Chronicles from Tom’s Diner: Chapter Lois

Tom’s has new glossy oxblood seat cushions.  They sparkle when the light hits them just right.  This reminds you of when James pulled up in his brother’s Hudson.  The way the street lamps reflected off the silver front and cranberry paint shimmered in the evening light—that same dark red.  “Hmm,” was all your mother managed at first.  Your father remained silent.  From the porch, they observed in their chairs.  The cigarette burning between your father’s lips, your mother fanning the smoke away in the thick June humidity.  You stood in the doorway, behind the screen door.  James parked in the street and steadily walked up to the porch.  Your father rose.  Small beads of sweat began to form on your forehead.  “Lois, are you well?” Helen asks you “You look a little flustered.”  James and Arthur look at you now.  “Oh no,” you say softly.  “It’s just—a little warm in here.  I think.  Don’t you?”  You put out your cigarette and reach for the handkerchief in your purse.  Dabbing the sweat from your head, “There.  That’s better.”  You smile.  Helen does too.  Arthur continues on with what he was saying: “Where was I?  Oh right, the fellas are thinking about going up to Briggins Lake for next weekend, just the guys.  Joe’s family has a place right there on the lake.  Some good fishin’ up there, I’m told.  Fish about this big,” Arthur shows—his hands spread far apart.  James nods.  “Maybe.  I’ll think about it.”  “Yeah.  Let me know soon.  Don’t feel like you have to pass up the offer.  We’d love to have you come along.”  “Well that sounds nice,” Helen adds with a smile.  She looks at you.  “Lois, are you sure you’re well?  You have barely touched your meal.”  James looks over at your plate.  You bring your hands back to the table in a pointless effort to hide the truth.  The two slices of ham and cheese sandwich have identically small voids towards the center; the French fries remain golden and untouched, as with the oblong pool of catsup rimming the plate.  Your chocolate malt half drank with the fluff of whipped cream still intact.  You observe everyone’s plate is empty save yours—except the tomatoes Arthur forgot to ask to be excluded from his Fried Chicken Club Sandwich.  “Oh… I suppose that cigarette was a bad idea.  Must have ruined my appetite.  You think one of the boys might want some of this?” you ask James.  He does not answer at first.  His focus remains on your meal.  Arthur and Helen look on in silence.  Michael would eat this.  Michael loves ham and cheese.  You cannot practically get him to eat anything else.  And Dale, Dale would eat French fries.  Those are easy enough for him to manage.  Catsup and French fries and a bit of water and he will love it.  Michael too.  “We’ll bring it home,” James mutters.  Your hands rest on your lap.  You straighten your dress.  As James tuned the radio to the specified station you observed your reflection in the window.  Perspiration began forming on your cheeks and bridge of your nose.  Cautiously you pulled your handkerchief from your small hand purse.  Mother bought you the purse at Charlemagne’s along with those white gloves for Sundays and other formal matters.  You quickly dabbed your face and placed the handkerchief back.  The rain fell hard as the movie began.  The Water That Rises.  “An inane teenage summer movie.  Not worth the trouble,” wrote David Harelston from the newspaper.  The windows were slightly open.  Rain fell on the gravel adding a low dissonance.  You could barely understand what was being said because of the static on the airwaves.  James played with the rotary knob but no use.  He leaned back into the bench and watched.  The windows became more opaque on account of the humidity.  You wanted to roll the window down more but your hands stayed in your lap, grasping the purse.  The Water That Rises was not worth the trouble.  Only twenty minutes in and you knew it was a typical low-budget double feature.  Your eyes began to lose focus.  James stayed diligent.  His eyes slightly strained, a slight quizzical expression on his face.  He was starting to perspire as well.  The sweat began to form at his temple and gradually worked down the cheek, tracing along his faint jaw line.  The Hudson engine hummed quietly.  Behind the car, the red-hued exhaust slowly rose through the rain and dissipated into the night.  A thick layer of precipitation accumulated on the windshield.  James turned the wipers.  In the car directly ahead of you the silhouette of two lovers formed one uncoordinated shape moving awkwardly back and forth.  You felt a sudden rush in your cheeks.  Opening your purse, you reached for the handkerchief again.  Dabbing your face, the window is wide open.  The smell of your ham and cheese sandwich rises from the floor between your feet.  James turns down the radio.  “You know.  That was an eighty cent meal you didn’t finish.”  You press the handkerchief against the back of your neck and place it in your purse.  James’s focus shifts between you and the road.  “Yes.”  “Yes?”  “Yes.  I’m sorry.  I wasn’t feeling well.”  Very calmly, he says, “Did you not feel well before or after you decided to order?”  You look at your legs.  The stockings cover your stubble.  You were going to shave today, but never had a moment.  “Lois?”  “Yes.”  “Yes what?”  “Before.”  James does not respond.  “The boys will eat it.”  He remains silent.  The wind becomes stronger.  Your hair becomes unruly and you roll up the window.  “I’ve just felt a little nauseous all day is all.  It rained so we couldn’t go outside.  The boys just stayed inside.  Judy would not stop crying.”  James sighs.  Your jaw clenches and lips tighten.  Rain begins to fall, a light shower.  Pressing your head against the glass, the coolness brings relief.  Small droplets begin to form and fall.  Your eyes follow one’s descent.  Slowly at first, it sinks down until reaching another droplet where upon its speed increases.  This repeats.  One after another, the more it links the faster it falls.  You witness the sporadic downward path of interdependence.  “Do you remember when you came and picked me up in your brother’s car?  And it rained at the drive-in?”  Silence.  You look over.  James stays fixed on road.  Windshield wipers move back and forth, back and forth.  Rain falls and is wiped away, and falls again.  “James?”  He turns the radio up.  “The new DC-7 by Douglas.  An innovative advancement in aviation.  New.  Larger fuselage and bigger, newer, more powerful engine to make trips across the Atlantic a breeze.  Yes.  Enjoy all the technological advancements Douglas Aircraft can afford you while you make that trip to London, or ole Paris.  With the new Douglas DC-7, there isn’t a place you cannot go.  Douglas Aircraft will keep you flying around the world.”  By the time you return home, the rain stops.  Barbara sits patiently on the couch watching television.  “Welcome back Mr. and Mrs. Kable.”  “Evening Barbara,” James says, taking off his shoes.  He heads straight for the bedroom.  “How were the children?” you ask.  “Oh fine.  Just fine.  Michael and I watched TV and Dale played with his truck.”  “And Judy?  She didn’t give you any trouble I hope?”  “No.  She was an angel.”  You nod.  James comes back and says he’ll walk Barbara back to her house.  While they are gone, you put the food away.  Closing the refrigerator door a sudden sensation overcomes you.  Your stomach turns.  Running to the bathroom you cover your mouth.  As you open the bathroom door you spit up a little in your hand.  You do not make it to the toilet, settling for the sink.  What little you had from the diner you quickly wash down the sink.  You stare back at your self in the mirror.  Strands of hair have broken away from your bun.  Your face is pallid.  Your lower lip quivers then stops.  You bite down on it.  Oh dear.  What now?  Betty Wayne came down with a sickness not too long ago.  Some kind of fever.  The doctor gave her medicine.  It went away.  Maybe call her tomorrow.  See what she thinks.  Maybe call Helen.  No need for anything else.  Just a cold.  And that’s all.  Some fever that will pass in no time.  Michael had a summer cold not too long ago.  James wasn’t pleased.  Best get out of this dress.  Remember to do laundry tomorrow.  After breakfast.  Did Barbara remember to change Judy’s diaper?  That’s why she was crying today.  Poor thing.  Too much.  It was just too much for her.  It was too much for her to take.  And so she cried.  Poor thing.  Cried and cried and eventually it got taken care of.  Eventually.  You lie in bed and close your eyes hoping to fall asleep before James comes back.  You try not to let any thoughts enter your mind, but this makes you think of all the things you have to do tomorrow: wake-up, brush teeth, dress, wake children, change Judy, feed Judy, feed the boys, feed James, change Judy, dress the boys, wash the whites, wash the dishes, play with the boys, change Judy, hang the whites, wash the colors, dry dishes, prepare lunch, feed Judy, feed James and the boys, change Judy, bathe Judy, dress Judy, fold the whites, hang the colors, wash the socks and undergarments, vacuum the rooms, make Judy take a nap, fold the colors, hang the socks and undergarments, start preparing dinner, thaw the meat, cut the vegetables, boil the water, preheat the oven, wake Judy, feed Judy, change Judy, do not dry out the roast, do not cut your fingers, separate and pair the socks and undergarments, feed James and the boys, feed Judy, change Judy, put Judy to bed, put the boys to bed, iron James’s shirt and pants for tomorrow morning, lay out your Sunday dress, clean the dishes, dry the dishes, and you always manage to forget several in-betweens.  James comes home.  Lying on your side, eyes closed, you hope he will think you are asleep.  You listen to him undress.  Then he pulls back the covers and lies down.  Your skin tenses as his hand runs along your ribs.  “I’d rather not.”  Did you say that aloud?  No.  Not you.  Even if, he did not hear.  He comes closer.  You press your eyelids tightly together as he pulls up your nightgown.  You try to get ready for him but with the fever and nausea you just cling tightly to the sheets and wait.  James wraps his arm around you.  Seconds turn to minutes.  Your focus goes elsewhere.  The windows were completely opaque as the second feature began.  Somewhere West.  No review.  James inched closer to you.  “Have you ever done anything like this before?” he asked you.  You lied.  He smiled.  You hesitated, but then smiled back.  You open your eyes afterwards.  “James.  Do you remember when you picked me up in that red car?”  He moans.  You focus on the silence.  In the darkness, eyes wide, you wait for something more.  The sounds of crickets singing outside in the grass, a light breeze against the blinds, the air is thick, cars pass by on Lewis, a low hum runs constant, a door closes.  As he rolls back to his side, you fix yourself and close your eyes.  “James,” you whisper one last time.  “I never liked that car.”