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Even on a platform swarming with people—pushing carts piled with luggage, shouting to be heard above the departing train’s whistle, weaving through the crowd—Avis felt completely alone.
She watched as Russell stepped into the passenger car, one of the few men not decked out in army drab but more handsome than any of them. Today, his step was jaunty, and the good-bye he’d given her had come off more like he was going off to summer camp than a coast guard auxiliary force.
Dodging the passengers and their farewells, Avis stumbledin her best heels down the platform, keeping pace with her husband. Just one last look. That would help, surely.
Inside, the passenger car was crammed full, glass panes showing men waving and shouting. One fellow with an army cap over his forehead actually leaned out the window to kiss his sweetheart, standing on tiptoe to meet his lips. Avis blushed just watching the stares and whistles others gave them.
Thankfully, Russell was content to polish the dirty pane and wave at her as the train pulled away. That was all she could manage while keeping the bright smile on her face.
It would be all right. Itwould.
They’d discussed the picket patrol three separate times in the week after the dance. Each time, Avis had brought up a different objection. What if his stable, steady job at the bank wasn’t waiting for him when he came home? Would being the coxswain on the rowing team in college and some fishing with Herb really count as sailing experience? How would they get by on the lower salary?
Each time, Russell had a ready and patient answer. Mr. Bloomsbury would recommend him elsewhere if there were no positions open. The picket patrol had already sent him a preliminary acceptance. With their savings, a pay cut would be almost unnoticeable for three months.
Never again had she mentioned her father’s indiscretions, but the words she’d spoken in fear were always there, lurking in the background.
When she had no reasons left, she’d finally said, “Russ, you know I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duty.”
“Are you sure?” he’d asked, looking surprised.
And then she’d told the biggest lie of her life. “Of course. In fact, I-I’m glad you have this opportunity.”
She’d given him a chance to say he would stay, that she was more important than anything.
But he hadn’t taken it.
Maybe he was so excited that he genuinely didn’t notice her moodiness as he packed and planned—or maybe he had and avoided bringing it up, knowing that doing so might ruin his chance at freedom and adventure.
To make matters worse, the morning of Russell’s departure, she’d woken to the telltale signs of what her mother had obliquely called the curse and dissolved into tears in the bathroom. After applying her Kotex and washing her face, she’d rallied enough to make Russell a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs for his journey, not a scrap of Shredded Wheat in sight.
It had been a silly hope, but she hadn’t realized how she’d held on to it in the corners of her mind: if she had been pregnant this time, Russell would surely stay home—to care for her, paint the nursery, prepare to welcome their child. Wouldn’t he?
But then you’d have to give up the library, she reminded herself. Her mother and others had reluctantly agreed that married women might join the workforce in these unprecedented times, but Avis knew she couldn’t bear the gossip she’d face if she kept her job as a young mother.
As she drove home from the station, Avis kept her eyes on the road, refusing to let them blur with tears.You were the one who gave him permission to go, she reminded herself.
Maybe, three months from now, he’d realize what a good, selfless wife she’d been, and Russell would return as his old self. Then they could be happy again.
At home, Avis tried to readPygmalion, but she could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock thundering like gunfire in the quiet. And when she turned on the radio to cover it up, it was another report about the war.
No Russell to ask her what was for dinner, to grunt his agreement or disagreement with editorials in the newspaper, to snore lightly into the night. Even looking at his empty chair and the bare place on the hat rack where his fedora usually rested brought a wave of melancholy.
Without pausing to reconsider, she took up her raincoat and tucked the play’s thin volume into her satchel. Nine o’clock. Too late to be out and about, but she wouldn’t be driving, adding to the lights that made their coast such a target.
All she knew was that she couldn’t spend another moment in that too-quiet house, with its reminders of Russell all around.
The library offered a welcome shelter from the pelting drizzle of the street. There, with only a small gooseneck lamp turned on to comply with blackout restrictions, Avis could feel—well, if not peace, then at least the quiet, nonjudgmental watching of a million printed pages.
Surrounded by work and numbers and checklists, she didn’t realize how late it was, or how tired she was when she took a short rest in the armchair, her eyes fluttering shut.
All she focused on was forgetting. Just for a little while.
Russell would be back after three months. He’d promised.
But alone in the shadowed silence, it was difficult to believe him.
From Russell to Avis
