I glance up at Roy, confused, when we stop at a home just past the library.
He motions toward the house, his sweaty hand taking mine with his. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What is it?” I ask him. “Why’re we here?”
“My father said they are going to tear down this old shack.”
With its crooked shutters, chipped paint, caved-in roof, I can understand why. No one’s lived here for years, and Ma doesn’t go a day without complaining ’bout its drab looks and how it’s bad for our little town.
I nod in agreement.
“But,” he says, “I’ve been squirreling away my pennies, and I’ve enough to save her.”
A cool heat rushes me, but I’m not sure how that’s possible. I wipe a strand of hair from my face. “You’re buying this here house?”
“I am,” he says, his Adam’s apple bouncing again. “For you and me. Our house.” Roy keeps talking before I can get a word—or thought—in. “Bonnelyn…” He trails off, digs into his pocket. “Here’s another one for your jar.”
My eyes light up, recognizing one of Roy’s infamous black-and-white doodles.
It’s our church.
It’s Roy.
It’s me, in a puffy dress.
I look up from the doodle. It’s Roy no longer standing in front of me but down on one knee.
“Bonnelyn Elizabeth Parker,” he says, “I’m fixin’ to take you down the middle aisle.”
I knit my brows. “Are you proposing?”
“Well I ain’t down here to tie my shoe.”
I’d laugh, but I’m stunned. Marriage? With Roy? I swallow, and stare at the drawing, his lovely, heartfelt drawing.
Sure, marrying Roy has always been in the cards. But … I’m not sure I’m ready yet. Some people wait ’til their twenties to get married, in today’s day and age, giving ’em plenty of time to make their own mark.
Roy taps the underside of my chin, forcing my gaze away from his doodle and down to him.
“I … um … I’m flattered Roy. I am. But we’re only seventeen—”
“Not now.” He stands slowly and palms my cheek that’s probably as flushed as his own. “We’ve got some growing up to do first. I know you got dreams for yourself.”
I sigh, in a good way. Hearing him acknowledge my goals relaxes me. Those jitterbugs change a smidge to butterflies. “You really want to marry me?”
“I do, Bonn.” Roy leans down, quite the feat to my five-foot-nothin’ height, and presses his lips lightly to mine. “When we’re good and ready. You tell me when, and that’ll be it. We’ll create a life together. How does that sound?”
I smile, even while my chest rises from a shaky breath. I curse my nerves for dulling my excitement. My boyfriend declaring he’s ready to build a life with me shouldn’t give me the heebie-jeebies. It doesn’t, I decide.
“We’ll finish school,” Roy says.
I force my smile wider.
“I’ll get a good-paying job as a reporter,” he goes on. “You can become a teacher, like you’ve always wanted. You can lead the drama club, be onstage, do pageants with our little girls.”
Now my grin is genuine. “We’re going to have little girls?”
“Of course. A little fella, too. ’Til then, I’ll fix this house up. She’ll be spiffy when I’m done with her, white picket fence and everything.”
“You think?”
“I know it.” He dips to my eye level. “You’re happy, right?”
Am I happy? I roll those five letters ’round my head. Yes, I’ve been stuck on Roy for ages. He made me happy when we were seven and he picked me dandelions, when we were ten and he stopped Buster from making me kiss a frog, when we were thirteen and he patched up my knee after I fell off my bike. The memories keep on coming, and I don’t want that happiness to stop. His proposal caught me off guard, that’s all. But, yes, we’ll make something of ourselves, and we’ll do it together.
I lean onto my tiptoes and peck his lips with a kiss. “Roy Thornton, I’d be honored to be your wife one day.”
He hoots, swooping his arms under me. Before I know it, I’m cradled against his chest and we’re swinging in a circle.
I scream, but it’s playful. “You better not drop me, you clumsy fool.”
He answers me with a kiss on the side of my head, and then another and another, as he carries me toward my ma’s house.
Freeze, I think. I don’t want the secure way he holds me, the way the air catches my skirt, the hope for what’s to come, to stop, ever.
2
Yesterday the excitement of Roy’s proposal followed me home, Little Billie wanting to know every last detail, and today the hullabaloo stays with me as I slip into my corner of the library, my little nook where I disappear into the pages of a book. I love them all: stories of war, where passion and desire still bloom; tales of wild inhibitions and reckless romances; and one of my favorites, a novel of how a sultan’s daughter leaves her life behind in pursuit of true love, of her soul mate.
I hold the worn copy over my heart and stretch my numb legs out from under me. Between high rows of books, there’s no better place to daydream—’bout Roy. I’m surprised I didn’t think much ’bout being his wife before yesterday. Maybe ’cause things have always been comfortable, moving ahead one day at a time, never disturbed. I figured I’d get to being his wife at some point in time. That doodle sure did the trick to hurry it up. I smile, I do, ’cause this is a good thing, marrying someone I’ve known my whole life. No surprises. Safety. Always there for each other, like the time Roy got his first scar.
We were down by the river, Roy swinging on a rope. He shouldn’t have been. Roy is as nimble as a bull. A branch sliced him, without him even knowing it at the time. When Roy surfaced, a trail of red ran over his jaw, down his neck. The water was cold that day and I refused to go in. But when I thought he was hurt, I splashed in, fully dressed.
No point marrying a man you wouldn’t catch a cold for.
I peer through a gap in the bookcase at the wall clock and sigh, disappointed it’s time for work but also anxious to get there. During the week, Mr. Banks normally lets me work a twelve, but not today. The diner being slow means he needs fewer girls on the floor, which means coming in late morning, and that’s costing me tips. Money I could be putting toward our overdue electric bill.
I drag my feet as I make my way to the door and wave to Mrs. Davis, who’s bent over her desk reading a book, her oversize eyeglasses low on her nose.
Next door to the library, my bike leans against our shabby fence. Fixing my ankle-length skirt, I settle on the seat. It’s not even noon and heat is pooling on the dirt road. The sun beats down on my shoulders and the hot dust kicks up each time my feet go ’round.