A Dinner In

Saturday, May 29th, 1954

Dean wrote down Maggie’s address and returned to the rented room on Tenth Street. The wind had picked up and he stretched out on the bed near the open window. The street was filled with children playing, their shouts echoed as they ran up and down the sidewalk and the solid thwack of a ball and bat coming together originated from the paved alleyway behind the large house.

A cool breeze ruffled the curtains.

He thought of Maggie and wondered if he was making a mistake. Getting involved with a single mother, with June and the kids gone just a year.

It’s only dinner, he told himself.

An hour later he stepped into the cab.

“Where to?”

“Seven-oh-one East Twenty-Seventh Terrace, please.”

Maggie’s house was five or six blocks away from the hospital and an easy walking distance from her work. He wondered what she did in the winter months. Did she still walk to work? Or did she have a friend who she could share a ride with? He had found his mind wandering to mundane questions like this, ignoring the telegram from his agent Scotty asking him to call immediately. The excitable New Yorker could wait, he had other things occupying his mind right now.

The house was a narrow, two-story affair with shutters at the windows and a small, tidy yard. It sat on the corner of the street and there was a young tree in the back with a wooden swing. The tiny front porch sported two worn wood chairs and a table. He could see a bat and ball in one corner of it, along with a pair of metal skates. Danny had had a pair like that, he had strapped them onto his shoes and skated all over the neighborhood with his friends.

Dean took a deep breath. A child, a little boy, and Maggie, a single mother. Was she divorced? A widow? There was so much he didn’t know about her. They had talked about books, commented on author’s writing styles, and recited favorite passages. They had spoken briefly of his family. The pain had been so raw then, that it wasn’t often. But how had they never spoken of her, or that she had a child of her own?

He paid the cab driver and turned toward the house. The screen door banged and a small boy, slight in build with light brown hair came running out of the house. He took the stairs in one leap, skidding to a stop in front of Dean at the end of the narrow sidewalk. A small cluster of freckles played over his nose. His eyes were exactly like Maggie’s.

“Hi! Mama said someone was coming to dinner. That must be you. Unless you are a salesman. Are you a salesman? Mama said an Arthur was coming to dinner. Arthurs write books. Are you an Arthur?” This was uttered in a quick jet of speech, without any break or moment to take a breath.

Dean smiled. “I am an author. My name is Mr. Edmonds, what’s yours?”

“I’m Teddy Aaronson. Nice to meet you.” The boy stuck out a hand and they shook. Dean could feel dirt and stickiness covering the small digits. Pretty typical for the age, all dirt and snails and puppy dog tails.

“Mama is fixing dinner, she told me to be polite and talk to you.” The boy eyed the bag in Dean’s hand, “Whatcha got there, Mr. Edmonds?”

Dean handed the boy the bag, “Why don’t you look and see?” He had picked out the candies at the corner market on Tenth Street, just down the block from his rented room. It had brought back memories of better times with June and Danny, when Betty was still an infant. After dinner, they would walk down to the neighborhood store and Dean would buy June a root beer and help Danny pick out a candy bar. The bag held Whoppers, a Rocky Road, and Pixy Stix. Teddy opened the bag and his eyes widened.

“Oh wow!” He ran away from Dean, tossing open the screen door as he ran into the house, “Mama! Mama! Look what Mr. Edmonds brought! Can I have one now?” The screen door slammed shut behind him and Dean was left standing on the porch. The smell wafting through the window was inviting.

“Theodore Aaronson you set that bag down right now.” Maggie said, her voice ringing from the rear of the house. “And you had better not have left our guest alone on the front porch.” Her voice held only the slightest amount of scolding tone. “Mr. Edmonds? Please come inside. I can’t leave the kitchen at the moment, the meat might burn.”

Teddy returned to the front door and opened it, a look of remorse on his face. “Sorry, Mister Edmonds.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin and wink at the boy, “Don’t you worry one bit, Teddy. I remember how exciting candy and surprises can be.” He followed the little boy into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.

Maggie was hovering over the stove, a spoon in her hand. Her face was flushed from the heat of the day and the hot room. It felt at least ten degrees hotter in the kitchen than outside.

Dean was struck with her beauty, despite the simplicity of her appearance. She wore a cotton print dress with a full skirt, and it was covered with a clean, but worn apron. The edges of it were frayed from repeated washing. Her blond hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung low on her back. It was a deep golden blond, bordering on brown. He had never really seen it fully before today. In the hospital she kept it in a bun, hidden under her nurse’s cap. June’s hair had been curly, but Maggie’s was straight.

She turned and smiled at him, “Good afternoon, Mr. Edmonds. You found us, I see. Did you come by taxi or bus?”

“Please, call me Dean. And I took a taxi, although it isn’t far. I may walk back home.”

She smiled, “Sorry. Force of habit, I guess. Can I get you something to drink? Perhaps some sweet tea?” Teddy danced around them, his attention fixed on Dean.

“That would be lovely.”

“I’ll do it, Mama.” The boy hauled on the ice box handle and reached for a cut glass pitcher. Maggie intervened.

“Not a chance, my little man, that pitcher is going to end up on the floor. It’s heavy!” Her tone was gentle, chiding, yet firm.

“I’m stronger than I look, Mama.” Teddy protested, puffing up his chest.

“Of that I have no doubt, Sweetheart, but I really must insist. Here, will you hold the cups for me? I need a steady hand.” She reached over him and pulled out the pitcher. A thick sheen of condensation covered the intricate details of the cut glass. She poured the amber liquid into three cups, one small and two larger and then placed the pitcher back in the ice box.

Dean took a small sip and grinned, “There’s nothing like good old-fashioned sweet tea on a summer afternoon.”

Maggie took a sip from her own glass before returning to the meat browning on the stove. She glanced over at Dean, “I hope you don’t mind pot roast. We normally have it for Sunday dinner, but since I had it, I thought I would fix it for you today.”

“What’s your favorite dinner, Mister Edmonds? Do you like pot roast? I don’t like pot roast as much as I like spaghetti. Spaghetti is my favorite!” Teddy nattered on between sips of sweet tea.

“I have to admit that pot roast is one of my favorite meals, Teddy. But I also am a fan of spaghetti.” Dean said, smiling down at the little boy.

They sat down to the meal. The small kitchen had just enough room for the battered wooden table and three weathered and creaky chairs. Everything in the tiny house was clean, spotless even. Dean could see that all of the furnishings were second-hand, and there were several patched quilts in the living room on the back of the divan and rocking chair. A simple life, but one rich in love.

Maggie parented Teddy with a calm yet firm hand. When he began to slurp his tea, she raised an eyebrow and he stopped immediately, “Sorry Mama.” His small face was quickly covered with the rich gravy from the meat.

There was a simple salad, consisting of lettuce and carrots, with a creamy dressing in a small pitcher. And Dean had brought a crusty French bread from a bakery June had always insisted was better than anything she was willing to bake.

Maggie had been grateful when she spied the offering, “Oh you chose well, I love this bakery!”

Hours later, in the gathering darkness, he couldn’t help smiling. They had eaten dinner, crowded around Maggie’s tiny battered kitchen table. Her young son Teddy peppered him with a wide range of questions.

“What kind of books do you write, Mr. Edmonds?”

“I have plans to write cross-genre, but...”

“Cross what?” The boy interrupted, “Cross like mad?”

“Son, don’t interrupt Mr. Edmonds.” Maggie admonished.

Dean laughed, “It’s all right. Cross-genre means different interests. Say you like adventure stories and your mom likes romances.” He said, winking at Maggie.

“Mama doesn’t like girly books, Mr. Edmonds.”

“How well I know that!” Dean said, smiling. “Back to your question, though, young man. At Winter’s End is considered speculative fiction.”

“Spec...spectacle...ative...” The boy struggled with the word.

“Speculative.”

“Sort of like science fiction, Teddy, like Buck Rogers.” Maggie said, looking at Dean for confirmation.

“Yes, exactly. It is considered a new genre, very similar to science fiction, but not completely. For example, At Winter’s End is set in a country on Earth that does not actually exist and focuses on a time in history that never happened.” Dean explained. “It could be considered science fiction, but that genre usually comes with the connotation of space travel, aliens and different planets.”

“Oh.” Teddy thought about that for a moment and then asked, “Do you have any dogs in your books?”

“I do, actually. I don’t discuss her much, but she is very brave and completely loyal to her owner, despite his shortcomings.”

After dinner, Dean volunteered to wash the dishes while Maggie dried them. He couldn’t remember ever helping June with such things. Perhaps when they were first married? No, even then he had been far too busy with work at the plant. Their fingers connected several times as she passed him a soapy plate. Standing next to her, so close, he could detect more than just the pleasant scent of lavender, but another gentle smell he could not identify. It was familiar, however, possibly a soap?

Each time her fingers touched his he felt a small current of desire. Wrong or right, he was attracted to this woman. It was a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. The sun had set as they watched Teddy playing in the yard.

“What is it?” Maggie’s words brought him back to present, sitting on the tiny porch. The fireflies were out. In the yard, Teddy ran, his short legs pumping, as he followed the intermittent spots of light, eager to fill his empty mayonnaise jar.

“I was remembering what you said to me in the hospital,” Dean answered, taking a chance and reaching out to find her hand. She tensed for a moment and then relaxed, curling her fingers against his.

“You said to me that it wasn’t too late to follow my dreams. I sold my business and wrote the book. And here I am.”

“I’m so happy for you, Dean.” Dean felt her hand squeeze his.

“Do you remember how you said you had become a nurse because you wanted to make a difference?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you made a difference in my life. And I’m a better man because of it. I just wanted you to know that.”

Teddy had been busy filling his mayonnaise jar, and he bounced up the steps, eager to show them both his collection of fireflies. “Mama! Mr. Edmonds! Look! I caught five of them!”

Maggie leaned forward and hugged her son close. “Oh my goodness, yes you did, Teddy! That’s one more than yesterday!” She took the jar and admired the boy’s catch.

“I want to name them, Mama! And keep them. Can I keep them this time?”

Dean could see her shake her head. The street light illuminated that much, but not her face. Still, he could feel her smile in the dark.

“No, darling, we can’t keep them. They die in captivity, remember? And we wouldn’t want that.”

“Oh.” The boy sounded dejected, “No.”

“I don’t think there is any harm in naming them, is there?” Dean interjected.

Dean could feel Maggie’s warm smile as she turned in his direction.

“Well, no, Mr. Edmonds has a fine idea. What would you name them, Darling?”

“Oh, oh, I’ll name this one Corporal Rusty. And this one can be Major Swanson. This one here is special, so his name is Rin Tin Tin.” The boy continued as Maggie and Dean laughed.

Later, after Maggie had put Teddy to bed, she joined Dean on the front porch. A moment of hesitation and then she slipped her hand into his.

“I guess I know what show Teddy watches each week.”

Maggie sighed, “He’s been begging me for months for a dog.”

“Let me guess, a German Shepherd?”

She laughed then, “Why Dean Edmonds, I think you must be psychic!”

“A dog is just what a young boy needs. Danny begged for one every birthday and Christmas for two straight years. If I hadn’t have been such a self-absorbed ass, I would have bought Danny a dog. It would have gotten him out from in front of the television and given him some responsibility.” Dean said, tilting the last of the soda pop out of the bottle. It had warmed in the hot summer air.

“Well, we can’t do that. Not without a fence. And besides, dogs cost money.”

“I see.” They sat for several moments and watched the older children called one by one inside. “So, about Teddy.”

There was a long pause. Maggie finally answered, her voice clipped.

“His father isn’t in the picture, hasn’t been, since before he was born.”

A longer pause followed. The cicadas began their steady hum. The wind shifted, and the humid air and dark clouds promised a break from the unseasonably dry heat.

“You aren’t going to ask more?” Maggie said, her voice guarded.

“I was waiting for you. You’ll tell me or you won’t.” He paused for a moment, “I am not judging you, Maggie.”

She sighed, and pulled her hand from his. “His name was Conor Saronica. What can I say? I was in love. I fell for the wrong guy, I guess. I was young. It was my first year in college and I was studying art. He was studying to be a doctor.”

She shrugged, “Or so he said.”

“When we found out I was pregnant, he said he would marry me. He told me...” She stopped, took a deep breath and stared out into the night. “He said that he loved me. But the next day he was gone, no note, no message, nothing. We were to meet at the library on campus, but he never showed up. The next day, I went to his dorm room and his roommate said he hadn’t come home that night.”

Maggie stared away from Dean, biting her lip, her hands balled together in her lap. “I kept coming back, every day, for three weeks. It was the end of the semester and I didn't know what to do. When I returned home, my mother took one look at me and she knew. She didn’t even let me stay the night.”

Dean reached out for her hand. Her fingers were long and her nails cut short. He squeezed her hand gently.

“I was luckier than most girls in my situation. A letter came from the college, some family friend of Conor’s. My mother forwarded it to the room I was renting. There was no return address. The letter was short, abrupt even. It said that Conor was needed back at home, family business, it said. It said that he would not be returning and that I was not to contact the family. And there was a check enclosed as well.” She shrugged, her shoulders stiff, her eyes on the approaching storm.

“The check was enough to buy this house. It paid my medical bills and covered my nursing school costs. I returned to college after Teddy was born and switched my focus to nursing. I even had a little left that I set aside for Teddy for when he is older. My salary is sufficient. We make ends meet and in another year I hope to have enough saved for a car.” Her head dipped down to stare at their hands, fingers entwined. “More checks have come, one each year. They stopped last year. I have put them all in Teddy’s account for when he is grown.”

Her hand twisted in his, “I know it is stupid, but I’m grateful not to get them. It felt like hush money...or worse.”

“I have a good life, Dean. I may have made mistakes, but keeping Teddy isn’t one of them.”

“No, it isn’t.” He smiled at her, “He is a good boy, very bright and curious. And obviously well-loved, I can see that.”

“You don’t think less of me?” Maggie asked tentatively.

“Less of you?” Dean stared at her in astonishment. “Less of you? You had a child in the face of no small amount of adversity, and have cared for him well, despite being all alone. If anything, Maggie Aaronson, I think more of you.”

Her eyes filled with unshed tears, “Thank you, Dean.”

They sat there silent for several minutes. The wind was cool and refreshing.

Dean smiled, as the tiny drops of rain began to drip from the tin roof.

“I love the rain.”

“Me too.”

“I would like to see you again, Maggie.”

Her voice sounded fragile, almost fearful, “I would like that too.”

“This Friday? We could all go to see a movie.”

“Teddy would love that.”

He stood up, pulling her up with him. “It’s a date then.”

He leaned down and kissed her hand. “Until then.”

As he left, she called out, “Wait! Do you need me to call you a cab?”

“No, I’ll walk. Good night, Maggie!”

The rain fell around him in a light mist. And Dean felt his legs stretch and fall back into the rhythm he had adopted in Florida while writing his book. The long walks were just what he needed to get his thoughts in order.

The streets were quiet. Inside of his head, the words began to dance.