Blue Skies Page 9

  * * *

  As we trudge back to the station, Ben says, “You know my dad came back different, Glory Bea.” He kicks a mound of slushy, muddy hail. “I lost him to the war,” he says, and slows to a stop.

  I stop too. Ben’s never said that before.

  “He’s here, but he’s not here, you know?”

  “I do know. I’m sorry, Ben.”

  My friend’s eyes close. Then he looks right at me. “Do you ever think about what would have happened if your dad had come home?”

  I meet his gaze.

  “All the time,” I say.

  “If he’d returned like mine?”

  I shake my head at the ground. Daddy like Mr. Truman? That’s never occurred to me. I don’t want to think about it.

  “I wonder what’s worse, Glory Bea. A broken dad… or one who is never coming back.”

  I flinch.

  Ben’s eyes soften. “I know you miss your dad too. I remember him. He was always smiling.”

  If there’s one thing I know, it’s this—when my daddy returns, he will help Ben make up some of the difference. I hope. I pray.

  thirty-three

  WE RUSH BY Grandpa’s car parked in front of the station. No one is inside. I sure hope Mama isn’t with him.

  “Ready for the court-martial?” asks Ben.

  “I’ll tell them it was all my fault—which it was. That should help you.”

  Ben shakes his head.

  “And if you don’t mind,” I say, “please don’t say anything about Fort Worth.”

  “Deal,” he says, and holds out his hand.

  We make it official and spit-shake on it.

  Ben and I hop onto the platform and head straight for the stationmaster’s office. They must have heard us coming, because the door swings open. Out walk Mr. Huckleberry and Randall Horton.

  I skid to a stop.

  “I volunteered,” Randall Horton says to the question we don’t ask.

  “Who else is with you?”

  “I traveled solo.”

  Ben scratches his head. “Why you?”

  “I’ve never been to Tula before,” Randall Horton says. “Glory Bea’s grandpa offered his car, and I thought it would be nice to take a little drive.” He turns to Mr. Huckleberry and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. Thanks for taking care of the runaways.”

  For the record, I wasn’t running away. I was running to.

  “Glad to help,” says Mr. Huckleberry.

  Ben and I thank Mr. Huckleberry for his hospitality. He might have been sore at us, but at least he didn’t yell.

  “Tula’s pretty small,” I say to Randall Horton as we walk away. “There’s not much to see. Especially when it turns dark.”

  “I wouldn’t mind coming back, day or night,” says Randall Horton. “The people are nice, and your grandpa says throngs come from miles around to eat the fried catfish and hush puppies at their roadside café.”

  “We could stop on the way out of town, sir,” suggests Ben.

  “I wish we could,” says Randall Horton. “I promised your families I’d have you back stat.”

  “Darn,” says Ben.

  “That’s why I picked up an order to go,” says Randall Horton.

  “Hooyah!” says Ben.

  “I’m not hungry,” I say.

  “I thought—” Ben starts, and I jab him in the side.

  Ben rubs his hands together. “Glory Bea, I’d be happy to eat your share.”

  As if on cue, my stomach grumbles.

  “Interesting,” says Ben, looking up to the sky and shaking his head. “Thunder on a clear evening.”

  Randall Horton keeps walking. Maybe he didn’t hear. He unlocks the back car door and holds it open for us. “I ran away once when I was about your age.”

  “Where to?” Ben asks as we climb inside.

  Two small white to-go boxes, a bottle of Coca-Cola, and another of Dr Pepper lean against the seat. Ben takes in an exaggerated breath through his nose. Crispy fried catfish, crunchy and sweet hush puppies.

  I don’t want it to, but my mouth waters. Ben digs right in.

  Randall Horton hurries around to the front, slides in, and starts the car. “I headed for my grandmother’s apartment across a bridge to Manhattan.” He looks at us in the rearview mirror. “You kids made it farther than I did. I only got to the end of the block.”

  With that, he turns on the radio and pulls out of the station. Bing Crosby sings “I’ll Be Seeing You,” and Randall Horton joins him.

  I fold my arms across my chest and lean back into the seat. My mistake, not thinking of going to Fort Worth earlier. If I had, I could have made a plan. A successful one.

  Ben deposits another hush puppy into his mouth and scoots forward. He hangs his arms over the front seat. “How much trouble are we in, Mr. Horton?”

  “Everyone was more worried than angry.”

  Ben taps the front seat cushion in time with the music and slides back to his seat. My stomach is aching, but I refuse to accept this gift from that man.

  Between bites of his own food, Randall Horton sings the words to every song the whole way home.

  How annoying.

  thirty-four

  MAMA IS THE ONLY one around when I get home. She must have asked Grams and Grandpa for privacy. She hugs me so hard, it hurts. Randall Horton doesn’t come in.

  I draw tiny circles with my finger on the table in the foyer while Mama waves good night to him. Then I wait for her to tell me that I’ll have to do dishes for the rest of my life, be grounded until next year, or be banned from painting in Grandpa’s studio for who knows how long.

  Mama says, “I hope you thanked Randall.”

  I forgot.

  Mama says, “We need to talk.”

  No, we don’t.

  Mama says, “I want you to be happy.”

  I will when Randall Horton goes away.

  Mama says, “Stubbornness is a very unattractive quality, Glory Bea.”

  I stomp upstairs.

  She follows.

  Mama does not understand. In nine days she will. She’ll forgive me for everything then—the pie disaster, tossing Randall Horton’s letters, the time I didn’t relay his tardiness, running off today. She’ll thank me for protecting her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

  Mama perches beside me on the edge of my bed and takes my hands in hers. Her eyes show disappointment. “Glory Bea Bennett, you put yourself in great danger.” Her clasp tightens and her eyes fire up. “Who knows what could have happened. I’ve already lost your father.”

  No, Mama. You haven’t. We haven’t. You’ll see.

  I wriggle my hands free.

  “Your actions hurt people. Today’s escapade…”

  I pick at one of the soft tufts on my chenille bedspread. When I was little, I used to pretend they were puffs of dandelions and that I slept in a bed filled with wishes. Tonight, they’re a field of measles. Itchy, irritated bumps.

  “I’m sorry, Mama, but…”

  “No buts. Running away never solves a problem. I know you didn’t intend to hurt us. That is not who you are. Nevertheless…”

  Mama trembles.

  I have hurt people who have been kind to me.

  “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  “You’ve been acting out, Glory Bea. That’s not like you. Ignoring it hasn’t seemed to help. Nor hinting. Nor kindness. You’ve been sabotaging my relationship with Randall. I don’t appreciate it.”

  Wait. Now we’re talking about Randall Horton?

  “At the very least, I expect you to be civil to him. He is a very good friend of this family.”

  “How good?”

  “We are talking about your behavior.”

  Mama gives me an extra-hard squeeze. “I love you, Glory Bea.” And she retreats to her room.

  * * *

  I should talk to Grams and Grandpa. They’ll help me talk some sense into Mama.

  A light shines under their bedroom d
oor.

  I kneel down and put my ear to the opening.

  “He’s going to ask her any day now,” says Grandpa.

  “I’m glad you gave our blessing,” says Grams.

  No. No. NO times infinity!

  Their doorknob turns and I dash into my room. Shaking.

  I may have spoken out loud.

  thirty-five

  I WAKE UP hungry. So hungry.

  And last night I was tired. So very tired. Most likely I misunderstood what Grandpa and Grams said. After all, I didn’t hear the before and after. Maybe Randall Horton wants to take Mama to the Valentine’s Dance. Or on a trip. Or maybe they were talking about another he and another she. It’s Grams’s business, after all.

  I will not panic. I have a plan. There’s no need to change it.

  “Eggs and sausage and toast for breakfast,” says Grams, handing me a plate of food as I rush into the kitchen.

  “Merci.”

  Mama and Grandpa are already at the table eating.

  “Storm that big means it’s time to clean up around here,” says Grams, bringing the coffeepot to the table.

  I blink. No more questions about my trip? No talk about consequences? No mention of what I said last night? I take a seat at the table. That is a-okay by me.

  “After Randall gets off work today, he and Grandpa will help the McGraths cut up their tree limbs,” says Grams. “Then they will tackle our yard.”

  Mama and I raise our eyebrows. We know what she will say next.

  “Spring cleaning inside and out?” I ask. “In February?”

  “Yes,” says Grams. “Glory Bea, I know you have outgrown some of your clothes. I want you to go through your closet and dresser after school. We’ll place the things you can no longer wear in a new home. The glee club is in charge of a clothing booth at the Veterans’ Fund-Raiser in a few months, and I’m sure you can make a donation.”

  “I think I might clean out George’s closet,” says Mama.

  She doesn’t appear to be kidding.

  Like the rest of the house, everything in their room is just as it was the day Daddy left—the pictures on their dresser, his handkerchiefs in the top right-hand drawer, the two drawers of underwear and socks underneath. In the closet, to the right of Mama’s clothes, are his trousers and shirts and jackets and ties. On the floor beneath, his shoes are lined up just so. Newly polished.

  Nothing has changed.

  Nothing.

  He can step right back in.

  Grams puts her hand on top of Mama’s.

  “Only if you are ready,” she says.

  Mama nods. “I think it’s time, Melba.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say.

  I ball my hands and press them together.

  “You can’t throw out all of Daddy’s things.”

  “There are men in need of good clothing, Glory Bea. Your daddy’s clothes aren’t doing anyone any good hanging in a closet.”

  “Don’t,” I say. “Please. Not yet.”

  “Today is the day, Glory Bea.”

  My insides are as scrambled as the eggs on my plate.

  “We should keep everything,” I say.

  They are moving on.

  Someone else will fill up the spaces.

  “I don’t want to see other men wearing his clothes.” My voice cracks and I can feel my eyes filling. “At least put them in the attic.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The phone rings and I run to catch it. Ruby Jane asks me to meet her at the corner so we can walk to school together. “Five minutes,” I say, and hang up.

  I head upstairs for my books, raid my piggy bank, and hop back into the kitchen. “Ruby Jane said she’d go with me to pay for my ticket to Tula before school.”

  “See you later,” says Mama.

  She forgets to call me “sugar.”

  I grab a piece of toast to settle my stomach, and leave.

  thirty-six

  “YOU AND BEN are the talk of the town,” says Ruby Jane as soon as I walk up. “Riding on the train by yourselves? I can only imagine. Nothing that exciting ever happens to me.”

  I try to smile, only all I can think about is the biggest mistake in the world my mama is about to make. I tighten my coat belt. It’s still cold. You’d never know it hailed yesterday—the streets are dry.

  “Don’t leave out a single detail,” says Ruby Jane.

  I don’t tell her why I went. I don’t tell her about the Huffmans. I can’t bear to see an inkling of doubt on her face. Not now. Not when the boxcar is almost here. Not when Randall Horton won’t leave. Not when Mama is throwing everything away. As Grandpa would say, it’s “full steam ahead.” I must keep the faith. So I tell her about the train, the hailman, the cocoa, and the ride home.

  “Glory Bea, did Ben talk about me? Ask about me?”

  I rub my nose. “We jabbered about so many different things, I can’t remember.”

  I am a dreadful matchmaker. It never occurred to me to talk up Ruby Jane or pump Ben for more info. The trip was about Daddy.

  “All that time with Ben,” she says. “I wish it’d been me.”

  “Tell you what, as soon as we get to school, let’s track him down and you can ask him a question.”

  Ruby Jane nibbles on her mitten. “Okay.”

  We search for Ben in all his usual hangouts—locker, homeroom, front hallway, and library. We ask five different people if they’ve seen him, and get the same answer—no.

  “Maybe he slept in,” says Ruby Jane.

  “More likely grounded,” I say. Because of me. “If he shows, we’ll catch him at lunch. Be positive.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “There’s Delilah and Harry. Let’s pull her away for a sec and fill her in.”

  * * *

  “He’s here!” Ruby Jane squeals as we scan the cafeteria at lunch.

  Ben walks straight toward us, all smiles.

  Ruby Jane stiffens beside me.

  “Smile,” says Delilah. “Wave.”

  Ruby Jane moves in a rigid jerky Frankenstein way.

  When Ben is within earshot, she blurts, “IF YOU COULD HAVE LUNCH WITH ANYONE IN THE WORLD, WHO WOULD IT BE?”

  The kids at the tables around us gawk, but Ruby Jane doesn’t notice. Her eyes are on Ben.

  “Outstanding question, Ruby Jane,” he says. “Let me think about that.”

  Then he raises his eyebrows at me. “You okay?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “To get back to your question, Ruby Jane,” says Ben, “I would like to have lunch with you and Delilah and Glory Bea.”

  Her face colors ruby red.

  “Follow us,” says Delilah, and points the way with her baton.

  Ruby Jane asks two more questions. Only, this time they’re for all of us. Who knew both Delilah and Ben would choose to eat pickles? Or that one Christmas Eve, Delilah set her parents’ nightstand clock forward two hours, while Ben’s best trick was the purse stunt he played on me.

  When the bell rings, Ruby Jane floats back to our classroom. “See, I’ve been practicing,” she says.

  * * *

  I take a detour after school. Bradley’s Bait & Tackle is pinch-my-nose worthy. “A small container of night crawlers, please,” I say, and place money on the crowded counter between a high-priced tackle box and the cash register.

  “Coming right up,” says Mr. Bradley. His plaid shirt has patches on the elbows but his denim overalls look brand-new. “Going fishing with your grandpa?”

  Nope, with my daddy. Of course I don’t say that. I pay and leave.

  To my surprise, Ben is outside. “Really,” he says, “how did it go last night?”

  “A lecture. No consequences.”

  Ben digs his hands into his pockets and we start home.

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “Randall Horton walked me inside, sat down with my parents, and told them about our drive back, including his story about run
ning away.”

  “And?”

  “They laughed.”

  “Laughed?”

  “Randall Horton is a good guy, Glory Bea. You know he came over the day Dad returned from the hospital. He’s been by every day since. They play chess together. It helps my dad take his mind off darker things.”

  I didn’t have a clue.

  “Everyone in our town is polite to my dad, but his old friends have dropped away. They don’t invite him and Mama out anymore.” Ben winces, like he’s plunged his hands into freezing water. “Your grandpa hasn’t stopped asking. My dad never accepts. You know it’s hard for my dad to socialize.”

  Ben shakes his head before he continues. “Seven years is a long time, Glory Bea. Randall Horton understands what my dad went through. Not that others don’t; it’s just that they aren’t interested in the war anymore. It helps my dad to talk. Soldier to soldier. Randall Horton hasn’t heard my daddy’s stories. It means a lot to have someone listen to him. He’s the best thing that’s happened to my dad in a long time.”

  “I’m happy your dad has a friend, Ben.”

  My daddy might too.

  thirty-seven

  MAMA IS ALREADY home. I know because her bedroom door is closed. From my room two doors down, I hear her phonograph playing “The Glory of Love.” It is the song she and Daddy courted to.

  I flop onto my bed and glare at my ceiling. The tiny round tufts on my bedspread make pinkish indents on my arm.

  My daddy needs his clothes. He can’t wear his uniform all the time. He’ll want to put on one of his favorite shirts. I like the blue-and-white Hawaiian print the best. Ben’s daddy sent it to him when he was stationed at Pearl Harbor, in thanks for checking on his family. Then the bombs fell. And Daddy signed up.

  The song “My Happiness” plays next. It’s Mama’s new favorite and she joins in. She’s not a great singer, although she has lots of enthusiasm.

  Tap-tap. Ta-tap-tap. Tap-tap.

  It’s Grams’s special knock.