The Enemy at Home

“Guess what, Mom,” Jane announced at the dinner table.

“What?” Nora asked, not looking up from her plate.

They were having meatloaf left over from the night before last—even though it hadn’t been one of her best efforts the first time around. The ground beef had been eight ration points, so Nora was stretching it out for a few meals.

Everything was in short supply thanks to the war—gasoline, metal, rubber and most foods. Nora was no expert on government organizations, but she knew what the Office of Price Administration was. The OPA imposed restrictions on the amount of certain goods an individual could purchase—based on the number of people per household. Nora received her first ration card book in the mail last May. In order to buy sugar, butter or canned goods, she had to forfeit a certain number of ration points in the form of stamps from the book. A month ago, the OPA sent her another ration book—this one for meat. In the butcher display case at her local Safeway, they had the ration points posted—alongside the prices—by the poultry and the various cuts of meat. Depending on demand, the required ration points were always changing. Nora’s butcher confessed to her that he still didn’t completely comprehend the ration point system.

With these restrictions, Nora had learned resourceful ways to repurpose their meals. But tonight, she’d been too exhausted to do anything creative with old meatloaf.

Having been on her feet all day at work, she’d come home to “the garage apartment project.” Chris had helped her move furniture and clean. But by the time Nora had to start fixing dinner, she’d felt depleted. All she could do was shove what was left of Monday’s meatloaf into the oven, then try to make it through dinner and dishes without nodding off.

“Chris was almost arrested today,” Jane said.

“What?” Nora set down her fork. It clanked against her plate. Suddenly, she was wide awake. All she could think was that Chris and Earl must have gotten into some kind of trouble again. She stared at Chris, sitting at her side—across from his sister. “What’s she talking about?”

Rolling his eyes, he squirmed in his chair. “She’s throwing you a curve, Mom. It’s a huge exaggeration.”

“It is not!” Jane insisted. “My friend Kim Baldwin said her sister Lynne was there outside Hart’s Drugstore when the police almost arrested him. Lynne saw the whole thing.”

“Well, that’s pretty interesting,” Chris shot back, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I’m surprised she recognized me. Every time I say hello to Lynne Baldwin, she acts like she doesn’t know who I am.”

Nora was starting to get impatient. She cleared her throat. “All right, so what exactly happened?”

“Kim’s sister got the whole story,” Jane said—almost gleefully. “Somebody broke into this lady’s apartment. She’s a riveter at Boeing—just like you, Mom. She lives above Hart’s Drugs—”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Chris challenged her. “God, Miss Busybody! You weren’t even there!”

“Like I said, Lynne Baldwin talked to the police. A guy in a blue jacket—the same as Chris’s navy-blue gab jacket—broke into this lady’s apartment like he was going to rob her or kill her or something. But she screamed and ran to a neighbor’s place, and the guy got away. Lynne said the guy looked like Chris. And Chris was right there by the drugstore, so the police almost arrested him—”

“God, you’re so full of it!” Chris interrupted.

“Hey, don’t snap your cap,” Jane said, reaching for her glass of milk. “I’m just repeating what Lynne Baldwin told Kimberly and Kimberly told me.”

“Well, you and Kimberly and Lynne Baldwin don’t know what you’re talking about. So why don’t you mind your own business?” Chris turned to Nora. “The police spoke to everybody who was outside Hart’s Drugstore. And there were a bunch of guys wearing blue gab jackets. I wasn’t the only one.”

Nora figured that much was true. The wide-collar, zip-up gaberdine jackets were very popular right now. But she had a feeling there was more to the story than Chris was letting on. “Were you with Earl?” Nora asked him pointedly.

“No, I was by myself. I just went to Hart’s to buy a Clark Bar. And when I was leaving, the police stopped me. They asked me where I’d been and if I’d seen a guy in a blue jacket like mine. So . . . I told them I was in the store buying a candy bar. A bunch of guys were in there—and outside—wearing blue jackets like mine. The cops talked to me for thirty seconds maybe.” He shot his sister a look. “I wasn’t almost arrested, stupid.”

Jane stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, that’s real mature,” Chris grumbled. “Why do you bring up stuff that’s none of your stinking business? You’re just trying to get me in trouble with Mom.” He shook his head at her. “What’s your problem anyway? What happens to me at school has nothing to do with you, understand? God, you’re such an obnoxious, little brat. I’m serious, Jane. You really are a creep, y’know? A miserable creep. I wish you’d—”

“That’s enough,” Nora interrupted sternly.

With her mouth open and tears in her eyes, Jane stared across the table at him.

Chris kept shaking his head over and over.

“May I be excused?” Jane asked in a shaky, little voice. She didn’t wait for a reply. Suddenly sobbing, she jumped to her feet and bolted out of the dining room. Nora listened to her running up the stairs. Then her bedroom door slammed.

Chris sighed. “She’s throwing herself on the bed right now, very dramatic,” he muttered. “And notice how she conveniently got out of washing the dinner dishes again.”

“What was that all about?” Nora whispered. “Why did you—attack her like that?”

“Because she was annoying me—and trying to get me into trouble. Like I’m not already in it deep enough with you. I wasn’t almost arrested. And I didn’t break into anybody’s apartment—”

“No one said you did,” Nora pointed out.

With his fork, Chris idly moved around the few scraps of food left on his plate.

“You really hurt her feelings,” Nora said.

“C’mon, give me a break.” Frowning, he squirmed in his chair again. “She bursts into tears or has a temper tantrum about six times a day lately.”

“Don’t you know she looks up to you, Chris? Now even more so with your father gone. How could you talk to her like that?”

With his eyes still downcast, a look of remorse passed across his face. He sighed. “Okay, I’ll give her a few minutes to calm down, and then I’ll go upstairs and apologize.”

“I don’t understand why you got so angry,” Nora said. “Is there more to this story than you’re letting on, Chris? We were working all afternoon in the garage apartment together. Why didn’t you mention it to me then?”

“Because I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” he replied edgily. “I didn’t think it was important. God, I walk into a drugstore and buy a candy bar, and suddenly I’m a criminal.” Standing up, he took his plate, walked around in back of her and picked up Jane’s plate. Then he headed into the kitchen.

Nora thought it was strange that the police had been questioning high school kids about something as serious as a house-breaking. And the victim had been another assembly-line war worker—just like the woman who had been strangled.

She heard the dishes clattering in the sink, and the water went on.

“Are you saving what’s left of these carrots?” Chris called tonelessly. “It’s not even half a serving, and they’re kind of mushy.”

“You don’t have to wash the dishes,” she called back to him. But she was too tired to get up. “I can do them later. I’d rather you square things with your sister. And you have homework to do.”

He came back into the dining room and took her plate and silverware. “It’ll only take me fifteen minutes or so,” he grumbled. “Besides, I’ve been sentenced to a week of hard labor, remember? So . . . what do you want to do with the carrots?”

“You can throw them away,” she replied. “Thanks, honey.”

He headed back into the kitchen.

Nora thought about how Pete had a way of talking to the kids and managing them. He could get Chris and Jane to smile or even laugh through some of their most difficult moments.

She stared across the table at his empty chair.

Chris had the water going in the kitchen, and he couldn’t hear her. So Nora went ahead and cried.