guess, ‘cause I’ve known Rosalind since she was about Cassie’s age.”
Lorena senses that Delia isn’t really listening because a couple of sailors lounging against the wall of Harley’s Hardware have caught her eye. Delia’s pillowy little body becomes increasingly animated, accelerating into feverish gyration as they pass by the sailors.
Unfazed, Lorena continues: “Turns out she wasn’t in a family way after all. She was just in love. I see her sometimes, sitting onher porch. Sometimes she’ll walk down to the water and stare over at Norfolk. I guess that was the last place she saw him, when she said good-bye. Her husband was a sailor.”
Delia perks up at the word, seems to pay attention. “Yeah?” she says.
Lorena glances over at Delia but Delia’s head is turned around and Lorena knows she’s giving the sailors a wink. “She seems lost now, even walks different,” Lorena persists, “not like that little bounce she used to have. I want to go up to her sometimes, tell her I know how she feels, but I don’t. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a widow.”
Delia has clearly signed off of Lorena’s story, but Lorena continues it silently, asking herself, Was I that much in love with Pete when I married him? I think I was. He was nice-looking, seemed like he knew what he wanted. Seemed like he wanted me. We were happy. I liked being married, being half of a couple.
When Cassie came along, Pete liked playing with her, buying her toys, talking baby talk. But when she got older, he got bored with it all, with the crying and tantrums and stuff kids do. Once when Lorena accused him of treating Cassie like some Cracker Jack toy that broke, his sudden tears of denial startled her. Sometimes he’d do that—cry, and she wouldn’t know why.
Pete was stingy with emotion, but those tears were coming more often these days. When she saw them, Lorena was more stunned than dismayed. She felt oddly powerful, as if Pete had shrunk down to her level. He was weak. She was strong. Now would be the perfect time to give him an ultimatum: She wasn’t just a housewife anymore. No more vacuuming, no more biscuits. She was going to have a career. She had to practice, get her act together, do what she had to do. With or without him, she would dance her way to fame.
And then a nasty nightmare would intrude on that threat: Suppose he said no? Suppose he left? Suppose she had to work? She’d be typing, not tapping. That would be her future: typing, typing, endlessly typing the days away, just as she was doing theday Pete walked into her life. The thought of those days made her fingers wiggle and stretch in involuntary mimicry of the rhythm and movements of typing. She could feel the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard, hear the musical clatter of the keys—
tappity tappity tap tap tap.
Then cold panic would grip her and still her dancing dream, and just for that moment she’d be glad she had Pete.
“Cute, huh?” Delia’s scratchy voice jolts Lorena back. Now that they’re out of range of the sailors, Delia’s walk has decelerated to its normal swing and sway. “Don’tcha love those adorable little sailor hats?”
Lorena, Rosalind still on her mind, says, “Why would you be interested in somebody who could be shipped out any day?”
“Well,” says Delia, pouting, “it’s not like we’re still at war. Didn’t they sign a peace treaty or something?”
“It’s called an armistice,” says Lorena. Honestly, she thinks, Delia can be such a dingbat. “We still got all kinds of problems with everybody, Russia, China, I don’t know who-all else,” she informs her. “Now that Russia’s got the bomb, we got to worry about whether they might try to hit us here, what with the shipyard and all.”
“The shipyard? They’d want to bomb the shipyard?” Delia’s eyes go wide.
“The shipyard. Norfolk, the naval base. Fort Eustis. Fort Monroe. Langley Field. All kinds of places around here they’d
Lorena senses that Delia isn’t really listening because a couple of sailors lounging against the wall of Harley’s Hardware have caught her eye. Delia’s pillowy little body becomes increasingly animated, accelerating into feverish gyration as they pass by the sailors.
Unfazed, Lorena continues: “Turns out she wasn’t in a family way after all. She was just in love. I see her sometimes, sitting onher porch. Sometimes she’ll walk down to the water and stare over at Norfolk. I guess that was the last place she saw him, when she said good-bye. Her husband was a sailor.”
Delia perks up at the word, seems to pay attention. “Yeah?” she says.
Lorena glances over at Delia but Delia’s head is turned around and Lorena knows she’s giving the sailors a wink. “She seems lost now, even walks different,” Lorena persists, “not like that little bounce she used to have. I want to go up to her sometimes, tell her I know how she feels, but I don’t. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a widow.”
Delia has clearly signed off of Lorena’s story, but Lorena continues it silently, asking herself, Was I that much in love with Pete when I married him? I think I was. He was nice-looking, seemed like he knew what he wanted. Seemed like he wanted me. We were happy. I liked being married, being half of a couple.
When Cassie came along, Pete liked playing with her, buying her toys, talking baby talk. But when she got older, he got bored with it all, with the crying and tantrums and stuff kids do. Once when Lorena accused him of treating Cassie like some Cracker Jack toy that broke, his sudden tears of denial startled her. Sometimes he’d do that—cry, and she wouldn’t know why.
Pete was stingy with emotion, but those tears were coming more often these days. When she saw them, Lorena was more stunned than dismayed. She felt oddly powerful, as if Pete had shrunk down to her level. He was weak. She was strong. Now would be the perfect time to give him an ultimatum: She wasn’t just a housewife anymore. No more vacuuming, no more biscuits. She was going to have a career. She had to practice, get her act together, do what she had to do. With or without him, she would dance her way to fame.
And then a nasty nightmare would intrude on that threat: Suppose he said no? Suppose he left? Suppose she had to work? She’d be typing, not tapping. That would be her future: typing, typing, endlessly typing the days away, just as she was doing theday Pete walked into her life. The thought of those days made her fingers wiggle and stretch in involuntary mimicry of the rhythm and movements of typing. She could feel the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard, hear the musical clatter of the keys—
tappity tappity tap tap tap.
Then cold panic would grip her and still her dancing dream, and just for that moment she’d be glad she had Pete.
“Cute, huh?” Delia’s scratchy voice jolts Lorena back. Now that they’re out of range of the sailors, Delia’s walk has decelerated to its normal swing and sway. “Don’tcha love those adorable little sailor hats?”
Lorena, Rosalind still on her mind, says, “Why would you be interested in somebody who could be shipped out any day?”
“Well,” says Delia, pouting, “it’s not like we’re still at war. Didn’t they sign a peace treaty or something?”
“It’s called an armistice,” says Lorena. Honestly, she thinks, Delia can be such a dingbat. “We still got all kinds of problems with everybody, Russia, China, I don’t know who-all else,” she informs her. “Now that Russia’s got the bomb, we got to worry about whether they might try to hit us here, what with the shipyard and all.”
“The shipyard? They’d want to bomb the shipyard?” Delia’s eyes go wide.
“The shipyard. Norfolk, the naval base. Fort Eustis. Fort Monroe. Langley Field. All kinds of places around here they’d
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