Bloodline(38)

Deck’s look of surprised delight washes away the stickiest of my concerns. He strides over and kisses me on the mouth. My pulse flutters. He’s growing his hair out, wearing it like his father’s, combed back with Brylcreem (a little dab’ll do ya!). A red scrap of tissue marks where he’s cut himself shaving. He’s wearing a suit, as his father demands, and he is so striking it makes my heart clutch.

“This food looks great!”

“I woke up early to make it,” I say, hoping he notices that I’ve also put on makeup and set my hair. “I wanted to do something special for you.”

He slides into his seat at the head of the table. “Thanks, doll.”

My appetite hasn’t returned, so I sit in the chair next to him and reach for my coffee. I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He piles the eggs high on a corner of toast and tips them into his mouth, chewing loudly. Has his jaw always clicked like that?

“Quite a storm last night,” I say. “You weren’t home yet when I went to bed. Was it still rolling when you got back?”

He shrugs but doesn’t respond.

“I had some fun at the Mothers’ meeting,” I say, when the silence grows too heavy.

It’s a lie, but only a white lie.

His mouth is full, so he doesn’t answer right away. When he takes a breath to reach for the salt, he says, “I’m glad to hear it. Does that mean you’re gonna join them?”

I stare into the filmy brown surface of my mug. “I’m considering it. I learned about Johann Lily and his wife Minna last night.” I take a sip of my coffee, then add more whitener. “They founded Lilydale and the Fathers and Mothers. Did you know that?”

He picks up his knife and reaches for the jelly. Grape on heavily buttered toast is his favorite. “That sounds right.”

“I tried to find out more from the other women, but they didn’t seem to want to talk about Johann much. Or the history of the Fathers and Mothers. I think I’m going to research it.”

Deck’s face goes pale. He clutches at his throat.

I stand, knocking my coffee cup, splashing some into the saucer. “Are you okay?”

He reaches for his glass of milk and tips it to his mouth. There is a strained gurgle as the wad of food fights back before flushing down his throat. He sucks in air.

“Bit off more than I could chew,” he says, coughing and running his hand through his hair. I notice it’s shaking. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Joanie. The draft board is convening next week. We need to be on our best behavior. I don’t want to end up in Vietnam.”

I return to my chair, pouring coffee from the saucer back into the mug before refilling his milk. “But your dad’s the head of the draft board.”

He rests his hand on my wrist. “Yeah, but we need to be on the straight and narrow. I don’t wanna take any chances. Do you?”

“You know I don’t, Deck. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to move here.”

He rubs his face with a paper napkin. “Is it?”

I feel us slipping into a fight that’s opened like a sinkhole in the dining room. But I don’t know where it’s coming from. I went to the meeting last night. I made him breakfast. “You know it is.”

He’s staring at me, so serious. So handsome. “Joan, you moved because you got mugged and you were scared. Sometimes I don’t even know if you love me.”

I jump to my feet and hurry to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. “You’re everything to me.”

As I kiss the back of his neck, I realize that statement is truer than I’m comfortable with. Without him, I’m lost in Lilydale.

Alone.

Unprotected.

He pats my hand, pulling me around to sit in his lap. His eyes are swollen. Maybe tears are almost brimming. Maybe it’s because he just choked.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Deck says. “When we talk about the war, I feel my whole life slipping away. Dad says we’re probably safe as long as we’re in Lilydale. You like it here, don’t you?”

“I’m getting used to it,” I say. I stand, or at least try to, but he yanks me back into his lap. He kisses me until I go soft and melty, then he pulls away too soon.

“I’m just a little homesick for the Cities,” I say, straightening my hair. It sounds like a reasonable explanation for all my moods as of late. “I need some Ursula time, maybe a visit to the paper.” I mean to say coffee with Benjamin, but it doesn’t come out that way. “You think that’d be okay?”

His face lights up, smile crinkles appearing at the edge of each eye. “Yeah, I think that’s a grand idea. We’ll figure out a day that works for you to take the car. Or better yet, maybe Ursula could visit you here.”

I nod. “Sure, maybe she could.”

He lets me stand this time, hugging me so my belly is pressed against his head.

That’s when the baby kicks.

For the first time.

I squeal. It is simultaneously the most terrifying and thrilling sensation. I thought I’d feel claustrophobic when I first felt the baby move, but instead I am six feet tall and bulletproof. “Deck! Did you feel that?”

“Was that the baby?” His eyes are dewy and wide.

“Yes!” I put his hand on my stomach and we both wait, but our son—Deck is positive we’re having a boy—isn’t interested in a repeat performance. Deck and I are grinning at each other like fools.