CHAPTER 12
Alice-Ann stretched her arms as she stepped out of the theater and onto the sidewalk. The movie had been an excellent choice for a Saturday afternoon matinee. She said as much to Maeve and Ernie, who walked out behind her.
“That Cary Grant,” Maeve said. She rolled her eyes toward Ernie, who feigned a look of hurt. “Not that he has anything on you, E.”
Ernie grinned, nodding. “You think you’re fooling me, M., but I know if Mr. Cary Grant walked up right now and said, ‘Come away with me, dear Maeve . . .’” Ernie’s imitation of the actor left his audience of two in giggles. He sighed. “. . . you’d do it.”
Maeve placed her hand over her heart and said, “I admit . . . I’d have to think about it.”
Alice-Ann swatted at them both. “Stop it, you two.” Turning to Ernie, she said, “Come on. Papa said for you to bring me home straight after the movie.”
Ernie groaned, looking first to Maeve, then back to Alice-Ann.
“What?” she asked. “Please don’t tell me something is wrong with your daddy’s car. Because if that’s so, Ernie Tucker, you’ll have to borrow somebody’s.”
Maeve pulled Alice-Ann farther down the sidewalk toward Smitty’s Department Store and away from the small crowd coming out of the theater. “Listen, Alice-Ann,” she said, her voice secretive. “We were going to dash over to see Carlton real quick. Mama’ll have supper ready soon and —you see, after he eats, he usually goes right to sleep, so . . . if Ernie is going to see him, it’ll need to be before he takes you.”
Alice-Ann felt her stomach flop. If Maeve and Ernie were going to see Carlton, that meant she’d have to do the same. Quite frankly, she wasn’t sure she was up to the visit. Seeing Carlton had been painful enough before, and in spite of her father thinking her to be so wonderful for her act of kindness, truth told, she hadn’t found it so pleasant an experience. “Well, I —I told Papa I’d —and you know we don’t have a phone, so I can’t call —and . . .”
Maeve stopped, dipped her head as she crossed her arms and said, “Betty Jo broke up with Carlton last night.”
“Yesterday afternoon, really,” Ernie added.
“It doesn’t matter, E.”
“What?” Alice-Ann asked. “Why?”
Maeve shook her head, her dark curls catching the light of the afternoon sun, even as her face fell. “I’m so sad for him, Alice-Ann.”
Alice-Ann swallowed. “But I don’t understand . . . He said he —” She stopped herself, tore her eyes away from the pained expression on her friend’s face to look across the street to the floor above the five-and-dime, where she knew a blind and lame man lay. Heartbroken. Hadn’t it been enough that he’d lost his sight and the use of his legs? Even temporarily?
“What were you going to say?” Maeve asked.
Alice-Ann looked again at her friend, remembering Carlton standing in her living room during her belated birthday party, leaning over her and whispering, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. . . . Can you keep it?”
“I —uh —sure, we can go see Carlton first. We should in fact and I —I think Papa will understand.”
“We’ll only stay a minute or two,” Ernie added. “I said I’d get you home if you joined us today for the show and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
They started for the street, stopped at the curb for oncoming traffic, then darted to the other side. When they stepped up on the sidewalk in front of Maeve’s family’s store, Alice-Ann grabbed her friend’s hand. “Did she say why? Betty Jo?”
Maeve’s eyes filled with tears, which she blinked back as she shook her head. “She said she felt they’d grown apart since he’d left, but Carlton said he knew the truth. I could hear them —what with the bedroom door being left open and all. Even though they were talking about something so personal, Carlton asked her to leave it open out of respect for Mama.”
Alice-Ann waved away the notion, respectable though it might be. “What’d he say? What does he think is the truth?”
“He said —and I quote —‘Don’t lie to me, Betty Jo. Tell it to me straight. Just say it. You don’t want to be saddled with a man who can’t see and who can’t walk.’”
“Didn’t he remind her that the doctors said this isn’t forever? That his vision should return and that he can have physical therapy and —and . . . ?”
“No.”
“But why not?”
“I don’t know, Alice-Ann.” She looked up at the second-story apartment. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I —”
“Guys aren’t like that,” Ernie interjected. “Guys don’t think and talk like that. If Betty Jo can’t love him through this, then what if he doesn’t get his sight back? What if he doesn’t walk again? I mean, does he really have to ask? Everyone should know love is supposed to be stronger than all this. Stronger than blindness and being unable to walk.”
Alice-Ann nodded. “Like Nancy and Harry. Nancy loves Harry, no matter what. In fact, I think she loves him more, sometimes.”
Maeve took a deep breath and Ernie slid his long hands into his pants pockets, clearing his throat before muttering, “Let’s go, girls. We’re not going to change the course of their love story by standing out here.”
Maeve entered the bank on Monday at precisely 11:58.
She called out to Mister Dooley and Miss Portia as she walked purposefully toward the tellers’ windows. They nodded in unison in reply but said nothing.
Alice-Ann sat up straight, hoping to see an envelope in her hand. Something —anything —from Mack.
“Hey, Nancy,” Maeve said, her soft curls bouncing as her steps slowed near Alice-Ann’s window.
Maeve nodded. “He said he saw a flash of light this morning. It didn’t last long, but it happened.” She looked at Alice-Ann. “Don’t you think that’s good news?”
“That’s wonderful, Maeve.”
“And Doc Evans came over this morning. Carlton is moving his legs a little on his own. Again, not much, but Doc Evans said this means the swelling around his spine is going down.”
“That’s marvelous,” Alice-Ann said. “Truly.”
She slid over to fully face Alice-Ann. “I have a favor to ask.”
“What?”
Maeve glanced at the wall clock. “Are y’all about to close for lunch?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“Have lunch with me?”
Alice-Ann had brought a cheese sandwich, two of Aunt Bess’s homemade bread and butter pickles, and a thermos of sweet tea, which she’d planned to devour after running down Cooper Street to the library. If she were lucky, the book she’d been awaiting since putting her name on the list would be there, sitting on the holding table.
“Well, I —”
“Mama’s made her famous beef stew —it’s Carlton’s favorite.”
Alice-Ann took in a breath, savoring the imaginary aroma. How long had it been since she’d eaten Maeve’s mama’s beef stew? “With biscuits?”
“What do you think?”
Alice-Ann swirled around. “Nancy, I believe it’s time to clock out for lunch.”
Nancy laughed behind her. “I’ll stay here and enjoy my soup.”
Warm air encircled them as soon as they stepped outside. Alice-Ann turned her face toward the sun and breathed in, hoping for a whiff of what would soon be her lunch. But the only thing her lungs drew in was the scent of oil from an oversize Buick rambling past.
Before they stepped into the store, Alice-Ann tapped Maeve on the shoulder. “All right, Maeve. Come clean. Why am I here? And don’t say for beef stew.”
Maeve sighed as she opened the door. “How well you know me.”
“Almost as well as I know myself.”
They closed the door behind them and Maeve locked it to keep customers out during the noon hour. Ceiling fans spun in lazy circles overhead, stirring up more warm air than providing cool.
Alice-Ann pulled the lightweight orange scarf she’d donned earlier in the day from around her neck. “It’s going to be a hot summer. That much is for sure already.”
“You can say that again,” Maeve agreed. She turned after they’d made it halfway to the back staircase. “Now listen. I know you know I’ve asked you here for more than just stew.”
“And biscuits.”
Maeve smiled, and it looked to Alice-Ann like she was grateful that her friend appeared open to the real reason she’d been asked for lunch. “I was thinking that . . . because you read to the children on Sundays . . . and you know how you told me you read in character and how much the children love it . . . well, I was thinking that maybe you could do the same for Carlton.” Her eyes widened as her face lit up.
“Read to him? Like he’s a child?”
“Yeah.” Maeve sported a tiny pout. “Come on, Alice-Ann. He’d do it for you and you know it.”
“But, Maeve, I —”
“Look, I know you’re pining away for Mack and just waiting for the day he returns home —”
“Or at the very least, when I finally get a letter from him.”
Maeve’s hand found Alice-Ann’s. “I know. I’m sorry and you know we’re all just worried sick. But in the meantime, there’s a young man upstairs who spends nearly his entire day just staring at nothing. Mama and Daddy and I have to work, so it’s not like we can babysit him.”
Alice-Ann opened her mouth to protest further, to remind Maeve that she, too, worked, and that soon enough she’d need to help even more at home, once the baby arrived. But before she could utter so much as a peep, Maeve continued in what Alice-Ann suspected to be a rehearsed speech. “I’d do it for you, Alice-Ann, if it were Nelson.”
Alice-Ann closed her mouth. She inhaled deeply; the rich aroma of stew and buttery biscuits caused her stomach to growl.
Both young women giggled.
“You’re right,” Alice-Ann said. “You would.” She nodded once, then twice for good measure. “Let me talk to Papa and Aunt Bess,” she said, although she knew exactly what Papa would say. “And if they okay my coming home a tad later than usual, I’ll do it.”
“When can you start?”
Alice-Ann laughed. “If I start . . . I’ll come tomorrow.”
“Right after work?”
“The same as I’ve done for over two years now.”
The following afternoon, Alice-Ann clocked out of work, walked to the five-and-dime, greeted Mrs. Hillis, who stood behind the counter, waved at Mr. Hillis and Maeve stocking shelves in the center of the store, and then made her way up the staircase to the Hillises’ apartment. She took a deep breath at the top of the stairs, then walked to the kitchen, tucked the book she carried under her arm, retrieved two bottles of Coke, opened them, and —with one in each hand —carried them into Carlton’s room.
A plain occasional chair had been placed near the bed facing Carlton, who sat up straight, looking toward the door as though he could see who stood there.
“Hi there,” she said.
The smile broke easily. “Hey yourself, doodlebug.”
“Care for some company?” She raised one hand. “I brought two Co-Colas —one for me and one for you —and a book I got from the library yesterday. Maeve said you might like to have me read to you.”
“I’d love that.” He extended a hand toward the chair. “Have a seat.”
Alice-Ann placed one of the sweating bottles on the bedside table, where a small plate had been left for such things, then eased herself down into the chair. “I placed your drink on the table.”
He grinned. “I heard.”
“Would you prefer I hand it to you?”
“No,” he said, slowly reaching for it as his fingers walked along the edge of the table. “I’ve got it.”
Alice-Ann placed the book in her lap and her own bottle on the floor. Sitting upright again, she gripped the curved wood of the armrests, keeping her feet planted flat on the floor. When she took in a breath, she became more aware of the staleness in the room and she sighed. An injured man lived there. Day in. Day out. He hadn’t been outside in days, and though Alice-Ann felt certain Carlton had been bathed, a musky aroma lingered.
“It’s a nice day out,” she said. “Warm, but nice.” He turned his face away from her and toward the sunlight streaming in. “Maybe I could open the window for you?”
“That’d be nice,” he admitted. “I think Mama’s afraid a little breeze will give me a cold or something.”
Alice-Ann stood, placing the book on the floor, walked to the window, pushed the old blackout curtains back as far as they would go, and then turned the crank until the panes separated and spread outward. A late spring breeze eased in, bringing with it the freshness of midafternoon and a light floral scent. Alice-Ann peered down at the tiny patch of garden Mrs. Hillis had managed to plant and had been tending behind the store for as long as she could remember.
“Your mother’s roses are starting to bloom,” she said.
“The Confederate roses or the knockouts?”
Alice-Ann smiled. “Both.” She returned to the chair. “How wonderful that you know the difference.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” He laughed as she sat, this time crossing her legs. Carlton blinked. Once. Twice. He took a sip of his drink and returned it to the table. “You’re getting more comfortable. Not as bothered by being in an injured man’s bedroom, even one you’ve thought of as a big brother since you were a pup.”
“What?” She uncrossed her legs.
“Uh-oh. I’ve made you nervous again.”
Alice-Ann leaned forward. “I don’t know what —”
“When you came in and you first sat in the chair, you were tense. Once you opened the window and returned to the chair, you were relaxed.” He smiled again, the deep dimples cutting into the sides of his face. “Until I said something.”
Alice-Ann chuckled. “You’re right. But how did you —?”
“When you’re blind —even temporarily —you learn to lean on your ears to see things. When you first sat, you kept both feet on the floor. After you opened the window, you crossed your legs.” He paused long enough to adjust the linens folded neatly at his hips. “Not to mention that tension is felt, not seen.”
Alice-Ann slid back in the chair and crossed her legs again. She studied Carlton’s face for a reaction, her eyes slanting in his direction. Sure enough, his smile widened.
“Now you’re just testing me.”
Alice-Ann laughed. “I was.”
“Did I pass?”
“You did.” She bit her bottom lip. “With flying colors.”
“Mmm,” he said. “Colors.”
Alice-Ann prickled. Had she said the wrong thing? Used the wrong words? “So, um . . .”
“Tell me about your day today,” he interjected.
She welcomed the change in topic. “Well, I worked of course. Oh, but Papa’s getting some new farm implements. Compliments of the government. He and Nelson are all excited about it. You’d think it was Christmas or something.”
“How are the crops?”
“Soon to be ripe for pickin’. We’ve got farmhands, of course, to do the bigger jobs, and a few of the POWs now that the camp is up in Bulloch, but it won’t be long before Aunt Bess and I will be up early on Saturdays, picking a mess of peas and snaps from her garden.” She looked down at her hands. “And I’ll be forced to cut okra, which, if you must know, is my least favorite thing to do.”
“I never did that,” he said. “What’s it like?”
“They’re prickly,” she told him. “Like little needles that stick just under the skin.” She wiggled a little. “Makes me itchy just talking about it.”
Carlton’s brow shot up. “I’m suddenly very glad I’m a city kid.”
“City? Ha-ha.”
A light blush kissed his cheeks. “All right. Bynum’s a mite of a town, I grant you, but it’s still not the country.”
“The country’s not so bad.”
“I know . . .”
“But if I could . . .” Her words had come too easily, she realized, so she allowed the hidden wish to slip into the sunshine and fresh air that had now filled the room.
“You’d?”
She giggled. “It’s silly. I can’t even believe I almost said it.”
Carlton grinned. “Tell me.”
“You know,” she drawled while reaching for the book on the floor, “I’m supposed to be reading to you.”
“Tell me,” he coaxed.
She opened the book, the paper sighing as she turned to the first page. Alice-Ann cleared her throat, preparing her voice for the words.
She looked up. “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” she said. “It came out last year and I had to get on a waiting list at the library. Picked it up yesterday afternoon —”
“Alice-Ann,” he repeated her name, his voice rising in a question. “Tell. Me.”
She closed the book. “All right, but you’ll think I’m silly.”
“I promise not to make fun of you.”
“Well . . . all right.” She sighed. “If you promise.”
“Cross my heart,” he said, imitating the words, “and hope to die.”
“All right, then. See, there’s this . . . house. A cottage, really.”
Carlton used the strength of his arms and fists to shift in the bed, to face her better. “Where?”
“Near Nancy and Harry’s. You remember them, right?”
He chuckled. “I lost my sight, not my memory.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Go on. Nancy and Harry. Cottage.”
He wanted to hear. Carlton Hillis truly desired to know her thoughts. Her dreams. A first, for sure. Not even Mack had. Not really. Not ever. Alice-Ann had written to him, she’d shared, but he’d never come out and asked. Or even coaxed her as Carlton seemed to do now. “It’s in disrepair. Slight, but still, it’s in disrepair. No one’s lived in it —Nancy says —for ten years or more. But it’s so . . . cute.”
“Cute?”
She laughed again. “It is.”
“A house that’s cute.”
“A cottage, really,” she reiterated, hoping that the words cottage and cute used together kept her from sounding completely idiotic. After all, Carlton had been in college when his sense of American pride had taken over and he’d enlisted. “He’s so smart, that Carlton,” she’d heard a thousand times or more, followed by the typical “Always has been.”
“What’s so cute about it?” he asked. The tone of his voice made her feel more girl than woman, but somehow less silly.
“Well, I’ve only seen it from the sidewalk. Maeve and I used to ride our bicycles up and down Main Street and —” She felt herself grow warm. “I’d always hop off my bike and say to Maeve that I thought it was . . .” She smiled. “Cute.”
“And what did Maeve think?”
Alice-Ann laughed. “She thought it was haunted. Said that’s why no one ever bought it . . . because someone was murdered in there.”
Carlton chuckled. “The old Burkhalter place. Ah, yeah.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think it’s true? About the murder?”
He shook his head. “Only in the minds of little boys sitting around a campfire.” He chuckled again, low and steady. “So have you ever gone inside?”
“No. I went up to the house. Peered in a few windows.”
“But?”
“But, nothing. Sometimes girls daydream. You know, about their lives when they’re all grown-up. I picture myself in a house like that one.” And of course, she pictured a life there —all too often —that included Mack.
A wave of inspiration came over her, one that pushed Mack to the back of her thoughts and brought Carlton front and center. “How about I make a deal with you.”
His brow now furrowed. “What kind of deal?”
“Doc Evans says you’re getting better. Swelling is going down.”
“That’s true.”
“And Maeve said you saw a little light yesterday.”
“Also a fact.”
“So then how about you work a little harder to walk again, and one day we can walk down there and see it together.”
He barked out laughter. “See it? I only experienced one shaft of light. Like a bolt of lightning. Lickety-split.”
“Well, it’s a start. Besides, you’re the one always saying your blindness is temporary. Once your sight comes back, what will you do? Sit up here and smell your mama’s roses all day?”
He gave her a half grin. “All right, doodlebug.” He extended his hand toward her. “Shake on it.”
She leaned over, took his hand in her own, felt the rough calluses against the softness of her skin. “Deal?”
“Deal.”