She must have exhaled too loudly, though she hadn’t felt the release. Or maybe it was simply the sense of being watched, but Roger’s head jerked up suddenly, and he screamed, a strange, high pitched cry that had Maggie flying up and out of the chair to cower in the corner.
“It’s you!” Roger hugged the wall like a jumper on a ledge, easing around the room toward her. She had to get out of there, but could she run screaming through the house? She didn’t know why she was here or what year it was. If Irene and Roger were living in the house it was after Irene’s father had passed, after Billy had died and Johnny became trapped in Purgatory. She felt for something to shield herself with as Roger crept steadily closer.
“Are you some kind of a witch?” he breathed, his green eyes wide with fear and fascination. He poked at her with his foot. His shoe was pointed, and he shoved it into her as if she were an animal on the side of the road. She curled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around them, closing her eyes and willing herself home. She pictured Johnny in this very room, as she had seen him only hours earlier. The kiss that they’d shared, and the heat of his hands.
Roger kicked her. And then again. She cried out but kept her eyes squeezed shut and prayed for deliverance. She pictured the room, the pictures on her walls, the blanket on her bed, the fat yellow rug on her floor.
“I’m talking to you, witch! What are you doing in my house?” She felt his hands on her throat. He was pushing her back into the wall, forcing her head up. Her eyes popped open as he bore down on her, choking her, his eyes crazed yet eerily flat. The green was all one shade, without the striations of color and the golden flecks that made up the human eye. It was as if a child had taken a light green crayon and colored them in. Little spots of white started to flicker at the edges of Maggie’s vision. He was going to kill her.
Then she remembered the pendant around her neck. She released Roger’s hands and felt for the medal. She rubbed at it desperately.
“Johnny!” she gurgled, gripping the necklace Johnny had given her for protection. And then she recognized the sensation, almost like a carnival ride, of being pressed by centrifugal force into the wall behind her. Then she was falling away from Roger’s hands as the air was forced out of her lungs and the pressure built inside her until she was no longer conscious.
~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.