Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory #2)(71)

~21~

A Time of War





1958


Irene Honeycutt slid onto the high stool and leaned on the bar, pressing her hot face into her hands. She had felt nauseous all day, and though her stomach rumbled hungrily, she was afraid to eat. She’d been careful to stay away from anything that might make her gain weight too fast, although her clothes were already starting to pull across the chest and her fitted skirts showed the slight swell at her hips and lower belly. She hadn’t told anyone about the mess she was in -- not her daddy or Nana. She hadn’t even told Roger. But she was so hungry, and the smell of the grill was more than she could take.

She had pled sick when Roger had suggested a day at the reservoir with all their friends. It was just so hot -- and swimsuits were too revealing. She had tried to sleep in this morning, tried to pamper herself and listen to her favorite records to keep her mind from dwelling on her troubles. Nana had taken Lizzie for some shopping. Lizzie was growing like a weed, and school would be starting up soon. Irene’s senior year was approaching, yet she wouldn’t be attending school. Girls who got pregnant got married. She would be getting married too. The thought should cheer her. She had always dreamed of her wedding day. She knew Daddy would give her a big wedding, regardless of her condition. She would buy a beautiful dress, and they would have the wedding in the yard at home. The backyard flower garden would be the perfect back drop. Roger would look handsome in his black tuxedo. Everything would be fine. Daddy would make sure of that.

So why did Irene feel like her life was ending, like her whole world was crumbling around her feet? She mopped at her forehead and tried to ignore her rumbling stomach as she requested a glass of water and a chicken sandwich with no mayo, cheese or bread.

“You want a chicken sandwich without the bread?” Val asked, his tone incredulous.

“Yes, please,” Irene spoke primly, not making eye contact. “Just chicken, lettuce, and tomato.” He grumbled under his breath about skinny girls getting skinnier.

“And a side of fries!” Irene burst out, succumbing to the mouth watering smell of salty grease. Her stomach rejoiced, and her pulse quickened in anticipation of the treat.

Val chuckled but inclined his head, acknowledging that he had heard her. Irene sneaked a look at the other customers sitting at the bar, hoping they hadn’t noticed her moment of weakness.

Billy Kinross sat a few seats down, but no one sat between them, and he shot a curious look down the bar before looking away shyly.

“The fries aren’t for me,” Irene offered, as if he cared. She could kick herself! Now she wouldn’t be able to eat them! She felt like bursting into tears. Val slid a cardboard sleeve of fries in front of her and Irene stared at them remorsefully. She shot another look at Billy, who she discovered was watching her.

Billy Kinross smiled at her and looked away again. He was cute, Irene noted with surprise. His hair was short and dark, his skin brown with his summer tan. His eyes behind his glasses were chocolaty with the thick lashes that were wasted on boys. He had a smattering of freckles on his nose and a hint of a dimple in his chin that was identical to Johnny’s. She had never really looked at him before. Johnny had such a presence that when he was around nobody spared a glance at his younger brother. And Billy was young...only fourteen or fifteen. She was probably three years older than he was, and that was light years when you were a teen-aged girl.

“You should probably eat them,” Billy offered suddenly, turning back toward her as if he had dared himself to do it.

“Why?” Irene countered, flirting in spite of herself.

“They’ll get cold while you eat your sandwich, and then they won’t be any good anyway.”

Irene looked around her again, just as she had done moments before, checking who was in the diner. Nobody who ran in her crowd was there. They were all still at the lake.

“I can’t eat them all myself,” Irene lied prettily. “Do you want some?”

Billy looked stunned, but wasted no time sliding down the bar and onto the stool that was empty beside her. Irene slid the hot fries between them and shot Val a smile as he delivered her chicken “sandwich.” She dug in without a word, trying to eat like a lady, but hungry in a way she hadn’t been hungry before. The first three months she had had little appetite; everything had made her stomach roil. But in the last week or so, her appetite had returned with a vengeance, and hunger had become almost painful.

It took her a minute to realize Billy wasn’t eating, and she glanced at him, shamefaced. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really,” he smiled sheepishly. “I already ate. I just wanted to sit by you.” His cheeks grew rosy under his tan.

Irene beamed at him, and warmth flooded her chest. He was so sweet. Then she remembered. The smile faded from her lips, and her appetite fled. What was she doing? In only a matter of weeks, she would be planning her wedding. In only weeks everyone would know...and she was acting like a fool. Tears filled her eyes, and her stomach rebelled against the food she had filled it with.

Billy saw her distress and reached out tentatively, touching her arm. “Are you okay, Irene?”

Irene mumbled something about being perfectly fine when a voice rang out behind them.

“She’s a little old for you, Billy Boy.” Roger Carlton stood in the doorway of the diner, his brown hair slightly rumpled, his skin brown and his nose slightly burnt from the day he had spent in the sun. Irene saw the whole gang spilling out of cars in the parking lot. She had been caught faking sick. She shrugged, unable to muster the energy to care.