“I don’t care what they think! I care about May! And her future!”
“Do you think I don’t care about that?”
“Not in the way that I do!”
Mother sighs, aware he is speaking about my reputation were I to become in the family way before marriage.
While they argue, I walk upstairs, and they do not notice I’ve gone.
Washing my face, brushing my teeth, and rolling pin curls so that when I wake up they look nice for him, happen with a dreamy smile on my face.
I hum my way over to the dresser I’ve had since I was little, change into my nightgown, and slip under the covers for the best dreams of my life, so far.
39
JERALD
C an’t sleep.
It’s like I drank twenty cups of joe, but I haven’t had one since morning.
Wouldn’t matter if I had.
We drank coffee all day.
You hit your bunk you’re out.
Here I am, tossing.
Back home.
In my own bed.
For good, not just on liberty.
Should be relaxed.
I’m about to hit the ceiling.
Don’t like this.
Can’t take it.
Not for another second.
I throw off the covers, walk into the hall in pajama pants and an undershirt. Feels strange here without my brother. Is this how Hank felt when I left, how quiet it was not having me around?
Shaking my hair out with rough fingertips, I head to the galley to fix something to eat.
Galley.
They don’t call it that here.
It’s just a kitchen again.
No more mess hall.
No more fellas talking all hours of the night.
No more alarms sending us to battle stations.
Why do I keep hearing them?
The smell of cigar smoke pulls me toward the drawing room. Door is closed. No mistaking that smell though. Pops is hiding his relaxation ritual.
The one he swore off after the heart attack.
At the sound of creaking hinges, he hurries to stamp out the habit, swearing under his breath.
“Just me, Pops. Relax.”
“Jerald! Thought I might have a tussle on my hands. Close the door! In fact, push that rug up against it! Was it the smoke that told you I was here? Have to stop that immediately. Can’t let her find out.”
I drag and bunch it as best I can. Wiping my hands I stroll over to ask, “Say, wanna give me one of those?”
His eyebrows lift with surprise. “Don’t mind if I do! When did you become a cigar man? Pick that up on the sub?”
“It was cigarettes. But I didn’t like them much. Let’s see how these taste.” He stands to hold out an open box, wood carved to inform all who can read that the treasure inside was rolled in Cuba.
Pops strikes a match on the fireplace mantel, flame impressive as sulfur catches. “Now don’t inhale it like a cigarette. We smoke this for the taste. Understand?”
I enjoy a couple short puffs as he tosses the lit match into the fire, shaking his hands from the heat that nearly bit him. We sit opposite each other with Pops in the velvet chair and me on the sofa to enjoy our cigars and our manly silence. At the same time and without discussing it, we kick our feet onto the coffee table — mine bare, his slippered.
After some time he asks, “Can’t sleep?”
“Must be the time zone.”
“Indeed,” he murmurs before a puff. “You’ve more strength than you know, son. Trust that. Lean into it.”
I nod, and stare at the fire. Soon I’m seeing another one altogether, and the memory threatens to overtake my mind. Blinking to Pop I ask, “How are things in Washington, with the war over?”
He exhales, eyes weary, rolling his cigar with an index finger and thumb nearly as thick. “Much work to be done. Much work. Not an easy transition. F.D.R was one of the best this country has ever known. He brought us through our worst financial crisis to be immediately met with a second war more devastating than the first. He cultivated relationships that enabled us to come together with one goal — take that evil maniac, Hitler, down for good.” Pops looks at the fire, amber light flickering on his concerns. “I daresay F.D.R. stuck around just long enough to see it through, and then off he went to get some much needed rest eternal.” Pops taps the ash into a tray not meant for it. “Now enter a Vice President who thought that’s all he would be for another four years. One who most likely didn’t see himself getting the vote after that. Some say he’s not of sound mind to hold this position, his need to outdo his predecessor too great. I am in agreement. But that’s neither here nor there because deal with it we must as it stands. The House has its hands full getting men back in the jobs they were drafted to abandon, farmers restructuring now that defense no longer needs first demand. Don’t get me started on our education system, the inadequacies this war exposed. The country must be rebuilt, and we are the ones to guide its growth. If all men could agree that would be simple. It is not. It’s an important time for me, and while I look forward to it, I cannot deny that I am tired. No time to complain though. Why? Because the nation is tired with me.” Setting his cigar down he rises with the future on his shoulders. “Care to join me in a whiskey?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
I watch him lift the decanter, pouring into crystal and walking back with heavy footsteps. “Here you are.” He clinks our glasses, and sits down, picking up the cigar. “Let’s explore a more pleasant subject! What about this young May? There now! That’s the first smile I’ve seen tonight from you!”
I roll my cigar, enjoying how it looks between my fingers as I ask, “You want a shock? I’m head over heels in love.”
Pops stares at
