Lily of the Springs (26 page)

“You sit right there and drink your bottle,” I told her. “I’m going to get your daddy up. If
I
can’t sleep, I don’t see why he should.”

Besides, he had shelves to get up. I’d be darned if I let him make a liar out of me. Them shelves better be up by the afternoon, or I’d know the reason why.

I opened the door to the bedroom. “Jake? You need to get up now.”

No response. I stepped into the room. The blinds were drawn, but there was enough sunlight filtering through the slats so I could see that the bed was empty.

“Well, I’ll be!” Hands propped on my hips, I stared at the rumpled sheets.

Where the dickens had that man gone off to? And why hadn’t I heard him leave? He would’ve had to go through the living room to get out of the apartment.

He’d better not have gone out to drink more and carouse. That would really be the last straw! I blinked at the thought, wondering where it had come from. What did that mean, the last straw? And what would I do if it
was
the last straw?

Turning my attention to the bed, I smoothed out the top sheet and pulled up the gold-and-green chenille bedspread, tucking it over the fluffed pillows so it looked as pretty as a catalog picture.

“There, now.”

The truth was, there
would
be no last straw. As Mother would say, I’d made my bed, and now I had to lay in it. Come hell or high water. So, I might as well make the best of it. Make it nice and smooth and pretty as a catalog picture…just like that bed. I wasn’t a bit sure how I could do it, but what choice did I have but to try?

So just after eleven, the apartment was sparkling clean, Debby Ann was napping, and I sat at the kitchen table in a sunshine-bright yellow sundress and white sandals, my hair still damp from the shower, licking green stamps and placing them into a booklet.

On the radio, Frank Sinatra sang “Three Coins in a Fountain,” and I hummed along as I placed the last stamp in the book. It was more than half-filled. Maybe it wouldn’t be too long before I could use it to get that new steam iron in the catalog.

When Jake appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, I pretended not to notice him; instead, I turned my attention to the grocery list. For a moment, he just stood there and watched me. Finally, he came into the room, and I began to scribble on my pad of paper…anything that came into my head, whether we actually needed it or not.

Instant pudding. Nescafe. Wesson Oil. Campbell’s Soup
.

Jake pulled out a chair and sat down. Even though I could feel him watching me, I pretended to be absorbed in my grocery list.

Bisquick. Kleenex. Soap
.

“Lily Rae?” he said softly.

Pretending to be surprised, I jumped a little, clutching at the bodice of my sundress. “Oh! You startled me.”

His gaze swept my face, and then stopped on the Band-Aid I’d applied to the cut on my temple. “How’s your head?”

I refused to meet his eyes. “I’ll live.”

Wish I could say the same for my Elvis record
.

I almost said it aloud. Had to bite my tongue to stop myself. To cover, I made a move as if to get up from the table, but Jake reached out and grabbed my hand. “Hon, I’m really sorry for last night. I couldn’t sleep a wink over it.”

I finally looked at him, and as soon as I saw the vulnerability in his eyes, my anger drained away. And God help me, all I wanted to do was take him in my arms, cover his unshaven face with kisses and tell him I forgave him. But following on the heels of that impulse, was the image of him slamming that hammer down on my Elvis record.

“Jake, apologies are fine and good, but…”

He touched his index finger to my lips. “I know. It’s the drinkin’. I know that. And I’m gonna stop, Lily Rae. I mean it. I’m stopping today.” He squeezed my hand. “Babe, I’ve already been to the hardware store. I was the first customer there this morning. I’ve got the boards to build them shelves you’ve been wanting. And I’m going to get started on it directly, but first…” He gave me his lop-sided grin and took a slim paper bag from his lap, sliding it across the table toward me. “Got something for you.”

I looked down at it.

“Go ahead. Open it,” he said, his grin widening. “I had to go to three different stores to find it.”

Before my fingers even touched the sack, I knew what was in it. “Oh, Jake…” I whispered, as I drew the 45-LPM record out, and stared down at the yellow Sun Records label.

I looked up at him. “You really
are
sorry, ain’t you?
Aren’t
you?” I corrected. Lately, I’d been trying hard to talk more like Betty, but I still slipped into “country-talk” more often than not.

Jake’s grin had disappeared, and he was watching me, a hopeful expression on his face. He nodded. “I am sorry, hon.” His fingertips brushed the Band-Aid covering my cut. His voice roughened with emotion. “I hate myself for hurting you.”

My throat tightened. I reached up to grasp his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t mean it.”

“It
was
my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking, and if I hadn’t ruined your record…”

I reached toward him and cupped his bristled jaw in my hand. “It’s over now. You’ve apologized, and I forgive you. Let’s just forget it, okay, Jake?”

He reached out and took my hand. “I just don’t want to be like my old man, you know? Sometimes, even as it’s happening, I see him in myself, and yet, I can’t do a thing to stop it.”

I shook my head. “You’re not like him, Jake. You’re
not
. If you were, how could I love you like I do?”

He stared at me a long moment, and then nodded. I leaned closer and kissed his lips softly. He drew me into his lap, and wrapping his arms around my waist, deepened the kiss. After a long moment, he drew away. His index finger traced the outline of my lips. “How many more days will you have your period?” he whispered.

I sighed. “This is only the fourth day. I still have one more day at least.”

He groaned, and then gave me a little peck on the lips. “Okay. Why don’t you go put that Ellis-guy’s record on the hi-fi? I reckon I ought a give him another chance.”

I grinned and jumped up from his lap, grabbing the record. “It’s
Elvis
, Jake. Elvis Presley…and don’t you forget it. I predict one day we’ll have quite a story to tell our grandkids about seeing him in person.”

But I’ll never tell them the
real
story.

November 1954

I
stood at the stove, stirring a spoon through a skillet of half-cooked scrambled eggs. From the radio on top of the refrigerator, Rosemary Clooney sang “Mambo Italiano.” The record had just been released the week before, but KOSY had been playing it so much, I already knew the lyrics; I sang along with her now as I made Jake’s breakfast. Debby Ann, a frail 20-month-old, stood nearby in her footed Bugs Bunny pajamas, tugging at my pajama leg and whining for her “ba-ba.”

I shook my head. “I told you, Debby Ann, doctor says no more
ba-ba
. Go get your sipper cup. It’s on the table.”

“Noooooo,” Debby whined, rubbing her fist into a tear-filled eye.

Ignoring her, I turned to the
Ladies’ Home Journal
on the counter next to the stove. I’d found this new recipe on how to dress up ordinary scrambled eggs with deviled ham, and today, that’s what Jake was going to get, like it or not.

I heard him come into the kitchen and turned to flash him a smile. “Good morning, sleepy-head!”

Clad only in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, he growled something unintelligible and headed for the percolator to pour himself a cup of coffee. Smiling, I turned back to the eggs and added the Underwood deviled ham. “Got a special surprise for you this morning, hon.”

Jake took a sip of coffee, placed the cup back on the table and ran his hands through his greasy hair so it stood up in comical spikes. “God help me…especially if you got it from one of them fancy magazines of yours.”

He wasn’t exactly grinning, but I could tell by the quirk of his lips that he was just kidding around. He wouldn’t admit it, but he actually
liked
some of the fancy stuff I made for him out of my magazines.

“Here you go.” I took the skillet from the stove and moved away from Debby Ann, forcing her to release her grip on my pajama leg. The toddler gave an indignant squeal. I winced but ignored her. The ear-piercing squeal was one of Debby Ann’s latest tricks in her attempt to maintain Mama’s attention at all costs.

“Mama!
Ba-ba
!” she demanded, her heart-shaped face screwing up in a familiar pout.

I scraped the eggs onto Jake’s plate. “First of all, you’re old enough to say it right.
Bottle
. And second of all, you heard me…you can’t have it.”

“I don’t know why you’re always trying to reason with her,” Jake said, shoveling the eggs into his mouth. “Just tell her no, and leave it be.” He swallowed and looked up at her. “Hmmmm…not bad. What’s in it?”

“Deviled ham.” I scooped the whimpering toddler into my arms and sat down across from Jake. “Surprised?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “One thing about you, Lily Rae, you’re not a bad cook.”

I smiled and reached for Debby Ann’s sipper cup. For Jake, that was a real compliment. Things had been really good between us ever since that last big fight about the Elvis record in June. And it was because Jake had made a real effort to change. As far as I knew, not a drop of alcohol had passed between his lips since then, and it sure made a difference in our home life.

“Here.” I put the sipper cup into Debby Ann’s hands. “Drink this.”

“
No
!” In a fit of temper, she threw the cup, and it went spinning across the table, spilling milk all over the scratched Formica.

Jake, who’d just picked up his coffee cup, gently placed it back down. He got to his feet, came over to me, and took Debby Ann from my arms.

“
Bad girl
!” He gave her a right smart swat on the behind, and for a moment, Debby Ann looked startled, then she released a howl that sounded like a squalling ambulance on the way to the hospital with a critical patient. “If you can’t behave yourself, you can go right back to bed, young lady.”

He carried Debby Ann out of the room, and her cries diminished the farther away he got. A moment passed, and I heard a door slam followed by Jake’s footsteps heading back to the kitchen--and in the background, Debby Ann’s piercing cries.

“That little gal is spoiled rotten,” Jake said, stepping back into the kitchen. “And I don’t want you running in there and picking her up. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

The screams grew louder. Apparently, Debby had just realized that her daddy really
was
leaving her in her crib. I shook my head. “She’s on her way to having a major conniption fit.”

“She’ll simmer down…once she realizes you aren’t going to give in to her.” Jake sat back down at the table and resumed eating.

I got up to pour myself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would distract me from the baby’s crying. I supposed Jake was right, but it was all I could do not to run in there and scoop her out of the crib just to shut her up.

“Get me a refill, will you, hon?” Jake said through a mouthful of eggs. “Any more biscuits?”

“In the oven. I’ll get you a couple.” I grabbed a potholder and removed the tray from the oven, scooping up two golden biscuits with a turner and depositing them onto Jake’s plate. He sliced one open and began to slather it with butter.

With my coffee cup in hand, I started to sit down.

“We got apple butter?” Jake asked.

“I’ll get it.” I put the cup down on the table and turned to the refrigerator, glancing up at the Coca Cola Neon clock on the wall I’d bought at the PX last pay day. I rubbed my temple and grabbed the jar of apple butter, trying to ignore Debby’s screaming. Honestly, it was way too early for her nap. She’d never go down at eleven o’clock in the morning.

“I don’t think she’s simmering down,” I said, placing the jar on the table.

“She will.” Jake spread a thick layer of apple butter on top of the butter and took a bite. He glanced at me. “Sit down. Got some news.”

“What?” I took my seat and reached for my coffee. Was it my imagination or were Debby Ann’s cries petering out? Could Jake actually be right?

He popped the last of the biscuit into his mouth and reached for the second one. “Any more of them eggs?”

“No, but it’ll only take a minute to make you some more.” I started to get up.

“Nevermind. That can wait.” He pressed the top half of the biscuit on the one topped with butter and apple butter, eating half of it in one bite. “Talked with Sarge this week about reenlistment.”

My heart skipped a beat. Had he received orders for his transfer? Much as I was excited about seeing other parts of the country—and maybe even the world—I didn’t look forward to moving away from Betty. But then, Eddie was due to get transfer orders soon, too, so it was inevitable we’d eventually be separated. After all, that was military life.

“So, what did he say?” I asked eagerly, one ear still listening to the sounds from down the hall. Darned if she
wasn’t
winding down! Her cries had gone from ear-piercing shrieks to muffled sobs. “Did he think you might be able to get orders to Hiwalya? Oh, Jake, it would be so wonderful if we could go there! Oh,
darn
! Betty told me it’s not pronounced like that. Let’s see…how did she say it? Ha…
wah
…eeee.” I grinned at him. “So, what did he say? Please don’t tell me we have to go somewhere awful like North Dakota!”

Jake frowned. “Don’t it bother you that Miss Know-It-All is always correcting you on everything? Must make you feel like an ignorant hillbilly.”

I bristled. “She’s not like that at all, Jake. She’s trying to teach me how to speak correctly so I don’t come off
sounding
like an ignorant hillbilly!”