I swallow, realizing at the last moment that the song’s chorus is beginning. I drop my gaze and sing, “I’ve found a new baby, a sweet honey boy.”
When I look back up, I train my eyes toward the bar. Roy is still clapping, and I remind myself how good it is that he’s here and that we’re working toward the life I’ve always wanted. I smile at Roy, and belt out, “His new kind of lovin’ has made me his slave.”
Blanche appears behind Roy, working the bar, and Buck and Clyde saddle up to bar stools beside him. I can’t help myself from sneaking a peek at Clyde. He’s turned just like Roy, with his back to the bar, watching me perform.
I grasp the microphone with both hands. “His sweet turtle-dovin’ is all that I crave.”
For the rest of the song, I engage with the dancers, gesturing and smiling and shimmying, and I fight the fear that if I were to glance again at the bar, my gaze would fall on Clyde before Roy.
When it’s time to step away from the microphone and into the cheering crowd, I delay my return to the bar by gathering glasses from the poker tables. With my arms full, I use my shoulder to wipe a loose strand of hair from my face and slowly breathe out. That’s when I see Roy and Clyde talking.
I don’t know why it sets me on edge, like I’ve gone and done something wrong, but my palms grow sweaty against the glass surfaces. I duck beneath the bar’s partition.
“Bonn!” Blanche shouts. “That was fantastic, as usual.”
I smile, pausing a heartbeat before focusing on Roy. “Seriously, Bonn,” he says. “That sure takes it up a notch from what you do on Sundays.”
As I stare straight at Roy, an out-of-focus Clyde sits next to him, dimples I didn’t notice before still recognizable on either side of a sly smile.
I don’t acknowledge Clyde. It’s stupid of me. There’s no reason not to introduce myself. He’s Buck’s brother, not some random fella. Technically, we’ve already met, and in a life-and-death situation, no less. But instead of being sane and extending my hand and offering Clyde a friendly smile, I say, “I got to get these glasses clean,” and turn on my heel.
With each step into the back room, past the bathtubs, to the sink, I mentally chastise myself for being so rude.
“Bonn?” Blanche says, behind me, and I jump, nearly dropping the glasses.
“Blanche, don’t you sneak up on me like that.”
She raises her hands. “Blanche ain’t sneaking. I just wanted to come see how things are going with your ma, with Roy, and um, maybe see why you ran away like a bat out of hell. I was going to introduce you to Buck’s brother, then wham, no more Bonn.”
I concentrate more than needed on setting the glasses down next to the sink, flip on the water. “My ma is doing okay. Still waiting on an update from Doc Peterson. It’s fine, though; she’s obsessed with planning the wedding.” I keep on talking, staring at the wall, barely taking a breath. “Roy is good—surprisingly, really good. He seems like a natural. Here at Doc’s, I mean. And he’s been treating me like a doll. Been working on the house…” I trail off, knowing I’m babbling.
“That all sounds nifty, Bonn,” she says, and I startle again. Blanche is now standing beside me. “But that water’s been running for a while and all those glasses are still dirty. So—and I’m no genius—I think something else is clogging up your pretty li’l brain. Does it have anything to do with how your eyes quit working and couldn’t turn in Clyde’s direction?”
“You ain’t as dumb as you think you are.”
Her hand flies to her hip, elbow bent. “Now, I never said I was a dumb Dora. I only said I’m no genius.” She chuckles at herself, then her laugh lines disappear. “Okay, so Clyde.”
“So Clyde.” I wring my hands together. I already let one non-Roy distract me, and I saw how good that turned out. “I think it’d be best if I kept my distance from him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something ’bout Clyde, and with the wedding in a few days—”
“Bonn,” she says, and taps me with her hip. I stumble to the side. She reaches for a glass, puts it under the faucet. “It’s okay. Just keep your finger to yourself then.”
I chuckle at her nonsensical response. “For someone so smart, you seem to have forgotten to use soap to clean those glasses.”
She splashes me. “Go make sure your fiancé is enjoying himself. I doubt Clyde will still be here.”
“You think he left already?”
She bobs her head. “Most likely. He doesn’t have much reason to stay, now.”
I cock my head at her, but she ushers me back into the main room. There’s no Clyde—or Roy. I knit my brows, not able to stop the nerves churning inside of me, the worry that Roy could be having it out with Clyde somewhere. But why would he? This is my insecurity talking. Pre-wedding jitters.
I survey the room, peering ’round the dancers, and exhale, finding Roy at a poker table, Clyde nowhere in sight.
That’s a good thing, I tell myself, and close the book on Clyde Barrow.
21
Buster uses his good hand to fidget with his bow tie. I swat him.
“Stop that. You’ll only mess it up.”
“It’s too tight.” He smiles at me, crow’s-feet appearing next to his eyes. “How come I’m the nervous one?”
“I’m good and nervous,” I say, smoothing my hands down Ma’s old wedding gown. I chew my bottom lip, looking at the church’s double door I’m set to walk through, as soon as the music begins.
Marrying Roy was always in the plan, I suppose. But after almost losing him, after almost losing the only love I’ve ever known, “one day” simply became “now.” It was desperate of me to use my ma’s sickness to lure Roy back. It was compulsive of me to tell Roy I’m ready to marry him, while sitting at her bedside. Yet, here we are, no more distractions or roadblocks, and marrying Roy feels like a necessity to fixin’ things, if I want a chance for those doodles that sat atop my bureau my whole life to come true. There’s no way I’m letting some devil-may-care boy lure me away again.
It doesn’t matter how Roy and I got to the point, just that we’re here. I’m ready to become Mrs. Roy Thornton.
“Hey,” Buster says, holding out his bandaged arm. “Help me out of this.”
“You don’t need the cast?”
“I’ll be okay for today.”
“Does that mean you’ll be back at the plant soon?”
Buster laughs.
“What?” I didn’t mean for the question to come out sounding so desperate. I slide the soft cast off his arm. “Of course I’ll still help Ma out with money, but I’ll have a duty to Roy now, too.”
“I was thinkin’ I may try my luck with duck.”
My eyes widen. “You think you’re going to support our family shooting duck? Buster, I can’t believe—”
“Oh, Bonnelyn, you make it too easy. I’m only razzing you. Been having some thoughts recently ’bout getting a job as a broker.”