43
Three long tables were covered in every kind of dessert imaginable. Trays of cookies, all varieties and shapes. Sheet cakes and layered cakes and cupcakes, all with different colored frosting. Pies with fancy lattice tops and perfectly pinched crusts. Chocolates molded by hand and filled with creams of many flavors.
Along the far wall of the church fellowship hall was a hand-painted banner. Welcome Home, US Marine Vanderlaan!
Nearly the whole town had come to give Walt the welcome worthy of a war hero. They milled around, chatting with each other as we waited for the Vanderlaans to arrive.
“Annie,” Mom said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Could you get another stack of coffee cups from the kitchen, please?”
“Sure,” I answered. “This will be some party.”
“It certainly will be. Do you think we’ll have enough dessert?”
“I think we’ll be fine.” I shook my head. “Let me get those cups for you.”
I wove through the masses toward the kitchen, amazed by how many people had come for Walt. Sure, he’d been popular. But popular didn’t always mean the same thing as well-liked. Either way, I was glad that so many had come. It would have been horrible if the crowd had been thin.
Once I made it out of the fellowship hall and into the doorway of the kitchen, I breathed easier. It wasn’t usual for me to feel claustrophobic. But that mashing up of people had done it.
That was when I saw someone coming down the steps from the corner of my eye. Walt stepped off the last stair, his lanky arms hanging rigidly at his sides. The brass buttons of his uniform jacket caught the light, standing out against the dark fabric. Reaching up, he removed the white hat, holding it by its black bill. His white-blond hair was cut so short I could see the pink of his scalp.
“Annie?” he said.
“Hi,” I answered, smoothing the burnt orange fabric of my A-line dress.
“You look nice.” His voice wasn’t nearly as loud as I’d remembered it. It lacked his usual bravado. Instead, he was tentative, almost shy. “I like your dress.”
“Thank you.”
“My parents are still in the car,” he said. “They’re arguing. Typical, huh?”
“I’m sorry.”
“They told me to come in without them.” He looked down at his hat. “It seems odd, walking in by myself.”
“No one would even notice,” I said. “All they care about is seeing you.”
He shrugged. “Some way for a boy to come home from war, huh?”
“I can walk in with you,” I said. “If you’d like.”
“Just like kindergarten.” He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “You remember that, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
“It was Mike’s and my first day of school.” He swallowed. “You and your mom were there to see him to his classroom. My mother told me to walk with you. She didn’t want to come in.”
“I think I remember now.”
“Mike ran into the school like he owned the place,” he said. “I was scared.”
“And I told you that I’d go with you.”
“You held my hand.” He put his hand out to me, stepping forward. “Just like kindergarten?”
“Sure.”
His hand was warm and rough with calluses. He squeezed mine just as we walked into the crowd.
He only let go after I squeezed it back.
Mom got after me for keeping my window open to talk to Jocelyn.
“It’s too cold for that nonsense,” she said, standing in my bedroom door.
“But she just got home from college,” I said from where I sat on my bed. “I have so much to tell her.”
“Then just have her come over here. And keep that window shut, for goodness’ sake.”
So, Jocelyn had come and sat at the foot of the bed while I sat at the head. It was late and we both wore our nighties. Jocelyn’s coat hung on my doorknob.
“Now, tell me again how he convinced you to hold his hand,” she said, hugging my old teddy bear to her chest. “I’m so sorry I missed all of it.”
“Why do you want to hear about that?” I asked.
“Because it’s romantic.”
“Not really.” I grimaced.
“Come on, Annie. Just humor me, would ya?”
“Oh, all right,” I said, resting my head against the wall. “He reminded me of when we were little.”
“Uh-huh.” She sounded skeptical. “You didn’t feel anything when you took his hand, did you?”
“Just that his palm was rough.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I mean, was there an electric charge or anything? Like in the movies?”
“Not that I remember. Should there have been?”
“I’m not sure.” She scrunched her lips to one side of her face. “You said he seemed different?”
I nodded. “Not so arrogant.”
“Hm. Maybe the drill sergeants beat it out of him.” She shrugged. “You just never know how being at war can change a man.”
“He asked if he could take me to the movies or something,” I said, hoping the cool wall would keep the blush from burning in my cheeks. “I told him he could.”
“Annie Jacobson.”
“What? I told him we’d go just as friends.”
“I don’t know what to say to you.” She leaned forward. “Will this be your first date?”
“It won’t be a date,” I answered. “Besides, what about when I had lunch with David at the diner?”
“Do you want that to count?” she asked. “Because it counts if you want it to.”
“Then this is your second date.”
“Jocie, it’s just as friends.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said.” She put both hands on her cheeks. “Oh, what will you wear?”
“I don’t have the slightest clue,” I said. “Golly, I should have said no.”
“Just because you don’t know what to wear?” She laughed. “Don’t worry. You could wear a flour sack and look beautiful. Besides, you know that boys don’t care what a woman wears, right?”
“That’s not it.” I shook my head. “He’s going to get the wrong idea about me.”
“Hold on,” she said. “This is about David, isn’t it? You really do like him.”
I nodded, rubbing at my temples with the meat of my hands. “I just wish it was different. Mom would have a stroke.”
“The world’s changing, Annie. Every day.” She put her fingertips on my knee, so gently I hardly felt them. “Maybe this will change too. Who knows?”
“I guess anything is possible, right?” I cleared my throat. “I’m not going to count this with Walt as a date.”
“Then it isn’t a date.” She nodded decisively. “It’s just a movie.”
“Exactly.” I sighed. “Now, I want to hear about you. How was college? Tell me every single thing.”
We stayed up until far too late in the night. I knew I’d be beat when my alarm went off in the morning, but I just did not care. I had my dearest friend home for a few days.
I felt like one lost in the desert who had just found a spring of fresh water.
Dear Family,
Happy Thanksgiving to all! I hope you have a good trip to Auntie Rose’s house. Give her a stiff, obligatory hug for me, will you? And give Grandma a kiss on the cheek. As for Frank, maybe a firm handshake will do, compliments of old Mikey.
Gosh, I sure am going to miss eating myself silly with all of you and sitting down to watch the game. But don’t you worry about me. I’ve heard that on base we’ll have a turkey with all the fixings. If we’re lucky, Uncle Sam might even spring for a slice of pumpkin pie.
Let’s just hope Charlie gives us a break for the day. He doesn’t like letting up, but maybe if we ask nicely, he’ll stop shooting at our boys for a few hours.
That doesn’t seem like too much to ask, do you think?
Say, I’m thankful for you.
All my love,
Mike