Okay, Sammie, you’ve got two choices. You can stand on the WW II side of the VFW all night, or you can go up and rescue Cly
from Howdy Doody’s daughter. What’ll it be?
I’d gnawed my index fingernail down to the quick, rolling the choices around in my head. At the last strands of the song,
I squared my shoulders and looked around for Cly. Ladies’ choice or not, I’d come to my first dance, and Mama’s pearls were
not going home without me dancing. Craning my neck, I looked around the room.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” Tuwana appeared at my side, a glow on her face like a neon sign flashing
I’m in love
.
“I am, if I can ever find Cly….”
“Over there…” Tuwana pointed across the room. Linda Kay had both of Cly’s hands in hers, claiming him for another dance.
My face flared, and I thought if I let out a breath, fire would come out. I ran for the refreshment arrow aimed at the basement.
A drink of water, that’s what I need.
The cold water from the fountain tasted good. I looked around the basement. Cookies and punch at one end. A Ping-Pong table
at the other, where Doobie and PJ slammed the ball back and forth.
“Having fun?” Mr. Johnson came from the refreshment table eating a chocolate chip cookie. My sick smile must’ve given him
the answer.
“Me neither. Tuwana said she’d throw herself across the street in front of the school bus if I embarrassed her by dancing.
I’m banished to the basement.” He laughed and nodded toward the Ping-Pong table. “Tell you what. Let’s get Doob and PJ to
play us a set of doubles.”
That’s where Cly found me when the band took a break and everyone stampeded to the basement for lemon sherbet fluff and homemade
cookies.
“Here you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Mr. Johnson handed his paddle to Cly and went off to chaperone the punch bowl. PJ and Doobie played a couple sets with us
before PJ dragged Doobie off to dance with her. “Or else,” she threatened, and bugged out her eyes behind her glasses.
Cly and I played singles with the drumbeat of the band coming through the ceiling. We didn’t even bother to keep score, just
slammed the ball back and forth.
Finally Cly stopped, loosened his tie, and said, “Punch?”
The chaperones had already cleaned up the refreshment table, so we filled paper cups with water from the fountain.
“Wanna play some more Ping-Pong?” Cly asked.
Doing my best imitation of Tuwana—hands on my hips and slitty eyes—I said, “You know, I didn’t put on Mama’s pearls so I
could beat you at Ping-Pong. Before the night is over, I’d like to at least have one dance with Eva MacLemore’s nephew.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Climbing the stairs, Cly kept his hand on the small of my back as if guiding me on a snipe hunt. Chills zinged up my spine.
The lights had been lowered on the dance floor when we arrived, and the band member named Sonny whispered in a husky voice
in the microphone, “For all y’all lovers out there, one last dance—‘Love Me Tender.’ ”
Beads of perspiration broke out on my forehead.
An Elvis song.
Cly’s arm tightened around my waist while he took my right hand in his left, and we danced, heads close together. Cly’s suit,
no longer stiff, melted into my ruby outfit as we dipped ever so slightly to the right, sliding to the left.
“You smell nice,” he whispered in my ear, and he squeezed my hand a little tighter.
“It’s just lilac water.” The music carried us like dandelion puffs across the floor. At the end of the song, Cly pulled my
hand in close to our bodies. His moist breath flickered on my neck. Then, right there under the pictures of a dozen veterans,
he lifted my chin and kissed me. If I lived to be a hundred and six, I’d never forget that kiss—like velvet and marshmallows,
and tasting of cherry Life Savers.
All the way home in the backseat of the Edsel, Cly held my hand. My face got hot every time I thought about him kissing me.
If that was what juvenile delinquents did, I liked it. When Benny Ray dropped me off, Cly gave my hand an extra squeeze, and
my heart skipped a beat. I took a deep breath and went in the house.
Daddy asked the usual questions about if I had a good time while Aunt Vadine stared at the crochet in her hands. I chattered
away about the punch and cookies and how well the band played.
I floated into my room. Slipping out of my skirt and sweater, I ran my tongue over my lips. The taste of cherry Life Savers
lingered. I undid the clasp on Mama’s pearls, ran them across my cheek, and set them carefully on the chest of drawers before
sinking into my feather bed.
In my dreams Sonny and the Spinners played all night as Cly and I swirled and danced past the VFW soldiers, who smiled and
winked from their frames on the wall. The pearls around my neck blinked off and on, becoming cherry Life Savers in one flash
and Mama’s pearls the next. When the first rays of sun streamed through my window the next morning, I swung my bare feet to
the pine floor and stood to take the real pearls in my hand and hold them. I blinked once. Twice. A light-headedness came,
making me so woozy I thought I might faint.
Mama’s pearls were gone.
I
TURNED MY ROOM INSIDE OUT
and upside down looking for the pearls, playing the tape in my head of when I’d returned home from the dance—kissing Daddy
good night, undressing, undoing the clasp, and running the pearls across my cheek. They didn’t just up and walk off my dresser
by themselves.
During church the next morning, I shot a desperate SOS toward heaven when Ernie Greenwood prayed.
Ask and ye shall receive; seek and ye shall find
hadn’t produced any results.
Of course not, dummy. God’s not interested in your selfishness.
My stomach twisted until I was sure my insides were tied in knots.
It didn’t take a Madame Curie to figure out what had happened. Aunt Vadine took them. I hated myself for thinking it, but
deep down I knew she had. The look on her face when Cly had picked me up. The chipper way she said, “Your necklace. How lovely.”
Her tight lips. But why? What had I done?
After church she fixed oyster soup for lunch, just the two of us, since Daddy was back on daylights. I thought perhaps she’d
decided to play a cruel trick on me by having me find the real pearls swimming among the canned oysters. No such luck.
“I’m going to clean my room.” I put my empty bowl into the sink.
“I should think so, the way you sling everything around in there. Didn’t even hang up your clothes last night after the dance.”
I bit my tongue and smiled, then rinsed out my glass.
An hour later I’d been through all of Aunt Vadine’s drawers, all of mine, pulled out the dresser, and looked under the beds.
I found dust bunnies, but no pearls. My last resort was to retrace my steps from the car and then go over to Tuwana’s and
search the Edsel.
“I think I left something in Tuwana’s car.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Uh… just something. I’ll be back later.”
To Tuwana I confessed my suspicions about how the pearls had disappeared, but to be on the safe side, I wanted to check the
Edsel.
“No problem. Besides, we can talk better without all the little ears here in the house.” She gave Tara and Tommie Sue a
this-means-you
look, and we went out to the car.
She chattered while I searched. Under the front seat, I found two clippies and a red rag.
“You should’ve seen Linda Kay when Cly kissed you.”
The blood rushed up my neck to my face. My first kiss, and the whole world witnessed it.
“What’s it to her? He was my date.”
“Said she’d make sure her father knew about the PDA.”
“What’s that?”
“Public display of affection. Commandment number five on Howdy Doody’s list.”
“I’m sure we weren’t the only ones. I thought I saw Mike nibbling your ear. That’s PDA if I ever saw it.”
“You were the only one
she
saw, bein’s how she’s so love struck with Cly.”
“Who doesn’t return the feeling, I assure you.” In the backseat, I ran my hands between the cushions, still hoping for a miracle.
A pencil, two pennies, and a used tissue turned up. No pearls.
“Mr. Howard thinks I’m a delinquent in the making anyway, so
I’m sure Linda Kay will give him a reason to keep his eyes on me.” I bugged out my eyes as I said it, which made Tuwana laugh.
“You’ll never believe what else.”
“Not more Linda Kay whining, I hope.”
“No. Something cool. Mike’s mom told Mother that the bank in town needs a receptionist. Well, it just so happens, Mother’s
been hinting around to Daddy she needs a career. No sense wasting her steno school certificate, you know.” Tuwana’s eyes shimmered.
“Your mother? Going to work? Why?”
“For the money, what else? This isn’t the Dark Ages anymore. Mother says women today have real jobs, not just running the
cash register down at the Piggly Wiggly. She interviews at the bank tomorrow.”
“Too bad Aunt Vadine can’t have the job. Give her something to do besides wear out the couch cushions all day.”
“Mother says she’s just waiting to make her move.”
“Who?”
“Your beloved aunt, that’s who.”
“How’s that?”
“Etiquette requires a certain period of mourning, which is what your aunt is doing, letting your daddy get over your mother.
It’s a known fact men can’t manage without a wife, so think about it. She’s just waiting in the wings for him to need a woman,
then, bingo,
here I am
. She’ll turn on the charm, and before you can say Robinson Crusoe, they’ll be tying the knot, giving you a new mother.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Not only that, it’s sick. Daddy doesn’t like her much better than I do. Not in
a million years.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
On Monday, Mr. Borden, the science teacher, assigned a research paper for the third six weeks—a survey of a scientific career.
I chose veterinary medicine since I was crazy about Scarlett. And Goldie’s parakeets. I was determined to make an A so Mr.
Howard wouldn’t think I’d become a moron. Every time I saw him patrolling the halls, creepie-crawlies worked up the hair on
my neck.
Has Linda Kay tattled yet?
Brucellosis, trichinella roundworms,
and
canine rabies
rolled off my tongue at the supper table just as easily as if I were discussing the latest fashions or what the lunchroom
ladies served at school.
“Interesting,” Daddy said, and then excused himself to sit on the porch and smoke.
The minute he left, Aunt Vadine told me how disgusting it was to hear about worms at the supper table after her efforts to
provide a pleasant family meal, and it was no wonder Daddy had to go outside and smoke. My behavior must be a great disappointment
to him, blah, blah, blah.
In my opinion, her cooking could have been the cause of his quick exits. That or the Evening in Paris perfume she drenched
herself in.
Daddy started keeping to himself more. No more thumps on the arm and “How’s it going, Sis?” Sometimes he’d be outside for
two or three hours, way after dark, sitting on the porch or off walking somewhere. Aunt Vadine camped out on the couch, watched
her Westerns on television.
Gunsmoke. Maverick.
That new show
The Rifleman.
She watched them all. I thought she must be homesick for West Texas. I hoped so, anyway.
Tuwana went on forever and a day with her crystal-ball predictions about Aunt Vadine becoming Daddy’s new wife and about her
mother’s new job. “I don’t care if I am paid fifty cents an hour, babysitting every day is humiliating. And I get zip for
fixing supper.” Or, “Mother says with her new job we can afford braces for
my teeth. This time next year, I’ll be the girl with the Pepsodent smile!” Her fake grin revealed only the teeniest ripple
of unevenness along the bottom.
Cly started staying after school for basketball practice and riding home with Doobie, who now had his license. When Doobie
got his brother’s hand-me-down, rusted-out Mercury, he acted like it was a Rolls-Royce. Cly waved at me in the halls at school,
but that was about it.
The only one who cared if I existed was Scarlett, who licked my face and loved me because I took her for long walks.
Not a day went by that I didn’t think about Mama’s hatbox. Who were the letters from? What did they say? A part of me was
even more afraid of the letters than I had been of the garage. What if I found out Mama had a past she was ashamed of? Or
that she was ashamed of me? Was it right to read someone’s confidential mail even though they were dead? Then fury would bubble
up like a hissing teapot—a fury with Mama’s name on it. Nothing could erase the terrible fact that she killed herself. Leaving
me. And Daddy. That wasn’t right either.
The week before Thanksgiving, I made up my mind. So what if they were personal? Maybe they held a clue about why Aunt Vadine
acted like she did. With Scarlett at my side, I went to the garage. The door was cracked open. Daddy’s voice came from inside,
but I couldn’t tell who he was talking to. I listened for a minute, but the talking had stopped. Should I go in? As I stood
there trying to decide what to do, I heard a muffled sound, like the time when Daddy sat beside my bed and cried.
Daddy goes into the garage and cries about Mama?
It shocked me. All this time I thought I was the only one who cried. Or cared.
T
HE KUYKENDALLS INVITED US
for Thanksgiving dinner, and Goldie promised to make her famous blueberry cobbler. I went over early to help Goldie, who
had me take care of the general aviary duties while she bustled around the kitchen, basting, chopping, whipping, and what
all.
The birds chattered and ruffled their feathers at me while I scrubbed and refilled their water and food bowls, measuring out
the different seeds and vitamin mixtures (tonics, Goldie called them). I knew the parakeets all by name and chattered bird
talk back at them as I yanked dirty liners from their trays and put in new ones. When I got to the last row and shooed out
the parakeets, a rush of wings and sassy twittering met me. I kept up the tempo of cleaning and watering even though the smell
of turkey and sage dressing coming from Goldie’s kitchen made my stomach rumble in anticipation.