The Enemy at Home

Waiting at the traffic light, she had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Nora squirmed restlessly in the driver’s seat and checked her wristwatch. She was still several blocks from the Greyhound terminal, and Ray’s bus was leaving in eleven minutes.

Just a half hour ago, she’d come home from work and read the note Ray had left on the kitchen table:

Dear Chris & Jane,

Well, something has come up & I have to leave for San Diego this afternoon. Looks like I’ll miss saying goodbye to you guys. It was great spending time with you both! I’ll be better about writing, I promise. Miss you guys already! Keep your powder dry.

Love, Uncle Ray

Nora had immediately called the downtown Greyhound station. The ticket agent had told her that the bus to San Diego was scheduled to leave on time at three thirty. Nora hadn’t been sure she could make it to the station by then, so she’d asked the woman to page Ray Shannon. While anxiously waiting for the page to go through, Nora had thought about how she could have been in the car and on the way to the bus terminal already. Five more minutes had ticked by before the woman had finally come back on the line to say that no one was answering the page.

Nora had thanked her and hung up. Grabbing the car keys, she’d run outside and jumped into the Packard. There hadn’t been any time to leave her own note for the kids.

The light finally turned green, and traffic started moving again—but far too slowly for Nora. She’d still need to find a parking spot once she reached the terminal. She tried not to ride the bumper of the slowpoke in front of her.

“You’re never going to make it,” she said under her breath. Then she started to cry.

There was a chance Ray somehow hadn’t heard the page. Maybe he was on the bus already. But more likely, he knew it was her having him paged, and he just didn’t want to talk to her.

She couldn’t bear the idea of her brother going away angry at her. She kept thinking, What if he’s right? What if he ships out and then gets killed?

He’d asked her—begged her—to save his life, and yet she’d refused to help him.

But his scheme had been crazy—and criminal. She’d been so disillusioned that Ray wasn’t ready to fight and possibly die for his country. But really, who was she to pass judgment? No one was making her go into the armed forces and fight. Most men didn’t have any choice in the matter.

Even if Ray sat out the war loading supply ships in San Diego, Nora still hated the idea that his last words to her had been so bitter. Before taking off for work this morning, she’d left him another note on the inside of the garage apartment door:

Dear Ray,

Please don’t leave today. You can’t go away angry. Let’s talk and try to figure out some options for you. Stay put . . . PLEASE!

I love you.

Nor

At the plant, they’d paired her up with Warner (“I’m not one for small talk”) Nash as her bucker again. She’d dubbed him “Laughing Boy” and prayed the arrangement wasn’t permanent. During the break, an exasperated Nora had gone to the cafeteria to fuel up on some much-needed coffee. There, she’d spotted Roger and some of his friends at a four-top table. The men ranged from their late twenties to midforties. They were nicely dressed in shirtsleeves and ties. Nora assumed they were Roger’s fellow engineers. Connie had recently said that she’d first met Roger through one of these coworkers. She said their group of five or six was like a little fraternity. “I had a date with this fella,” she’d explained. “And, of course, it didn’t work out. But he ended up introducing me to Roger, and we immediately hit it off.”

Nora had wondered what Connie had meant by “of course it didn’t work out.” Had she meant it was just her dumb luck, or was there something else to it?

“Well, there’s the hostess with the mostest,” Roger called, getting to his feet.

“Hi, Roger,” she said, approaching their table. “How are you?”

His friends all stood up, too.

“Please, everyone, sit,” she said.

“I almost didn’t recognize you in your work gear,” Roger said. He and his friends sat back down. “Guys, Nora had me over to dinner at her beautiful home on Capitol Hill. Best chicken fricassee ever.”

“Well, I’ll need to get the recipe,” one of the men piped up—with his hand on his heart. He was very animated. Husky and balding, he was clearly the oldest one there. “I love a good fricassee!”

Another man at the table laughed.

Roger shot them both a crooked smile before he turned to Nora again. “How are your kids—and your brother?”

“They’re great, thanks,” she said.

He stood up again. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Would you care to join us?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, thanks. My break’s almost over. I should get back. But it was great seeing you again, Roger.”

“Well, thanks again for a terrific Sunday night. And I know you’ll be seeing Connie at lunch, so say hi for me.”

“Will do,” Nora replied. She nodded and smiled at his friends, and then moved on. Closer to the cafeteria exit, she glanced over her shoulder at them and almost walked into Larry Krull.

“Hey, watch it!” he barked, dodging her.

Nora stopped abruptly. “Pardon me.”

He chuckled. “I see you were conversing with the Swish Delegation. That’s some company you keep.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Pardon me?” she repeated, only with a much different tone this time.

“I’m not sure how you know those guys, but you were talking to a tableful of pansies just now.” He snickered again and shrugged. “But hey, I guess it’s none of my business if you want to associate with a bunch of queers.”

“You’re right,” Nora said, her heart starting to race. “It’s none of your damn business, Larry. Excuse me.”

She brushed past him and headed for her locker. It wasn’t until she was back at work—and getting the usual frosty treatment from Laughing Boy—that Nora started to breathe easily again. She didn’t like confrontations, especially at work. And Larry could probably get her fired if she really crossed him.

She couldn’t help replaying in her mind the brief exchange with Roger and his buddies. He was such a nice man. Yes, in fact, a gentleman. She didn’t care what Ray—or Larry—had said about him. He seemed decent. She kept thinking about the husky, effete man who had asked for her chicken fricassee recipe and his friend who had thought that was so amusing. Maybe it was an inside joke she didn’t understand. Or was Larry right about them? Were they all homosexuals? Then again, jumping to that conclusion—just because one of them asked for a recipe—was a pretty big leap. Nora told herself that it was really none of her concern—even if her friend Connie was probably wasting her time pining over one of them.

Then again, maybe Connie already knew. Maybe that was what she’d meant when she’d said “of course, it didn’t work out,” referring to a date with one of Roger’s friends. Perhaps Connie’s relationship with Roger was strictly platonic.

It got Nora thinking of what Ray had said about Section 8—the classification for homosexuals and psychological cases rejected by the military. If her brother was so anxious to get out of the navy, he could always claim that he was a Section 8. Of course, knowing Ray, he’d probably step on a landmine before telling anyone he was what Larry called a “pansy.” It was doubtful anyone would believe him anyway. But Ray could always claim to have psychological problems. After all, their mother had died in a mental institution. Nora had the medical records in storage at the house. She’d collected them when their grandmother had died years ago. Ray could go before the navy board with the doctors’ reports on his mother and say he’d inherited her acute melancholia, her insane paralysis or her manic depression. Her mother had been diagnosed with all three conditions over the years.

As Nora worked her rivet gun on the B-17’s tail section, she couldn’t believe she was even thinking about becoming complicit in Ray’s deceptive scheme. Besides, would he want it on his permanent record that he’d left the navy because he had psychological issues? But was that any worse than possibly going through the rest of his life with a mangled left hand?

At lunch, Connie and Fran kept asking what was bothering her. They could tell she was anxious and distracted. But Nora couldn’t talk to them about Ray.

Actually, two things were gnawing at her. Besides Ray, she was worried about Chris. Would he face any retaliation at school for breaking Earl’s nose yesterday? Would he come home this afternoon all beaten up? Or had Ray been right about the other bullies falling into line now that Chris had finally stood up to Earl?

She also couldn’t help obsessing over her son’s apparent secret. Had Ray been right about that, too? Nora wondered if it had anything to do with Arlene’s death—or perhaps something Earl had made him do. Of course, being a teenager, if he had a shameful secret, odds were that it was probably something sexual—and perfectly normal.

But what if it wasn’t so normal?

At this point, Nora just wanted her son to survive the day at school and come home in one piece this afternoon. She also hoped to find her brother still there.

Instead, all she’d found was Ray’s note to the kids. He hadn’t even left a note for her. He’d said his goodbye to her last night.

She was coming up to the Greyhound terminal on the next block.

“Oh, my God, is that a parking spot?” she said out loud.

Nora sped through a yellow light to grab the parking place before someone else got to it. She’d always been adept at parallel parking, but suddenly, now, she was a complete klutz. She was so flustered it took three tries before she finally got it right. And for the last two tries, the driver in the car behind her kept honking the horn, unnerving her even more. The front of the Packard was still sticking out into the street when she left it, but at that point, Nora didn’t give a damn.

By the time she made her way inside the crowded terminal, the boarding announcement for the bus to Los Angeles and San Diego was booming over the public address system. The art deco station was wall-to-wall people—with at least seventy-five percent of them in the armed forces. Nora had figured Ray would be in uniform, but everywhere she turned, she saw guys in sailor caps. Frantic, she threaded through the crowd, making her way toward the departure gate, hoping to catch her brother before he went beyond the placard that read PASSENGERS ONLY. She kept thinking every sailor she passed might be Ray. But there was no sign of him. The big clock by the departure gate showed it was a little past three thirty.

“Ray?” she finally called out. “Ray?” Tears in her eyes, she kept glancing around as she struggled toward the gate. “Ray?”

A few sailors nearby seemed to think this was funny, and they called out “Ray,” too, one of them in a falsetto.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Nora, startled, turned.

It was her brother—in uniform. Nora let out a grateful cry. She threw her arms around him and held him tightly. “Oh, my God, I thought I’d missed you,” she said into his shoulder.

Ray gave her a couple of perfunctory pats on the back and then pulled away. He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, it was real decent of you to come see me off.”

She almost couldn’t hear him over the noisy crowd swarming around them. Nora held on to his arm so they wouldn’t be separated—and so he wouldn’t walk away. “Please, stay until tomorrow,” she begged. “You can’t go away mad at me, Ray. I want to help you—”

“You’ll help me?”

“Not like you asked, but we’ll figure something out. If you just stay . . .”

He shook his head again. “I already got my ticket, and—” He stopped talking as an announcement came over the speakers: the last call for passengers leaving for Los Angeles and San Diego. “Did you hear that? I’ve got to shake a leg.”

“Ray, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, squeezing his hand.

He gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, but not sorry enough to help me out like I asked.” He sighed. “Listen, forget about it, Nor.” He started to step away.

But she held on to him. “Would you call me or write to me when you get there?” She had to yell because the crowd grew noisier near the gate. “The last address I have for you is the hospital, and I don’t know your new unit.”

“I’ll write!” he said, impatiently. Then he kissed her on the cheek.

“Please, don’t do anything foolish!” she cried. “I love you, Ray!”

But he’d already turned around and hurried toward the PASSENGERS ONLY sign. Within seconds, the crowd closed in behind him, and her brother was lost in a sea of sailor caps.

Nora stood there in the rush of people moving toward the gate. She tried to catch one last glimpse of Ray, but it was impossible. He must have already moved through the gate.

Nora couldn’t help feeling she’d never see her brother again.