Her Daughter's Dream (7 page)

“We did. Then we went down to see Aunt Clotilde.”

“See any movie stars?”

Nobody she recognized. She didn’t mention that Aunt Clotilde said she was pretty enough to be in movies, or Disneyland, or any of the other stops up the coast of California.

“Boy, am I glad I stayed home.” Charlie stretched. “I’m sorry you missed the fair.”

Carolyn couldn’t imagine anything worse than being dropped off in the morning and spending twelve to fourteen hours wandering alone among crowds of strangers.

7

1961

The summer before Carolyn entered high school brought back nightmares she never thought to have again. Mom and Dad focused on Charlie, who had only one year left before he’d launch into the wild blue yonder of college, hopefully on an academic or football scholarship. Oma mounted her own campaign for Carolyn to think about college, too. Why shouldn’t a girl have the same opportunities her brother did? Her mother had gone to nurses’ training, hadn’t she?

Carolyn spent the summer alone. Sometimes Mitch Hastings came by to ask her brother if he wanted to do something. She hardly saw Charlie. He had a summer job at Kohl’s Furniture Store. Even when he was home, they hardly talked. He’d eat and take off with Mitch. They’d go to the movies or the Gay 90s. At the end of the summer, Mitch came over on a motorcycle and took Charlie for a ride. Charlie talked about the motorcycle at dinner that night. He wanted one, too, and figured he could afford to buy one with what he’d saved from his summer job. Dad told him to hold off and think a little more about it. Mom said Charlie would need that money for school.

A week later, Dad tossed Charlie keys to a 1959 red Chevy Impala. “You get a ticket and that little baby will be parked for a month.”

Charlie whooped. “No more riding the bus!”

Charlie gave Carolyn a ride on her first day of high school. He told her to stay clear of the upperclass lawn. “They’re looking for fresh meat, and you’re cute. Mitch thinks so, too.” He grinned.

Carolyn felt a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Does he?”

When they pulled into the student lot, boys swarmed the car. “Whoa, Charlie! Where’d you get this baby? She’s a beaut.” One boy opened the hood.

Another opened Carolyn’s door. “Hey, Charlie! Who’s this?”

Charlie got out of the car. “This is my little sister, Carolyn, and keep your grubby hands off. Carolyn, meet the zoo.” He rattled off a dozen names. Some she had seen at the house. Most were complete strangers. Charlie came around the car. “She’s shy. Okay? Come on, Sis. They don’t bite.”

One of the bigger boys grinned broadly. “I’d like to.”

“Shut up, Brady.”

Even close to Charlie, Carolyn felt hemmed in, trapped. Were all high school boys this big and bold?

A motorcycle roared into the lot and pulled in a few feet away. Mitch took off his helmet, swung his leg over the bike, and watched the gathering. “Hey, Mitch!” Charlie headed for his best friend. Carolyn’s heart jumped. When Mitch said hi to her, she couldn’t speak, her mouth went so dry. She looked down when her face heated up. When they all headed for the main building, she followed. Carolyn noticed Charlie couldn’t walk more than a few feet without someone saying hi and asking how was his summer vacation, what’d he do. She felt conspicuous and uncomfortable. She wished she’d taken the bus.

When two girls came over to Charlie, he forgot about her. Mitch stepped into the main office and came out with a school map. He pointed out where they were on the map. Checking her class list, he gave her directions. Map and class schedule in hand, Carolyn found her way around. At lunch break, she sat at a table with other nervous freshman girls. When Charlie and Mitch came over, the girls gawked and fell silent. Mitch ignored them, but Charlie grinned at them all before turning to Carolyn. “I’ve got football practice after school. You’ll have to take the bus home.”

The girls whispered as they watched Charlie and Mitch walk away. Carolyn knew before lunch hour ended which girls wanted to be friends with her because Charlie was tall and handsome and he played football.

To please Oma, Carolyn focused on getting good grades right from the beginning of freshman year. She met other studious girls who didn’t socialize with the in-crowd. A few of Charlie’s friends tried to make conversation with her in the school corridors. She didn’t encourage them, and they moved on to others who liked to flirt. Carolyn watched boys and girls pair up. Charlie put out the word his sister was off-limits, which was fine with her. She felt uncomfortable in her own skin when a boy looked at her, especially one she admired, like Mitch Hastings.

* * *

1962

By the time spring rolled around, Carolyn got her wish. No one noticed her. She felt invisible as she moved through the thronged corridors. The only boy who said hi every time he saw her was Mitch. Midterm he transferred into her study hall and sat in the front row. A linebacker, Mitch was taller and broader than Charlie, certainly too big for the student desks. He moved to the back row the next day, taking an empty desk across from her.

Sometimes, she felt him staring at her, but when she glanced his way, he’d be scribbling notes and flipping through his textbook. She knew from Charlie he didn’t date many girls, especially ones who “went after him.”

Mom and Dad spent most of Carolyn’s freshman year asking Charlie what he planned to do after he graduated. Charlie didn’t know. Mom and Dad became increasingly frustrated. “You’re a senior! You can’t put off sending out applications for college!” The tension mounted. It got so Carolyn wished she could live with Oma. The more Dad and Mom pressured Charlie, the more Charlie dug in his heels.

Charlie vented to Carolyn. “I wish they’d get off my back. Take a wild guess what they did.”

“What?”

“Called Mrs. Vardon. Now I’ve got the college counselor breathing down my neck. She pulled me out of study hall yesterday.” He had to report to her office every day until he finished filling out a stack of college applications, wrote essays, and gathered and made copies of recommendation letters from teachers, coaches, and his part-time employer. “Guess which university sat on top of the pile. Berkeley!”

“What have you got against Berkeley?”

“Nothing, except I’m not that impressed with their football program.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve applied to USC.” He’d already talked to the college coach and been assured he qualified for a football scholarship.

“I’m not telling them anything until I graduate. Let ’em sweat!” He grinned with defiant pleasure. “I can hardly wait to see Dad’s face when I tell him I’m going to play for the Trojans.”

Charlie followed through with his plans, but Carolyn could tell he felt rather let down when Dad gave his blessing. And his instincts about the football program proved true, when USC went to the Rose Bowl during his first year.

Oma said she’d never seen the Tournament of Roses Parade and this would be a good time to go since Charlie was on the USC team in the big game. “Why don’t you try to get time off, Hildemara?”

“Don’t you think I’d like to go? Every day I miss is a day off our vacation time.”

“Do you mind if I take Carolyn?”

Mom’s face tightened, and then her shoulders drooped. “It’d mean a lot to Charlie to have family at the game.”

Dad said he couldn’t take time off either, so Oma took Carolyn. They stood among the crowds along Pasadena’s Colorado Boulevard, watching gorgeous flower-scented floats, marching bands, and horseback riders pass by. Later, they attended the big game, where they could barely spot Charlie among the other Trojan uniformed players “warming the bench.” He’d been happy to make the team, and he said he’d help win it again next year. They spent the night at Aunt Cloe’s Beverly Hills mansion. Her producer husband was on-set somewhere in England, and her stepchildren off at boarding schools.

* * *

1963

About the time Carolyn started eleventh grade, Dock came back in her dreams. Sometimes she awoke aroused and confused. Guilt and shame caught her by the throat. She knew the facts of life. She’d taken biology. She’d overheard whispered conversations about sex in the girls’ locker room. Girls who “did it” were considered sluts.

What would people say if they knew she’d lost her virginity while playing games with the man who lived next door? She’d only been in kindergarten, but it didn’t do any good to tell herself it wasn’t her fault. She knew it was. She had gone over there day after day, hadn’t she? She’d told Dock she loved him. She let him do what he wanted.

Carolyn went to church with her parents—and Oma, when she wasn’t away on one of her trips. She knew God existed. She imagined Him as old, with a long white beard and dressed in long white robes, His eyes blazing, and ready to cast the damned into a lake of fire. Was that where she would end up? God knew everything, didn’t He? He saw everything. God would know she boiled inside. He probably knew why, even if she didn’t.

She listened to Rev. Elias talk about the peace of God and doing what was right. She needed desperately to talk to someone. When she went over to talk with Oma, she found her grandmother packing for another trip. Oma spent more time away than at the cottage. She went to visit Uncle Bernie and Aunt Elizabeth or Aunt Clotilde. She flew to New York to see Aunt Rikka when her paintings were shown in some famous gallery. This time she was going to spend a week in San Francisco with her old friend Hedda Herkner, whose husband had died of a heart attack. Oma smiled over her shoulder as she folded a dress into her suitcase. “You’re all grown-up, Carolyn. You don’t need me.”

* * *

Two days after Oma left for San Francisco, a student came into Carolyn’s civics class and gave the teacher a message. Mrs. Schaffer burst into tears when she read it. “President Kennedy has been shot down in Dallas, Texas.”

Everyone sat stunned for a few seconds and then started asking questions.

A few girls burst into tears. Even a few boys looked ready to cry, though they tried hard not to show it. Mrs. Schaffer said everyone was to go to the auditorium for a school assembly. The principal would tell them everything he knew.

The principal cried, too.

Carolyn felt hollow and numb inside. Shouldn’t she be scared? Others were. Shouldn’t she be angry? Others were. She heard the news and waited to feel something,
anything
.

The assembly ended after less than fifteen minutes. School was dismissed. Parents would know about it. Students with cars headed for the parking lot. Most headed for the buses lined up in front of the high school. Someone had already lowered the American flag to half-mast. Carolyn got on her bus and sat in the back row. She stared out the window while others talked, sobbed, cussed in whispers, made speculations about the future. What would Kennedy’s death mean to America? Would the space program end? What about the Peace Corps? So much for those who dreamed of being astronauts or going to foreign countries and solving world problems. So much for hoping the world would ever get any better.

One by one, students got off at their stops. As the rows of seats emptied, Carolyn moved forward row by row until she sat near the front. She could see the bus driver’s face in the rearview mirror. Tears ran down his cheeks. She stepped forward and clung to the pole next to the steps. “This is my stop, Mr. Landers.” She had the feeling he would have forgotten if she hadn’t spoken. He pulled over, stopped, and opened the bus doors.

Carolyn walked up the long driveway. The birds still sang. Everything still looked the same. She wished Oma were home, so she wouldn’t have to go into an empty house. She took the key out from under the flowerpot and unlocked the door. The place felt like a tomb—closed up, airless, silent.

Craving the sound of a human voice, she turned on the television. Every channel covered the assassination. She saw the joyful scenes before the shooting—people holding up welcome signs, others watching from windows and rooftops, the smiling president and his pretty wife waving from the car. Then three shots. A Secret Service man getting out of the car behind the president. People in the crowd screamed and cried; policemen looked up to see where the shots had come from. Shaking, she wanted to scream. She wanted to put her foot through the television. Instead, she shut it off and went into the kitchen.

Mom had filled the cookie jar with Oreos. Leftovers filled the refrigerator. A roast defrosted on the counter, blood pooling in the plastic wrap. Carolyn pictured Jackie with her husband’s blood on her designer suit.

She went over to the cottage, wandered through Oma’s flower garden, and then took the key from under the mat and opened the door. The cottage felt like an empty shell without Oma, even with sunlight coming through the windows. But it smelled familiar and felt cozy. She went to the bedroom and crawled under the covers of Oma’s bed, wishing she could curl up against Oma as she’d done when she was a little girl. It was the only time she could remember feeling truly safe as a child.

Only a moment seemed to pass, and she heard someone call her name. She heard a door open.

“Carolyn.” Mom’s voice came closer, voice hoarse with worry. “Carolyn!” Carolyn felt someone shaking her. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I’m here,” Carolyn mumbled, mouth dry. Her head felt strange. What was she doing in Oma’s bed? Then she remembered. The president had been shot. Despair engulfed her.

“Didn’t you hear us calling?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” She felt sick. “I don’t want to hear anything.”

“Come on home, Carolyn.” She pulled the covers down. “You can sleep in your own room.” She stood in the doorway. “Be sure to make the bed before you come.”

Inexplicably angry, Carolyn yanked the covers up again. “I’m not coming! I’m sleeping here tonight!”

Mom sat on the edge of the bed. “Carolyn, we’re all upset. . . .”

Carolyn shifted away. “Dad will have the television on. He’ll want to watch the news over and over again. You know he will. And you’ll be mangling something.” She started to cry. “I don’t want to see Kennedy shot again and again. I don’t want to keep hearing about it!” She covered her head with the blankets. “Just go away, Mom. Please. Just let me go to sleep and pretend it never happened.”

Mom rubbed her back and sighed heavily. “You’re not the only one who feels that way.” She stood. “Are you sure you’re okay here alone?”