We gather around Peter’s car since it’s first up. Everyone remembers at the same time that the other fib was we drove them to Sable’s house last night. Eyes light up with a new scheme, but I’m the first to say how it fits. “That’s right. When we drove you home, I asked if I could call on you tonight!”
“I don’t know if they’ll let me, Jerald.”
“Can we try?”
The cloud over her eyes sure is persistent. “Alright, supper should be done at a quarter past seven.”
I smile, “Then a quarter past seven.”
With our group splitting up, we say our farewells.
Just me and Hank now. As we hop in the car I ask, “What’s with the smile?”
“And you didn’t wanna come to my dumb dance!”
16
MAY
F ather pushes the tin closer to my empty plate. “Go on and fix yourself a slice before these kids rob you of the chance.”
Margaret and Matthew are already diving into their second slices. I stare at what’s left in the tin, concentrating a little too hard on it.
“What’s the matter, May?” Mother asks. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
All through dinner I’ve hardly said a word. I tried to join in with their lively conversation, everyone in a good mood after enjoying a nice Saturday in their varying ways, but all I can think about is that Jerald will be calling on me soon, and I don’t know how to face it.
“I’m sorry, Mother, I was just thinking it might be nice to go to the malt shop tonight. And I might ruin my appetite.” I hurriedly add, “Your pie is always so delicious, it’s awful tempting.”
Distracted by my compliment, it takes her a moment. “Thank you, May, I know apple crumb is your favorite. That’s why I made it…after the fight we had last night.”
Father reaches over to help himself to another. “Why don’t you stay home tonight? I’m sure those friends of yours won’t mind. You can see them any day, and your Mother made this special for you.”
My stomach turns over, and I swallow hard.
“There now, don’t look so glum,” Mother sighs, resting her wrist by her plate with fingers tense. “Nobody is forcing you to eat the pie.”
“It isn’t that, really it isn’t!”
“Then what is it?”
Even the children are staring now.
I swallow again. “A boy is picking me up at a quarter past seven.”
Father pushes his plate away. “What boy is this?”
Mother asks, “Do we know him?”
With four sets of eyes waiting for my answer, I struggle, “You might.”
But I’m hoping they don’t. If I’ve ever been lucky, this one time had better be it.
Father hits the table. “Well?”
“His name is Jerald, and he’s a very nice boy. A Congressman’s son.” My folks glance to each other and from the looks of it they might be impressed. They have found consolation in the fact that he’s not from the wrong side of the tracks. Given courage by this, I press on, “I was worried about telling you because he is…” Twenty-two in two months. “Nineteen.”
“Out of high school?!”
“Yes.”
“In College?!!”
“He um…enlisted in the Navy, and is leaving Monday.”
It’s true! He did enlist, three years ago. And he is leaving Monday. Keep your face innocent and stop feeling so darn bad!
Father’s chest relaxes, as does his fist. Laying his fingers flat on the table, he looks at the pie for a moment. “A Navy boy.”
I blink, remembering how much he wanted to enlist but wasn’t able to on account of his leg. It never dawned on me that he might find Jerald a worthy suitor as a sailor even more so than the son of a politician. Father respects the men who protect our country more than those who control it.
Which might be my lie’s saving grace. They won’t know anything about the Cocker family, especially not the real age of their first born son.
“I think you’ll like him, if you’ll just give him a chance.” I reach across the table for Mother’s hand. “His family is very respectable.”
“Nineteen,” she murmurs, worrying.
Father says, “The boy leaves in less than two days. What trouble could they get into?” He clears his throat. “If it were a boy of a different sort, I would object. But the son of a Congressman I’d warrant is just as interested in his reputation as he is in my daughter’s. And anyone who chooses to serve our country is made of good stuff.”
“I wanted to serve our country, Fred,” Mother reminds him.
“Now Dot, let’s not go through that again.”
Matthew and Margaret have resumed devouring what’s left of their second slices, even lifting crumbs with the pads of their fingers to suck on since they know my folks are distracted and won’t pay them any mind.
A knock at the door gives us all a start, and we discover the clock-hands at exactly the right places for my father’s approving, “A prompt boy, at that.” He pushes his chair out and stands up.
Mother looks at my polkadot dress. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I hadn’t wanted to change and look suspicious. “Yes.”
“It is becoming for daytime, but…” She unfastens her favorite necklace. “Put this on.”
“Really?”
“Yes, child. Now hurry up. Don’t keep the boy waiting.”
She starts to clear the table and I realize his status has her a nervous wreck.
I won’t have that at all, so I take her hand. “Mother, come and meet him. He’s a swell boy, and I think you’ll like him very much!”
She’d sat for supper with her apron still on, on account of it was just us and the children. She unties and tosses it in a heap out of sight, fixing her graying curls.“Well, alright. I am curious.”
We enter the living room together, and see Father in the doorframe, his back to us, both hands in the pockets of his denims, button-up shirt still rolled just below his elbows.
“Why Fred, invite the boy in!”
Father reacts with a start and steps backward to allow
