The Parting Gift(2)

Waiting for Blaine felt like an eternity. David wanted to get home, out of the mocking cheerful weather, and lock himself in his dark room, away from the rest of the world, so he could grieve properly and maybe sleep off his indignation, if it were possible. Somehow he knew it wouldn’t be. Already he could feel the anger making itself at home in his heart, filling the gap left by the loss of his wife.

Out of desperation, David fired up the pickup and laid his fist on the horn. The familiar uh-ooga pierced through the quiet and brought Blaine back to his feet as if the weight of his grief was fighting his every effort to rise. David watched him turn and shuffle blindly toward the truck. Despair was evident in the boy’s sagging shoulders, and his head hung low. Again, David’s heart went out to his son, but he said nothing as the boy pulled the heavy door open and crawled into the cab beside him. The words weren’t there, and silence seemed the only respectful choice.

The truck jolted forward as he shifted it into gear and rumbled down the road toward home, unutterable anguish hanging in the stifling hot air between them.

The long drive home in silence left time for the memories to stream through David’s mind. He remembered the first day he drove home in the brand new Model A. He had used the inheritance from his grandfather to purchase the pickup, a gift for their fourteenth anniversary. He had sounded the horn as he pulled up in front of their little house, bringing Emily running out to find him waving at her from the shiny green cab. She had laughed and clapped her hands with joy at his suggestion to go for a ride.

The sparkle in her green eyes and her wavy golden hair was as bright and true as the day they’d met. He had known even in that first moment that she was meant for him. Her crystal laugh and carefree love for life had drawn him immediately in and his bachelor’s resolve evaporated into thin air.

David had proposed to her on a warm fall day under a tall maple whose leaves had only begun to change. Emily had cried tears of happiness and had thrown her arms around his neck. The following spring they were married in the small country church Emily’s father had pastored her entire life. She carried a bouquet of her favorite spring lilies and her green eyes danced with the bliss they shared. He could still hear her whispering I love you into his ear as he lifted her into the rented carriage for their wedding trip.

He could still feel her warm tears on his neck when they lost their first child – a baby girl, little Naomi Grace; she had lived only two days.

He could still see her worried gaze when he brought her his conscription notice in trembling hands. “I’ll wait for you, Davey,” she had whispered at the train station and had stood waving on the platform until she was a tiny dot to him as the train rattled down the tracks toward New York and the ships that would take him to the war across the Atlantic. Those cursed Europeans and their irreconcilable conflicts had stolen two years with his beloved Emily.

He could still hear her laughter as she played with newborn Blaine. After five years of trying, he had come along to fill their hearts with joy unspeakable. How Emily had loved him.

Now here he was slumped against the door, the light gone. God, you’ve let us down, David thought, and the fury tightened in his chest again, taking a deep root there.

The truck squealed unhappily as it turned down the street toward the little house. David brought it grumbling to a stop in front of the fenced yard and killed the engine. He released a heavy sigh and looked at the forlorn house. Not a home anymore.

“Come on then,” he muttered. David stepped out of the truck and slammed the heavy door. Then he strode to the passenger side and opened the door for his son. Blaine didn’t move right away. He seemed so small and frail there all alone in the truck. Instinctively, David reached in and lifted him into his arms then carried the boy to the house, up the narrow stairwell and into his dark room.

He laid his son on the bed and sat beside him for a moment, stroking his golden hair. Something needed to be said. Some words to comfort him, to let him know his father understood his pain, but none came to mind. When David opened his mouth to speak, the words caught dry in his throat, choking him. He coughed and stood to leave.

As he walked to the door, the one thing he could manage to say was, “Get a good rest, son. School tomorrow.” Then he turned and stalked back down the stairs cursing himself.

David couldn’t even convince himself they were going to be okay. How was he going to convince his eleven-year-old son?



****



Detroit, June 1940



“Blaine!” David pounded on the door. “Come on, Blaine! You’ll be late for school!”

There was silence on the other side of the door. A frigid silence, like the kind that haunted David at night when he was alone. A sudden fear shot through him, and he grasped the knob and forced the door open. “Blaine?” he pleaded with his heart in his throat. The lump under the quilt shifted slightly. David exhaled in relief at first, but his confrontation with the fear catapulted him into a rage.

“Boy! If your dogs don’t hit the kitchen floor in one minute, I’m going to take the belt to you!”

A groan floated out in answer. David grabbed all the bedding and his son together in one fell swoop and delivered him blankets and all to the cold wood floor.

“Dad! Come on! I’m joed. Let a fella sleep, would ya?”

“No, sir! School!”

“School!” he flared, jumping to his feet. “School! Are you kidding me? Nobody cares about school, Dad! Most of the guys my age have left to work at the plant. The only people left are the dames and the brains.”