The Enemy at Home

“I’m Warner Nash, and I’m not one for small talk,” Nora grumbled, imitating her bucker for the afternoon. “God, what a horse’s ass. With my luck, they’ll probably stick him with me all next week . . .” Carrying a bag of groceries, she turned down the block toward home. After getting off the bus from work, she’d swung by the Broadway Safeway and said goodbye to seventeen ration points for barely a bagful of necessities.

Nora told herself to cheer up. She’d survived her first week of work and didn’t have to go back there again until Monday. And she was cooking dinner for her friends on Sunday night. Fran had asked if she could invite her son, the one who had been wounded in the Pacific. And Connie wanted to bring a date. It would be a regular party.

“Good God, what was I thinking?” Nora muttered. She’d just finished a major project, cleaning up the garage apartment. Instead of giving herself a break and resting up, she now had to clean the house for company, buy food and liquor, and cook.

As she started to turn up the walkway to the house, Nora was wondering what to serve for Sunday’s dinner. But then she saw something that made her stop in her tracks.

Someone stood by her front door—with the newly repaired window. A tree branch was in the way, so Nora had only a partial view of a man in what looked like a dark blue uniform.

For a few seconds, Nora couldn’t breathe. All she could think was that something had happened to Pete—and this military man had come to deliver the bad news. The kids weren’t home from school yet. Nora imagined having to sit them down and tell them about their father.

With uncertainty, she took a few more steps toward the house. There was a seaman’s duffel bag on the front stoop. The man’s back was to her, but she saw the white cap and the sailor’s collar squared off at his shoulder blades. Then the sailor turned around, and she saw her brother’s face.

“Ray!” she screamed. Nora set down the grocery bag and ran up the walkway.

His arms outstretched, Ray grinned at her and stepped down from the front stoop. “Nor!”

Nora hugged him fiercely. He let out a little groan, and she quickly pulled back. She’d forgotten about his broken ribs. “Oh, God, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

Chuckling, he rubbed his left side. “It’s okay. Everything’s healed. I’m just a little sore. I’m all patched up, honest . . .”

“I’m sorry, I-I’m in shock. I can’t believe this!” Taking hold of his hand, Nora looked him up and down. “God, you look great, Ray, so handsome in your uniform. What are you doing here?”

“They let me out of the hospital,” he said. “And I have a week of R and R before I need to report back to my outfit in San Diego. I just blew the first thirty-six hours of it coming up here on a crowded bus. Can you put me up for the next few days?”

“Of course,” she said, getting her breath.

But then, in her head, Nora immediately tried to work out the challenges. They didn’t have a guest room, so she’d have to put Ray in Chris’s bedroom and exile Chris to the sofa in the family room. She was working now and couldn’t keep Ray company during the day. And finally, most dauntingly, every time Ray had stayed with them in the past, it had turned into trouble. Nora couldn’t help wondering if something was wrong already—if there was some other reason for this surprise visit. She adored her brother, but . . .

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Can’t you squeeze me in? You’ve got a look on your face. Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

“Are you kidding me?” she replied. “I’m just so happy you’re here! We’ll make room. The kids will be over the moon!”

She hugged him again, careful this time not to squeeze him too hard. Nora held on to him like that for a few moments. That way, he couldn’t see her face—or her sudden, inexplicable apprehension.

* * *

“But it says right here on the menu that you have a twelve-ounce porterhouse steak,” Ray told the mustached, middle-aged waiter.

“Yes, sir, I apologize,” the waiter replied, standing at attention beside the table. “We’re presently out of that item—as well as the prime rib, the beef tenderloin and the filet mignon . . .”

“Ray, there’s a war on,” Nora muttered.

Her brother nodded impatiently. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

For his first night in town, Ray had insisted on treating the family to dinner at Von’s Café in the theater district on Fourth Avenue. They didn’t have reservations, but he’d used his charm with the hostess to land them one of the mahogany and brass booths. Nora sat with Chris beside her, and on the other side of the table, Jane was next to Ray. Everyone was dressed to the nines, and Ray wore his navy blues.

During the drive downtown, Ray had mentioned that he was in the mood for a big, thick, juicy steak. Nora had warned him that a lot of the restaurants were out of the high-end cuts of meat because of the war.

“I believe we have one lamb chop left,” the waiter said. “If I put the order in now, it’ll be yours. It’s quite good, I assure you. I can also recommend the stuffed peppers . . .”

“Oh, c’mon now,” Ray said, looking up from his menu at the man. “What are you giving me with the stuffed peppers? You’ve got some choice cuts of beef back there. You’re just saving them for big shots, right? I’ll bet if Clark Gable walked in here right now and he ordered a porterhouse steak, he’d get a porterhouse steak . . .”

Chris and Jane snickered. But Nora rolled her eyes. What confounded her was that the kids were always mortified if Pete so much as made small talk with the waiter or waitress in a restaurant. And whenever Nora asked for a doggie bag, the two of them would practically crawl under the table in embarrassment. But her brother was needlessly harassing this poor waiter, and they thought it was funny. Anything Uncle Ray did was just fine with them. He was like the Pied Piper.

Jane had brought along to dinner a wind-up toy Ray had given her this afternoon. It was a black Scottish Terrier that sat on its hind legs and played the cymbals. Nora had seen wind-up monkeys that played cymbals, but never a Scottie that was so musically inclined—probably because Scottish Terriers didn’t have long arms or hands. But this one did. Nora imagined Jane’s reaction if she’d given her the trinket: “God, Mom, do you think I’m a baby?” But Jane loved her musical Scottie because Uncle Ray had given it to her. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to name it Fala or Toto. She must have wound it up and played it on the table a dozen times—with the cymbals going ding, ding, ding. Nora had finally told her to stop, which, of course, made her a complete and utter drag in her daughter’s opinion.

“Party pooper,” Ray had chimed in.

Typical of Ray, he’d shown up on their doorstep without any warning and wanted to stay for a few days. Fortunately, he’d found a solution as to where he’d sleep. And in a way, his timing was actually perfect. The garage apartment was ready for occupancy again, and he could sleep there without anyone having to give up their bed. Nora gave him the extra key to the house so that he could come and go whenever he pleased. With Pete gone, Nora didn’t have to worry about the usual underlying tension between him and Ray. And her brother’s presence was a much-needed morale booster for her and the kids.

Nora had last seen Ray over a year ago, when he’d taken the train up to spend one night with them during a four-day leave. He’d also used the visit to hit up Pete for three hundred dollars to pay off some creditors. Still, Nora had missed her brother.

But it only took a few hours of being with Ray again to remind her how much he drove her crazy sometimes. With his good looks and breezy, confident manner, so many people found Ray irresistible that he didn’t realize when he was being downright annoying. Nora was always the one who had to point it out to him. It was a role she’d reluctantly taken on ever since they were kids.

“Ray, just order the lamb chop,” she sighed.

Frowning, he handed the menu to the waiter. “All right, I’ll have the lamb chop, medium.”

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said, tucking the menu under his arm with the others and making a hasty departure.

“I wouldn’t blame him if he spit in your mint jelly,” Nora said, cracking a smile.

Chris laughed. “Yeah, he’s going to put a big honker in there, Uncle Ray.”

Ray sipped his scotch and soda and then smirked at Nora. “Remember the old man—when he ate lamb chops or pork chops?” He grinned at Chris and Jane. “This was your great-grandfather Whitlock. I’ve told you about that grouchy old fart—” He put a hand up to keep Nora from interrupting. “I mean, coot—grouchy, mean, old coot . . .”

Chris and Jane started to laugh.

“You guys wouldn’t believe it,” Ray went on. “Granddaddy would use a knife and fork on the chop—like a normal person—until he got to the bone. Then he’d pick up the bone and tear at the meat with his rotten old teeth. His chin would get all greasy. His fingers would glisten. It was absolutely disgusting to watch him. Swore me off chops for years. He ate corn on the cob and ribs the same way—gnawing at the food, slobbering and growling like a dog. I could barely eat a bite after watching him. It was enough to gag a maggot . . .”

He had Chris and Jane in hysterics.

Ray was laughing, too. As the kids quieted down, he shook his head and smirked across the table at Nora for a moment. “That’s your great-granddaddy, guys. That’s who your mom left me with when she went off and married your dad. I was eleven years old.”

Nora said nothing. She just forced a laugh and tried not to squirm.

* * *

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone yelled.

Nora sat up in bed. She recognized her brother’s voice—coming from outside.

“Shit! Let’s get out of here,” someone else said. Then Nora heard what sounded like two or three people running up the driveway.

Throwing back the covers, she bolted out of bed and grabbed her robe. While she wiggled her feet into her slippers, she heard another voice.

“Let go of me!”

There was murmuring, and then Ray again: “Do I look like a goddamn Jap to you, kid?”

“Lemme go!”

Nora ran out of her bedroom and saw Chris. They’d both come into the hall at the same time. He was fully dressed—with his shoes on. “Uncle Ray caught some guys by the garage—”

“Did you see them?” Nora asked, heading to the window at the end of the hall.

“Sounds like he’s nabbed one . . .” But she could already hear somebody sprinting up the driveway. Nora looked out the window and saw Ray, standing in front of the garage. He wore a T-shirt and his sailor pants.

Jane’s door opened, and she poked her head out. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, honey,” Nora said, passing by as she headed for the stairs. “Go back to bed.”

Chris followed her down to the first floor. As she hurried toward the kitchen, Nora glanced over her shoulder at him. “Did you see any of them?” she asked again. “Did you recognize anyone?”

“No, their backs were to me,” he answered.

Unlocking the kitchen door, Nora rushed outside toward her brother.

Ray waved at her to slow down. “It’s okay,” he said. “Just a trio of punks with nothing better to do. I scared them away.”

Nora stopped when she saw they’d left an open can of black paint and a paintbrush by the garage. They’d dripped and splattered paint on the driveway, but at least they hadn’t knocked over the can. On the garage door, they’d scrawled in big letters: JAP TR—

“I heard the sneaky bastards whispering out here and caught them in the middle of this paint job.” Ray nodded at the garage door as he rubbed his bare arms from the chill. “Jap T-R. What do you think they were going to write?”

Neither Nora nor Chris said anything. She was still catching her breath.

Ray shrugged. “Hey, on the plus side, we got a free can of black paint and a paintbrush out of the deal.”

Chris moved past Nora. “Yeah, at least they didn’t spill too much.” Squatting, he carefully picked up the lid and pressed it in place on top of the paint can.

“Jap Trap!” Ray declared. “I bet you that’s it. You had that Japanese-American couple living here a while back . . .”

Nora just rubbed her forehead.

“Mom, it’s going to be okay,” Chris said. He set the paint can and brush by the door to the garage. “If I spray the garage door with the hose right now, I bet it’ll wash off completely.”

“You heard him, Nor.” Ray put his arm around her. “I scared the crap out of the three of them. Believe me, they won’t be back anytime soon.”

Nora nodded. “You’re right. I should be glad. Thank God, you’re here, Ray. It’s good to have a man around. Maybe now they’ll leave us alone.” She looked at the big black letters on the garage door and then cringed. “I hope it washes off. We have company coming on Sunday . . .”

“I’ll get the hose,” Chris said, heading toward the side of the house.

“The guys looked around your age, Chris,” Ray called.

His back to them, Chris stopped for a moment.

“Did you see or recognize any of them?”

“No, sorry,” Chris replied, not turning around. Then he continued toward the water spigot at the side of the house. “You guys can go back to bed. I’ll clean this up.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Nora said. She turned to her brother. “Why don’t you come in for a nightcap, Ray?” She gave him a look. “Please?”

Nora started back inside, but held the kitchen door open for Ray. “All I have is crème de menthe,” she said.

“Is it the same bottle—which was opened and recorked—you’ve had for about eight years?” he asked warily.

“That’s the one.” She closed the door after him.

“I’ll pass.” He sat down at the kitchen table and pulled a little pinball puzzle out of his pants pocket. Nora had seen him playing with it earlier. The game was about the size of a pack of cigarettes, only thinner. Ray stared at it and gingerly moved the pinballs around on a baseball diamond, trying to fill each of the four bases with a tiny silver pinball. GET A MAN ON EACH BASE! it read in small letters under the glass. Ray had said the game helped him relax.

At the sink, Nora filled two glasses with cold water. She glanced out the window at Chris, hosing down the big garage door. “Was one of those hooligans tonight a blond boy with a distinctly Aryan look?” She set a glass of water on the table in front of Ray.

Ray didn’t look up from the pinball game. “One of them had light brown hair. The other two were darker haired. Why?”

Nora paused at hearing the toilet flush upstairs—followed by Jane’s footsteps as she padded back to bed—and then Nora sat down at the kitchen table with her brother. “Chris’s only friend is this towheaded creep named Earl, who constantly picks on him,” she whispered. “I’ve always had a feeling he might be in on these night raids.”

“I thought all that vandalism nonsense ended after your friends got relocated to the Jap internment camp.”

Nora sipped her water and sighed. “It tapered off for a while but seems to have started up again. Tonight wasn’t an isolated incident. They broke a window in the front door on Sunday night. I’m pretty certain some of Chris’s classmates are responsible.”

“You said this Earl guy is his only friend, and he picks on him?”

Nora nodded. “I’m really worried about him, Ray. He used to be such a happy-go-lucky kid. But all that has changed. And it’s not just the war. He’s been miserable for a while now. His grades have gone downhill. I can’t get Chris to admit it, but I think he’s being pushed around at school. Pete said it was a teenage boy’s rite of passage or something. I know I shouldn’t meddle, but I just want to help him . . .”

“I’ll tell you what’s not helpful,” Ray said, sitting back in his chair. He still seemed half-interested in the little puzzle. “Having his mom say right in front of him tonight, ‘Thank God you’re here, Ray . . . at last, we have a man around . . .’”

“That’s not what I said—”

“Words to that effect, Nor.”

“Well, it’s not what I meant,” she said, flustered. “I meant I was glad we have a man staying in the garage apartment to discourage those little bastards . . .” She trailed off, shook her head and then got up. Nora went to the window again. She looked out at Chris, still washing the graffiti off the garage door. “You’re right, I’m sure that’s how it must have sounded to him. I should go out there and explain . . .”

“Let it drift,” Ray advised. “If you try to explain or apologize, you’ll only make it worse.”

Nora knew her brother was right about that, too. She turned away from the window and sat down with him again. “Ray, could you do me a favor? Be a friend to Chris and maybe find out what’s going on with him. He’s so damn secretive. His bedroom window looks directly out at the garage. I’m pretty sure he knows who’s been vandalizing the house. He must have seen them tonight. But he’s afraid to say anything. Last Sunday, he snuck out in the middle of the night, and when I caught him trying to sneak back in, I’m almost certain he lied about where he’d been . . .”

“Nor, he’s seventeen,” Ray said, finally setting the pinball game on the table. “There’s stuff he doesn’t want to tell his mama. You need to stop mothering the guy, give him a little elbow room.”

She nodded. She knew her brother had a point. With Pete gone, she depended on Chris for so much. At the same time, she didn’t want him to grow up.

“Do you think maybe he resents you for something?” Ray asked.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Pete joined the Army Medical Corps, and now you’ve joined the women’s workforce.” Ray said it with a trace of sarcasm. “Maybe Chris feels like his parents have deserted him, like he doesn’t matter anymore . . .”

Nora scowled but said nothing. Ray was the one who felt deserted. Her brother still hadn’t forgiven her for going off, getting married and leaving him with their grandparents when he was eleven.

“Maybe he feels like he can no longer depend on you,” Ray went on. “After all, you’re not home half the time now. Looking at it from his point of view, it’s not like you really needed to take this job at Boeing. It’s men’s work, Nor. If you’re really so worried about Chris—”

“What do you mean, it’s men’s work?” Nora interrupted. “You sound just like Larry, this jerk at the plant. ‘A woman’s place,’ and all that garbage. Just a minute ago, you said I was mothering Chris too much. And now, I should stay home and bake victory fudge for him. Which is it?”

“Hey, don’t get your knickers all in a twist,” Ray said. “I’m just telling you what I’m picking up from your son. First, you tell me you need to know what’s bugging him, and as soon as I throw out a few possible explanations, you don’t want to hear about it. I can tell you one possible explanation that’ll annoy the hell out of you, Nor. Are you ready for it?”

She let out a wary laugh. “I’m not sure, but go ahead.”

“Do you think he’s figured out that, because of him, you and Pete had to get married?”

The question hit her like a punch in the gut. She and Ray had never discussed her unexpected pregnancy from eighteen years ago. She had no idea he knew.

Sitting beside her at the table, he seemed to read her mind. “If I figured it out when I was eleven, it’s a pretty safe bet that Chris has figured it out by now. And you’ve got to wonder how a kid might react to a revelation like that.”

Nora said nothing. She heard the squeak of the outside water spigot being turned off. She got to her feet and went to the window.

“I said you wouldn’t want to hear it,” Ray said.

Nora looked out at Chris, standing in front of the garage door, checking his work. She couldn’t see the black letters anymore. “Just please, do me a favor and be a friend to Chris,” she said. “Find out what’s wrong. Will you do that for me, Ray?”