Sunlight poured through the white cotton curtains of the bedroom. Emily drew a pillow over her head, but the iridescent glow from the peach walls made it was impossible to sleep. Besides that, her mother had turned up the volume of the radio, and her sisters were making a racket in the room next to hers.
Without much choice, she threw up the covers. Her faded blue jeans awaited her on the floor. Pulling them on, she then discarded her nightgown for her brother’s old gray t-shirt. It was three sizes too big, the way she liked it. She brushed back her almond-colored bangs, leaving her messy braids untouched. There was plenty of time to clean up after breakfast. After all, it was Saturday. She was going to the beach as soon as she finished her chores. Finals for tenth grade weren’t over yet, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t cracking another book until tomorrow.
Halfway down the stairs, her mother called out, “Emmy, get a move on. I want a word.”
She stared at the oil painting of her grandparents above the landing. Her grandfather’s sharp blue eyes jumped out, almost willing her to get in step. She didn’t care. Her mother was a pain in the butt and there was no use pretending otherwise.
“Emmy, get down here–now,” her mother called out again, “I’m running late as it is and you need to babysit.”
That would have been nice to know. Emily wiped a few strands of hair away from her eyes. With an apologetic glance at the portrait, she deliberately took her time going down the stairs. Strolling down the hall, she stopped in the dining room, and ran a finger over the lustrous sheen of the large round mahogany table. It had to be a hundred years old, a remnant of glory past.
Coffee cup in hand, Veranda Braddock walked out of the kitchen, marched over and grabbed one of Emily’s braids. “These have to go!”
“Mom, stop!” Emily pulled away. She stamped into the kitchen and turned down the square black radio on the counter. “I can’t babysit. I’ve got plans with Tim.” She opened the discolored oak cupboard and took out a plate.
“Plans change. You’re taking care of the twins today,” she said, “So wipe off that sulking look on your face. Gran’s rheumatism is acting up and she doesn’t feel very good.” Her mother reached for a loaf of Tastee Bread from the bin on the counter and put a slice in the toaster for her. “Why must everything be a fight with you?” She sat at the kitchen table and slowly sipped on her coffee. “Your brother was never this hard.”
Nor had she ever asked him to help with the twins or the housework, Emily thought to herself, but decided to let it go. Right now, her brother was in Korea. Why he’d enlisted to go to war as soon as he’d graduated from high school, she would never understand, but he’d been gone a year and she missed him terribly. Her toast popped up and she threw it on her plate. She knew what she had to do, smooth things over–again. Being on the wrong side of her mother wasn’t exactly her intention. She just couldn’t help it.
“Mom,” she said, joining her at the table, “When do you think we’ll get another letter from Lou?”
“Don’t know.” Veranda took another sip of coffee. “Stop scrunching your eyebrows. You’ll get wrinkles.”
So like her mother. She wouldn’t admit to a feeling if her life depended on it. Lou was being shot at in a ditch a world away and the woman didn’t want her to have worry marks on her forehead. Well, maybe she did wear her feelings on her sleeve, but what was wrong with that? She was scared to death for her brother. Thank goodness she had Gran to talk to–and Tim. Her next door neighbor had been hanging around ever since they’d moved to Minneapolis two years ago.
“I talked to Dr. Marsh at the hospital,” her mother confided, and took another sip of coffee. “They’re going to let you work as an aide this summer. You start in a week–as soon as school lets out.”
“You gave up my summer without saying a word to me about it? Mom, why didn’t you at least ask?”
Veranda firmly set down her cup, picking up a piece of imaginary lint from her skirt. “As I said, plans change.”
Emily globbed grape jelly over her toast. “Is there something I don’t know?”
Veranda clattered her red polished nails on the worn knobby kitchen table. “Em, this is just between us. I don’t want Gran and the twins to know,” she whispered, “But your father lost his job, so there’s no more child support coming in the mail. All we have is my salary from nursing.”
Her mother’s scarlet glossed lips parted slightly. Her anticipation hung in the air, waiting for a response from her: Of course, Mom, anything I can do–right. “Mom, you could have asked.”
“I thought I just did.”
“Yeah,” Emily muttered. Her mother was always figuring out how to run everyone else’s life. Well, she’d better have her weekends off.
“And you have to babysit tonight, too. I won’t be home until late.” Her mother finished her coffee and rose to leave.
“Did you take an extra shift at the hospital tonight?” Her question met by silence, Emily looked up. “Mom?”
“Gotta go. Gonna be late.”
Emily bit into her toast, but before she could swallow, her mother had rushed out, the screen door slamming behind. She saw her from the window, strutting across the lawn to her pale green Studebaker parked on the street. Something about her mother was different. Had she actually smiled to herself before whipping out of the house?
Emily got up to turn off the radio just as Frank Sinatra came on. She started to dance a few steps as he crooned, but was interrupted by sharp piercing beeps signaling breaking news:
Intelligence reports cite that the Soviet Union is close to testing a hydrogen bomb. Scientists say the device is inferior to that of the U.S.
A shiver ran through her entire being. If the Soviets armed North Korea with that, they could blow up the whole peninsula. Her brother–
“Emmy!” her younger sister screeched from the top of the landing. “Hurry, it’s Gran!”