The Diary (10 page)

Elizabeth didn't mind, though. She liked having Grandma Judith around and was happy for the distraction it provided at a crucial time in her life. She was discovering belatedly that the more she got to know her grandmother, the more she enjoyed her company. She also secretly enjoyed watching Mildred hop to whenever Grandma Judith barked orders. Her grandmother wasn't shy, either, about making her humble roots known—the daughter of poor Irish immigrants, she'd married a peddler, Mildred's father, who hadn't become successful until later on—a reminder that Mildred hadn't been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, however many airs she put on.

“Fine, thank you!” Grandma Judith was a bit hard of hearing and tended to shout.

“Are you feeling any better today?”

“I'd be fit as a fiddle if it weren't for this hip!” Grandma Judith shifted her weight on the mattress, wincing at the effort. “That, and my bowels—they're all stopped up.”

“Should I bring you some more of those stewed prunes?”

“What?” The old lady cupped a hand to her ear.

“Prunes!” Elizabeth repeated more loudly.

“Heavens no. Remember what happened the last time? I was in and out of bed all day and half the night. No, sauerkraut's the thing. Works wonders for the digestion.”

Elizabeth smiled at her grandmother's Old World ways. “I don't think we have any in the icebox, but I'd be happy to make a trip to the store,” she volunteered. “In the meantime, how about a cup of tea?”

“Bless you, my dear. Don't know what I'd do without you,” said the old woman after Elizabeth had fetched the tea tray from downstairs. However grouchy and domineering she was with Mildred, she'd been nothing but sweet and placid with Elizabeth. Elizabeth watched as her grandmother took hold of her teacup with a trembling hand. Despite her efforts to hold the cup steady, some of the tea spilled onto the bed, eliciting a cry of frustration. “There I go again, making more work for you,” she said as Elizabeth dabbed at the spill with her napkin. “Take it from me: Growing old is no fun. Enjoy life while you still can because you're only young once.”

“You sound like my mother,” Elizabeth said, reminded of Mildred's comments the night of Ingrid's party.

This time Grandma Judith maneuvered the teacup to her lips without spilling a drop. She took a satisfying slurp. “She happens to be right about that, but I wouldn't make a habit of listening to your mother,” she advised. “Otherwise you'll be in danger of turning into an old stick like her.”

“Grandma!” Elizabeth feigned shock, darting a glance at the open doorway to make sure her mother wasn't in the hallway. But it was impossible to suppress the giggle that rose to her lips.

“What she needed was another husband,” Grandma Judith went on, unabashed. “Being a widow is no excuse to close up shop. It was too late for me after your grandfather died, but your mother was still a young woman when your father passed. And let me tell you, a busy social life is no substitute for a good man. You mark my words, Elizabeth. Life's too short to waste a minute of it. If that young man of yours doesn't make you happy, then go out and find someone who will!”

Elizabeth started at the astuteness of her grandmother's words. Was it that obvious? Or was Grandma Judith simply more observant than most? Not that Elizabeth was unhappy with Bob—at least, she hadn't been until now. In fact, he was a far better person than she deserved. She flushed with shame, thinking of how she'd deceived him. Oh, Lord, how had she gotten herself into such a fix?

“I … I thought you liked Bob,” she stammered.

“Heavens, child! I never said I didn't like the boy. He's a fine young man. But it's not what
I
think of him that counts. The fact is, you're not in love with him. Any fool can see that.” Grandma Judith subsided against the pillows at her back with a sigh. Spent from the effort of dispensing advice, she turned her attention to more immediate matters. “Now, why don't you pass me one of those biscuits? There's nothing like a nice ginger biscuit to go with a cup of tea, I always say.”

That evening
Elizabeth went for a long walk after supper instead of following her usual routine of playing cribbage with her mother or taking a book up to her room. (They didn't own a TV because Mildred considered television to be nothing more than a passing fad.) Strolling past the Simms's house next door, she noted that the hollyhocks in Mrs. Simms's flower beds were in bloom. At the Andersons', one door down, the garbage cans were neatly lined up at the curb, and a gleaming new Cadillac was parked in the driveway. She thought about Mr. Anderson. Occasionally she'd see him sitting in his car after he arrived home from work, staring into space with a grim look on his face as if steeling himself to go inside and face Mrs. Anderson. Elizabeth wondered how anyone could live that way. Probably neither of them was very happy. They appeared content enough when out in public together, but who knew what went on behind those mild manners and patented smiles?

Elizabeth wondered if that was how it would be with Bob and her: a life in which they cruised along side by side but in different lanes, each with expectations that the other couldn't meet. Which was worse: to marry the wrong person for the right reasons or to be with the right person who was all wrong in every other way? Grandma Judith had made it sound so easy. But could you toss aside everything representing safety and continuity in your life purely for the sake of love? Wouldn't that love become gnarled and twisted over time, like a tree deprived of water, without those things to nurture it?

She didn't know the answer. She only knew that if she didn't come to a decision soon, the uncertainty would kill her.

She returned home pleasantly tired, having strolled as far as the reservoir and back. As she approached the house, she looked up and saw that the light was on in her mother's room. Mildred often retired early to do crossword puzzles or curl up with one of her
Reader's Digest
condensed books. The light was also on in the room next to Mildred's, where her grandmother was installed. Elizabeth paused at the base of the mulberry tree that grew beside the house, gazing up at the pair of glowing windows. It struck her as unutterably sad that mother and daughter, separated only by a single wall, should be so at odds that they preferred their own company to each other's. Was that how it would be with her and Mildred in the years to come? And what if she were to do something that her mother considered unforgivable? Would Mildred disown her entirely?

Her steps were heavy as she climbed the stairs to her room. The only thing to guide her way, glowing like a lighted window at the back of her mind, was the thought of seeing AJ in just two days.

She arrived at
the Brass Rail at the appointed hour to find AJ's station wagon parked out front, as promised. But it didn't look as if they'd be going anywhere, at least not in his Studebaker: Its hood was open, and AJ was bent over fiddling with something in the engine. She felt her anxiety mount as she approached him. What if they were spotted out here by someone who blabbed to Bob? Would he be so quick a second time to dismiss it as a chance encounter?

As if sensing her presence, AJ straightened and turned to face her. He broke into a grin, jerking his head in the direction of the open hood. “Fuel pump—looks like I'll need a new one,” he said with the relaxed air of someone accustomed to such mishaps. He pulled a rag from the back pocket of his trousers and used it to wipe the grease from his hands.

“Sounds serious,” she said, her eyes on his long, supple fingers as he rubbed them clean.

“Nothing that ten bucks or so can't fix.” He stuffed the rag back into his pocket and slammed the hood down. “But I'm afraid it'll have to wait until morning. Gabe's is closed for the night.” The Chevron owned by Gabe Corcoran was the only service station in town. “Now, about that drink …” Elizabeth felt herself grow panicky. “I was thinking it might be best if I took a rain check on that, seeing as how you wouldn't want it getting back to your fiancé. What do you say we go for a drive instead?”

Elizabeth nodded, weak with relief. “We could take my car.” It was her mother's, actually, but she used it to drive to and from work every day. She could easily have afforded her own car with what she'd saved out of her paychecks, but Mildred didn't approve of young ladies owning cars. It caused them to become far too independent, in her opinion. And what would her mother have to say about a young lady stepping out behind her “fiancé's” back?

But Elizabeth was so eager to be alone with AJ that it was easy to shut out the voice in her head warning her that it would only lead to more complications. His eyes were bluer than she remembered, or maybe it was the last rays of the setting sun slanting across his face that made them appear so. She could see the faintest of lines fanning from their corners and felt as though she were catching a glimpse of the more mature man he'd be one day. She felt a pang, wondering if she'd have the chance to know that man or if this was as far as the road would take them.

“We could do that,” he said. “Anywhere in particular you'd like to go?”

“Not really. Why don't we just see where the road takes us?” Her carefree words did nothing to ease the self-consciousness that seized hold of her as they strolled, side by side, to where her car was parked. Suddenly she wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands. They flopped at her sides like newly sprouted appendages to which she hadn't yet grown accustomed, the one nearest AJ jerking away as if from a hot stove when she accidentally brushed against him.

Soon they were cruising along the rural route just outside town. “Corn looks to be ready for harvesting,” AJ observed as he sat idly gazing out the window at the cornfields rolling past.

She nodded in agreement. “Mr. Hathaway down at the hardware store says it's going to be a good year!”

“Rain always makes for a good year.”

“Well, it certainly was welcome after that dry spell we had.”

Small talk. Was that what they'd been reduced to? Nonetheless, the meaningless conversation was a safe haven into which she gratefully retreated. Better that than unleashing the welter of emotions bubbling up inside her.

She kept a firm grip on the steering wheel, her eyes fixed just as firmly on the road ahead. Yet she had never been more aware of another human being. When she sneaked a glance at AJ out of the corner of her eye, she caught him regarding her with a bemused look, a corner of his mouth hitched up in a wry smile as if he knew precisely what was on her mind.

“Stop that,” she ordered, feeling herself blush.

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He feigned innocence. “How am I supposed to look at you?”

“You know what I mean. People will get the wrong idea.”

He laughed. “What people? There's no one else around.”

“I meant if there were. We wouldn't want them … thinking things.”

“Why not? I have nothing to hide.” He cranked his window all the way down, letting in a rush of warm air. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and brushstrokes of magenta, gold, and scarlet stood out against the darkening sky. Amid the gathering shadows, the rows of corn stretching for miles on either side were knitted into a vast, unbroken sea with no distant hills to stem its tides.

“You might not, but I do,” she reminded him.

His mouth twitched in barely contained amusement. “Ah. I take it you mean your fiancé. So it's not enough that we're sparing him any gossip from us being spotted together in a public place? Now we have to worry about any spies who might be lurking among the cornstalks?”

“He's not my fiancé.” The words slipped out. She'd intended to set him straight on that matter, but not until she'd made it clear to him, in as gentle a fashion as possible, that he shouldn't get his hopes up just because she and Bob weren't officially engaged. Now she regretted not only her lousy timing but having been stupid enough to mislead him in the first place. It must be obvious to AJ that she wouldn't have trusted herself with him had she not been “betrothed.”

But he'd clearly misunderstood because he asked in surprise, “You told him about us?”

“No, of course not. We were never engaged in the first place.”

“So why did you tell me you were?”

“I don't know.”

“I think I do.” She caught a flash of anger in AJ's eyes. “Wouldn't want some juvenile delinquent putting the moves on you. Lord knows where it could lead. And you with your sainted reputation to think of.” Once again he'd misread her intentions. Or, in this case, put the worst face on them.

“It wasn't like that.” Elizabeth was clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She was angry at herself for bungling things so badly, and it made her lash out at him. “Anyway, it's not as if you didn't know about Bob and me.”

But what was there to know? Could she honestly say she felt the same about Bob as she had a few short weeks ago? She'd been attempting to rationalize her growing disenchantment by telling herself it was only natural, when a couple had been together as long as they had, for the excitement of the first months to settle into something more sedate. But was that really the case? What if this thing with AJ weren't some form of temporary madness but merely her heart speaking the truth?

“Pull over,” he ordered.

“Where?” There was nothing but cornfields as far as the eye could see.

“There's a spot up ahead.” He pointed to where the shoulder widened in a graveled turnabout.

As soon as she brought the car to a stop, he reached over and switched off the ignition. For a long moment neither of them spoke; there was just the ticking of the engine as it cooled and the sound of crickets taking up their nightly chorus. At last he climbed out, and she followed suit. She found herself standing at the edge of a drainage ditch, which ran alongside the cornfield it bordered like a neatly stitched hem. It was nearly dark, and visibility was limited with the moon not yet risen, but AJ had no trouble finding his way; he bridged the ditch in a bound, extending a hand to help her over it. In the suit and high heels she'd worn to work, she wasn't exactly dressed for such activities, so she wasted no time in slipping off her pumps, then her stockings, which she rolled into neat balls and tucked into the toes of her shoes.