He wanted to know her plans for the future. Said it was never too early to have goals. She was embarrassed. She’d never really thought beyond graduating from the college of home economics, marrying someone with possibilities and having a couple of kids. “I’m going to work for a food magazine,” she said, trying to impress him. Working for a magazine sounded glamorous to her. She’d have to live in New York. She was pretty sure that’s where the magazines had their offices. Or she could commute.
By the time they began their descent into Newark, she had it all worked out in her head. She’d marry Steve Osner, work for a magazine in New York until they had children and live in Elizabeth, in the same pretty neighborhood as Steve’s parents, where the streets were named after poets—Kipling, Browning, Byron, Shelley. When she’d mentioned to Steve that she loved the names of the streets around his house Steve had seemed surprised. “Really?” he’d asked. “English poets?” Oh, well, the required freshman English lit course would fix that.
It had been a bumpy trip, and she was starting to feel queasy. “I don’t like it when I can’t see the ground,” she told Secretary Patterson.
He told her to focus on something straight ahead. Don’t look out the window. She figured he knew, being a former Secretary of War and all. So she focused on the fasten-seat-belt sign, willing herself not to give in to the waves of nausea rolling over her. Focus…focus…think about Steve, who’d be there when she landed. Should she give him a hug? Would that be too forward? “I actually hate it when I can’t see the ground,” she said.
Secretary Patterson took her hand. He smiled at her. “It will be okay,” he said in a very reassuring voice. She nodded. It would be okay.
Steve
Steve and Phil cut American history, their last class of the day, to meet Kathy at the airport. After umpteen years of American history they still hadn’t made it to World War II, never mind Korea. Phil borrowed his mother’s car that morning, a blue Ford convertible, but given today’s foggy, rainy weather, they couldn’t put the top down the way they’d planned. Who in their right minds would put the top down in the middle of January, anyway? Assuming Steve and Phil were in their right minds, and some people might dispute that, starting with their American history teacher.
He and Phil couldn’t wait until graduation. They already had summer jobs lined up at Shackamaxon Country Club as parking attendants. Both the Osners and the Steins were members. Maybe Phil’s cute cousin would spend time around the pool. Yeah, that’d be good. He wouldn’t mind getting a long look at Kathy in a bathing suit. Ever since they’d kissed on New Year’s Eve he’d been thinking about her. He and Phil were already trying to decide which fraternity to pledge when they got to Syracuse next fall. Kathy had given them the lowdown on each. Not that they’d know if they were accepted at the college until April, but with their grades, SAT scores and sports, they weren’t worried.
Newark Airport was just three miles from Jefferson High School. They hit some traffic on Route 1 because of the rain but they still made it in plenty of time. They parked in the airport lot, then ran from the car to the terminal. No umbrellas for them. Only pansies carried umbrellas, they told themselves, shaking the water off their heads. They planned to meet Kathy at the gate. Instead they met her mother, Phil’s aunt, who decided to pick up Kathy after all. “In this weather I didn’t want you boys to have to drive all the way to Perth Amboy, then back to Elizabeth.”
Steve tried to hide his disappointment. He’d had a different idea about how the afternoon would go, and it didn’t include Kathy’s mother.
Laura
Laura Barnes didn’t like this weather. She looked out the window of her first-floor apartment on South Street, holding the baby in her arms. Today’s flight was nothing, she reminded herself. Just a Convair 240 on a milk run. Something Tim had done hundreds of times. He could do it in his sleep. Not that he would, but still…On the kitchen radio Patti Page was singing “Tennessee Waltz.” Laura began to dance around with the baby in her arms. Heather squealed with delight. Laura paused again at the living room window. This fog is crazy, she thought. They never had fog in January. And all this rain. It must be the January thaw.
Her three-year-old was still napping. If only she could get the baby to sleep, she’d be able to rest her back, which was killing her. She was pregnant with their third child, expecting in July. She and Tim were both secretly hoping for a boy after two girls, though neither would admit it. On Valentine’s Day they’d be moving into their new house down the shore, with enough room for three children, not to mention two full baths. She’d never had her own bath—well, she’d be sharing with Tim, but still—a grown-ups only bathroom.