The House of Eve (82)
“That’s probably for the best. Can’t ever be too careful, ’specially with your history.”
Eleanor cringed. “You’re right.”
“Well, maybe I can come down and see you.”
Eleanor could hear the longing in her mother’s voice. She would have loved nothing more than to have her mother comb her hair, bake her a pound cake and pull her head into her lap.
“Mama, we agreed that it was best you come after the baby is born in January. That’s when I’ll really need you here. And you can stay longer. We are living in a construction zone right now, with the baby’s room being set up.”
“You doing all that for a baby who ain’t gonna remember much of anything.”
“Well, Rose insisted, and I’m just trying to keep the peace.”
Her mother tsked her teeth. “Is she still all up in your business?”
Eleanor didn’t want there to be tension between the sets of parents, so she lied, again. “No, she’s simmered down quite a bit.”
“Well, I called you this late ’cause the rates drop, but that don’t make it free. I better go on and check on those apple pies in the oven.”
Eleanor badly wanted to be able to tell her mother the truth about everything. Instead, they bid each other so long, but Eleanor clutched the phone well after the howler tone howled.
* * *
When Eleanor woke up the next morning, William was beside her in bed. She cuddled up to him and put her head on his chest. She loved listening to the sound of his heartbeat. He stroked her head, and then pulled her face to his and kissed her.
“Good morning.”
“I miss this. Waking up to you.”
“I do too.” He traced his fingers down the side of her neck.
“Don’t leave me.” She climbed on top of him and ran her tongue along the edge of his ear.
“Baby,” he exhaled, and then his hands were everywhere. He gripped Eleanor’s hips and guided them toward his. They clung, sweating against each other as she locked her legs around his. After several breathless rolls and thrusts, William groaned and then collapsed against his pillow.
“I can’t wait until my residency is over, so I can have more of you,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. Her hair was damp against her forehead and her body tingled everywhere.
“Don’t go to the engagement party.” She ran her fingers across his stomach.
“I have to. You know that.”
“Then I’m going with you.” Eleanor threw the covers back off her feet and traipsed naked over to her closet.
“Elly, you can’t,” William stammered. “It’s too risky.”
“I’ll be careful. Stay back at the hotel with my feet up while you go to the celebration. You can say that I’m resting.”
William crossed the room and reached for her. “Baby, I’d love for you to come. Nothing would make me happier, but we are so close to pulling this off. It’s just a few weeks more.”
Eleanor knew that William was right. But she couldn’t endure being alone for days at a time again. Not over a holiday. Not with Greta Hepburn prancing around waiting to sink her claws into William. She wanted him to stay with her, she wanted William to choose her, but she said none of this as they showered together and as she watched him dress.
William swept her up in his arms, kissed her lips and then rested his forehead against hers.
“Hey, don’t look so down. I’ll be back on Saturday and we’ll have our Thanksgiving dinner then. Keep my side of the bed warm for me.” He squeezed her hand, and then she watched the back she loved so much move away from her and into his world, the one where she still didn’t belong.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE SECRETS GIRLS KEEP
Ruby
Clara hadn’t been returned to the Gingerbread House after she was taken to the hospital. Rumors swirled around, but the consensus was that she had tried to kill herself in the shaming room. Loretta said she had it on good authority that she had tied her shirt around her neck and tried to hang herself but only succeeded in passing out. Mother Margaret never said a word about Clara, but she did yell and lecture on Bubbles and Gertrude, who had somehow successfully escaped through the basement window. And Mother Margaret was madder than a pissed-on chicken.
The walls around our little prison were erected even higher. We were counted like preschoolers, our movements restricted. A guard was hired to walk the outside premises, and we were no longer allowed to return to our rooms throughout the day. We even needed permission to go to the toilet. All of the Gingerbread House girls were questioned several times, but Loretta and I stuck to our story.
“She must have slipped out in the middle of the night while we were sleeping. No, I don’t think she had the baby.”
No one expected anything from Georgia Mae, who got rid of the bloody sheets and afterbirth on garbage day. She had restored our attic room with no evidence that anything had happened.
Under our new confined system, the days drifted even more slowly than they had before. Things were even more miserable without Bubbles to make us laugh. I thought of her often. She was so brave to keep her baby and deal with the consequences; I’d never be that brave. Was I doing the right thing by giving my baby up? Should I have leaped from Mrs. Shapiro’s car with Shimmy and run away with him? I’d been so focused on going to college and making something of myself that I never entertained that I could be like Bubbles and fight to have it all. But as quickly as these thoughts came, I shoved them to the back of my mind and locked them away. It was the only way I could get through this.