

Dear Diary
,

Nothing lasts forever, and I guess that goes for being gossiped about. There are still those who can't look me in the eye without blushing, or scowling, at the thought of my sinful deeds, but most people appear to have moved on. Luckily for me, there's a never-ending supply of fresh scandals in this town, so I'm quickly becoming old news. Now that Bob and I are communicating again, if only by mail, I'm even back in my mother's good graces
—
tentatively, that is
.

I suppose I should be content with that, but there's a hole in me that no amount of buried hatchets or letters from Fort Riley can fill. I can't stop thinking about AJ, wondering where he is and if he's thinking of me, too. I still get postcards from time to time, which tell me more about what's new with him than what's in his heart. Never more than a few lines that anyone, including my mother, could read (which I have no doubt she does) without getting any big ideas. I haven't given up on him entirely. But that sense of certainty I once had is gone. I don't know what the future holds for AJ and me. How can I pin my hopes on a man who hasn't even told me he loves me? Who doesn't even have a forwarding address? Bob, on the other hand, is fully prepared to marry me even though I cheated on him. If that isn't love, I don't know what is
.

Indian summer
had passed into autumn. The leaves falling from the trees were a match for Elizabeth's mood: It felt as if she were gradually drifting back to earth after her ordeal. The shock of her grandmother's death had given way to acceptance. And a new scandal in town had the gossip-mongers buzzing—Sarah Hutchinson, a girl she'd gone to school with, had shocked everyone by running off with a married man—so Elizabeth was no longer on the hot seat. However, life as she'd known it would never be the same again.

For one thing, she now knew who her true allies were. Not the fair-weather friends who used to invite her to parties but people like old Mrs. McCracken down at the dry-goods store, who during her ordeal had confided that she waited on certain customers—meaning those who'd made rude comments about Elizabeth—only out of financial necessity; otherwise she'd have told them to take a hike. And several members of her former congregation had expressed outrage at Reverend Freimuth's making an example of her and told her how much they missed seeing her on Sundays. Amelia Whitman, a friend of her mother's whom Elizabeth had known since childhood, had reportedly gone so far as to vigorously defend her to a bunch of the biddies on her church committee.

There was Mr. Arno, too, who'd shown his true colors in her darkest hour. In him, she'd found a father figure, however grumpy at times, to whom she could go for advice or help in solving a problem. He was even giving her extra hours, in addition to a small raise, to aid her efforts to save money for her own place.

Ingrid had come around eventually, holding out an olive branch in the form of the bridesmaid gown Elizabeth had relinquished some weeks before. They'd made peace, and at Ingrid's insistence, Elizabeth had agreed to resume her place in the wedding party. At the same time, Elizabeth knew that a basic trust had been broken on both sides that would never be whole again, however much they might pretend otherwise. She could only hope that they'd forge a new bond one day as wives and mothers. In the meantime, they were on friendly terms, though spending far less time together than in the past.

Elizabeth spent her free time taking long walks or going on drives through the countryside in the used Pontiac sedan she'd purchased with some of her savings. The fresh air and solitude helped clear her head and put things into perspective. She still thought a lot about AJ, but no longer to the exclusion of all else. Lately it was Bob who'd been on her mind more and more.

He wrote to her at least once a week from Fort Riley: light, newsy letters filled with amusing stories about his adventures at boot camp. It was obvious, reading between the lines, that he was well-liked by his fellow recruits, which didn't surprise her. In school, Bob had been one of the more popular boys and often the object of hero worship. Elizabeth didn't doubt there were men in his squad at Fort Riley who looked up to him in the same way, and she could easily imagine him playing big brother to the ones who were homesick or struggling to keep up. It made her worry a bit less, knowing he would have buddies to watch his back in combat.

For her birthday, Bob had sent her a box of fancy stationery, a gentle reminder that didn't set too serious a tone.

She wrote back faithfully, as promised. In her letters, she kept him abreast of the latest goings-on: the raise she'd been given at work and the new church she'd joined; the flood at the hat factory that had been quickly contained before it could cause any serious damage; the stray puppy that had turned up on their doorstep, which the Simmses next door had taken in, Mildred being allergic to dogs. She wrote, too, about the films she saw and the books she read. “I'm halfway through
From Here to Eternity”
she'd informed him in her last letter. “Besides being highly entertaining, I think it paints a pretty accurate picture of what it was like during the war. If you're not sick to death of the military by now, I think you'd enjoy it. I'll send you my copy when I'm done with it.” Bob had written back that he didn't have much time for reading these days but to send it anyway; he was sure he'd enjoy it when he got around to it. In the meantime, care packages from home were always greatly appreciated, he hinted broadly, especially baked goods.

The postcards she received from AJ, in contrast, were few and far between and always seemed to have been dashed off in a hurry. The most recent one was from Galveston, Texas, where he'd found work in the oil fields. It was only a temporary gig, he'd written, until he could see about another opportunity he had cooking on the back burner. He was hoping to see her soon but couldn't say when he'd be back in town. The only indication that he and Elizabeth were anything more than friends was the one line scrawled at the bottom of every postcard: “Miss you.”

Elizabeth told herself he was being circumspect because of her mother, who wasn't above steaming open a letter or listening in on a call. And while that notion was certainly valid—even the limited contact with AJ was a continuing source of friction between her and Mildred—with each passing week that brought little or no word from AJ, it was getting harder to convince herself that he loved her enough to come back for her.

It was hard not to compare him to Bob, who not only faithfully corresponded with her but was responsible for the thaw in the atmosphere at home. If AJ's postcards were delivered into Elizabeth's hands in tight-lipped silence, Bob's letters were always presented with a smile and a pleasant remark and provided her and her mother with one of the few topics of conversation on which they were on safe ground.

One night at dinner, her mother inquired, “Will Bob be coming home for Christmas?”

“I don't think they give leave to soldiers headed overseas,” Elizabeth told her. Bob had completed his basic training but was still marking time at Fort Riley, awaiting deployment.

Mildred paused in the midst of sawing at her roast beef to bestow one of her rare smiles upon Elizabeth. “Well, then, if that can't be arranged, you could always pay him a visit. I'm sure he'd welcome it.”

“Mother, I—”

“Christmas would be the perfect time to announce an engagement, don't you think?”

Elizabeth eyed her mother in dismay, but Mildred appeared utterly guileless for once, as though it were a perfectly normal observation—as though they were talking about whether it might snow on Christmas or whether the carolers would be making the rounds this year. Mildred seemed to take it for granted that sooner or later, she'd come to her senses and marry Bob.

“That would mean a summer wedding,” Mildred went on. She skewered a cube of roast beef with her fork and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “We'll have to pick a date soon, though. Those slots get booked months in advance. And there's so much to do before then.”

Elizabeth put her fork down. “Mother, what gives you the idea there's even going to
be
a wedding?” Even if she were to accept Bob's proposal, which was far from guaranteed, she would insist that they elope. After what she'd just been through, she couldn't face an elaborate wedding orchestrated by her mother.

“Of course there's going to be a wedding,” Mildred replied in the same tone with which she might have asked Elizabeth to pass the salt and pepper. But Elizabeth caught the glint of steel behind her pleasant expression. “Bob's been big enough to forgive you. Not every girl in your shoes would be so lucky. And I can't think of a single one who'd be foolish enough to turn down such an offer.”

The subject, as far as Mildred was concerned, was closed.

But when the holiday season finally rolled around, it brought an entirely different sort of surprise. On Christmas Eve, Elizabeth was leaving work with plans to head downtown for some last-minute shopping before the stores closed when she noticed the solitary figure of a man on the sidewalk below the front entrance. It was snowing, and from where she stood on the steps under the building's shadowed portico, she couldn't quite make out his face. He appeared to be waiting for someone, which was odd—the only one left on the premises besides her was the night watchman. Mr. Arno, in a show of holiday spirit, had decided to close early, so all the other employees had gone home hours ago. The only reason she was still there was because she'd had some last-minute paperwork to clear off her desk.