Becca (3 page)

“Or what I
might
do.
That’s it, isn’t it?”

“I have a
reason
to be concerned.”

“Oh, here we go again.
Let’s not talk about
that.
Please.”

“
That
is why I
need to know where you’ve been. You nearly ruined your life.”

At the sound of the body
moving and the heavy footfall, she put a foot on the next riser, but stopped.
It would do no good to climb the stairs; he would only follow. She stared up at
the door behind which her mother sat in bed.

“No,” she said, shaking
her head. “You’re wrong. I
did
ruin my life, and two others. But I had
help. You forget—”

“Don’t you talk to me
that way.” The voice moved closer—the Sir Walter Raleigh aroma slipped around
her like an unwanted coat. “Don’t you
dare
try and make any of it my
fault.” He said calmly, “It’s a ten minute drive from Barb’s to that station,
and a ten minute drive from there to here. Five minutes for gas. You’re missing
about a half hour.”

“I had to wait while the
guy finished another car.”

“So he was busy also?”

“No. I mean not like Mr.
Kline.”

“Hmmm. But you could sit
and wait at this other gas station but not at the Sunoco?”

“I had my oil checked and
my windshield cleaned—I hit a bug—”

“You’re telling me
because you hit a
bug
it took you longer to get home?”

“I was talking to the guy
there and I guess I lost track of time.”

“Who was he? What’s his
name?”

Her recollection of the
conversation wanted to bring a smile to her face, but she could not do that
now—although during her drive home a smile had been there until she opened the
front door. She could not get Bertram—Josh, whatever his name was—involved in
this, but she could not deny she had spoken to him. “His name was Josh.”

“You spent a half hour
talking to this Josh.”

“Yes. No. I drove around
for a little bit afterwards.” She had even considered returning to the gas
station, but she did not. Instead, she drove aimlessly for nearly ten minutes
trying to make sense of the conversation she’d had with Bertram. It had
invigorated her—and had rekindled a deep feeling of sadness at the same time.

“He must have been an
interesting young man.”

“He made me laugh.”

“A joker, too.”

“Dad, please.”

“Greg doesn’t make you
laugh? I’m not going to apologize about questioning you. You’re just now
getting yourself straightened out and I don’t want to think we’re going down
the wrong path again.”

“We? I thought it was all
my
fault. I’m the one who embarrassed you.”

“Stop it. You
know
I
won’t have you go through that again.”

“I’m not whoring around.”

He removed the pipe from
his mouth and jabbed it at her as he spoke. “That was your word, not mine.”

“But it’s what you think,
right? Because that’s what I
did.”
She sighed heavily. “My leg hurts,
I’m tired; I want to go to bed.”

I

Bert’s day started with
an Army recruiter trying to talk him into enlisting to avoid the inevitable
draft. Enlisting would offer him choices he would not have if he entered the
Army involuntarily. Soon, Bert would have to make a choice so he took the
recruiter’s card.

Early in the afternoon, a
car pulled to a stop at the pumps and the driver shut off the engine. The man
watched Bert as he approached the car from the office.

“Yes sir?” Bert asked.

The heavyset driver had a
moustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He regarded him curiously for a moment
before speaking. “Fill it up,” he said.

Bert inserted the nozzle
and started working on the windshield. The man watched him.

“Excuse me,” the man
said. “Who works Friday nights?”

Bert paused before he
answered. The man looked familiar, although Bert knew he had never seen him
before. “The manager usually,” he said.

“What’s the manager’s
name?”

“Carl.”

“Did he work last night?”
The man’s voice held a threatening tone.

“No.”

“Do you know a Josh?”

Bert felt a quick twinge
of apprehension but remained cool and hoped his reaction did not show. The man
had to be the father of the girl from last night. Bert could not remember
anything that he may have said that would have offended her, and if he had why
had she said that Josh had been the one? The girl did not want her father to
know she had talked to him. It would be easy for her father to find out no one
named Josh worked there.

Bert said, “Well, Josh
doesn’t really work here, but he was helping me last night.”

“Do you remember my
daughter stopping in here?”

“What does she look
like?”

“Green eyes, freckles—drives
a Mustang.”

“There was a Mustang in
here just as I was ready to close. I was in the office. Josh pumped her gas.”

The man studied him for a
moment. “What’s your name?”

“Bertram. Oh, man, did Josh
say something bad to her? Are you her father?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Josh took a long time
and he was talking to her. I’m sorry if he said anything wrong.”

The man seemed to be
surprised at this information, and he considered it before speaking. “I don’t
know what they talked about. I just wanted to know if she spoke to someone
here.”

“I’d get in trouble with
Carl if he found out I had someone pumping gas who didn’t work here.”

“So she was here maybe
fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Bert shrugged
nonchalantly. “Yeah.”

The pump clicked off and
Bert replaced the hose and took money from the man. “Check your oil, sir?”

The man shook his head.
“No thank you. Oh, one more thing, was she alone?”

Bert said, “Yeah.”

The man thanked him and drove off.

II

When she entered the
house, her mother sprang to her feet and came to her. Her father remained
seated, puffing harshly on his pipe. The Sir Walter Raleigh hung heavy in the
air. She set down her books and clutched her car keys tightly.

“Honey,” her mother said
and touched her arm gently. “Your dad wants to ask you something.”

Her eyes went to her
father. She tensed. “What’s wrong?”

Her father lit the pipe,
which gave off a pleasant aroma that hung in the air around him for a few
seconds before dissipating. He said, “You said you stopped at the Quick Oil
station and talked to a guy named Josh last night.”

“Yes.”

Her father watched her,
as if to catch an expression of guilt or worry. “Are you sure Josh was the name
of the guy you talked to?” He stared at her through another smoke cloud.

She felt her face flush.
“Yes.”

“You sure it wasn’t Bertram?”

“Bertram?” She tried not
to show her worry. “Who’s Bertram?”

“He was there last night
also.”

She shrunk under her
father’s gaze, but said, “You checked up on me.”

“I did.”

“So you know I told you
the truth.”

Her father paused before
speaking. A cloud of smoke arose from his pipe. “Bertram told me you spoke to
someone named Josh.”

She tried not to show her
relief. “So what is
this
all about then?”

“I’m not sure I believed
him.” Her father took the pipe from his mouth and used it as a pointer. “Listen
to me, Becky; I want to know if you were talking to Bertram rather than Josh.”

“Why?”

“Did you see someone else
at the station?”

Becca shrugged. “There
was somebody in the office.”

“Did you
see
him?”

“I didn’t pay attention.
What’s going on?”

“Bill,” Becca’s mother
interceded, “what’s wrong?”

“There was another young
man there last night. He said Josh and Becky spoke.” Bill said to Becca, “I’m
inclined to think you talked to Bertram.”

Becca tried to contain
her anger. “Why would you think that?” But she knew the answer.

“He reminded me of Alex.”

“What are you
talking
about?
Who’s Bertram? Please stop
talking about Alex!
”

“Don’t you raise your
voice to
me!”

“Then
please
stop
talking about Alex. It
hurts
to talk about him.”

“And it
should.
You
would have been living your life in shame right now and you know it.”

Becca smirked. “But I
would have been happy.”

Her father jammed the
pipe in his mouth and composed himself before speaking. “You…disappoint me. You
disappoint your mother.” He paused. “You’ll have a much better life with Greg,
Becky. He’s the right kind.”

“The right
kind?”
Becca
shook her head slowly. “The right kind.”

“He’s a fine young man,
and a perfect gentleman. He’s going places. You don’t need to mess around with
someone else.”

“Who am I messing around
with, Dad? Just because I talked to a guy at a gas station you think I’m going
to
mess around
with him?”

“You didn’t talk to
Bertram?”

“If he reminds you of
Alex, don’t you think I’d remember?” She felt a flood of emotion when she said
the name.

“Yes, and I also think it
would be reason for you to lie to me.” A heavy silence followed for a few
seconds, and he said, “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. But
I’d better not find out you were lying to me. I’ll not let you take up with
someone—”

She burst out in sobbing
laugh. “Take
up
with someone. Dad, why don’t you just say what you want
to say.”

“You want me to
say
it,
Becky? You don’t want to
hear
what I want say.”

“I’ve heard it before:
bitch, slut, whore—” Her father’s hand caught her cheek.

“
Bill
! Stop!” her
mother shouted.

“She’s She deserved
that!” To his daughter, Bill said, “You don’t
ever
talk to
me
that
way! Do you
hear me?”

Becca said nothing, but
looked at him through a haze of anger and hurt.

“Are you listening to
me?” His fingers touched her under her chin and raised her head.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“I don’t want you to put
your mother and me through it again. Do you hear me? Let’s just say this matter
is closed, okay?”

She nodded. Yes, close it. Like all the
other matters, they would close this way. Only there was never any
conclusion.

III

Bert was finishing his
lunch when his mother came up from the basement where she had started the wash.
She stood next to him, watching him eat, not saying anything for a full minute
until he looked up at her.

“What’s this?” She held
the recruiter’s card.

“A recruiter gave that to
me.”

“What for?”

“He wants me to enlist.”

“Oh, damn it, Bertram.
Why did he bother you, and why did you take his card?”

“It’s his job to bother
me.”

“I’ll call down to the
recruiting station and tell them to leave you alone. They have no right to talk
to you.”

“Mom, I can’t avoid the
draft. He wants me to consider my options.”

“No.” She shook her head.
“There’re a lot of other young men to go. Oh, honey, I can’t let them send you
to that country. You’re my baby.” She said down heavily on the chair next to
his and ruffled his hair. “My baby Bertram Leslie Martin Junior.”

“Mom, please.”

“You don’t like your
name? It’s a good name.”

“Mom—”

“When you were little you
asked why you had to have such a dumb name—Bertram. You said you hated your
name, and wanted to have a nice name like your brothers.

“Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
You asked me why you couldn’t have a Bible name like theirs. If their father
had survived the war I would have had a son—John Patrick Carter. But you are
Bertram Leslie Martin’s son. He was a fine man and you have his name.”

Her son did not know his
father because his father died when Bertram had been eight months old. “Oh, my,
he loved you so. He doted over you. And you look just like him.”

“How can that be?”

“What do you mean? He was
so handsome, just like you.”

“Yes, and was he light or
dark?”

“Bertram.” She touched
his hand then patted it.

He put his hand on top of
hers. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s not the name that
bothers you, is it.” She looked at him with a mother’s tenderness and touched
her fingertips to his face and his hair.

“People look at me like
I’m like a freak.”

“A handsome one.”

He saw his mother’s
smile, and knew she wanted one from him. He obliged her, but fleetingly. “It’s
tough. I’m like in between. You know am I—”

“Don’t say another word about that,” his
mother’s face grew stern. “You are what you are, honey. You don’t have to be
either, but you are part of both.”

IV

The A & P was busy
when Bert walked in. He didn’t need anything, but he had been thinking about
the girl in the Mustang and felt compelled to visit her. Something had passed
between them—they had connected, and he wanted to keep it going. She did not
notice him as he walked past her and again a few minutes later when he stood in
her line.

She wore a cheerful smile
on her face and she chatted with her customers as if she knew them all very
well. The man whose groceries she checked now asked her about a box of cereal
and so she asked for a price check. As she waited, her eyes met Bert’s eyes. A
hint of surprise passed over her face, and she looked away. She did not look at
him again until she took his items to ring up.

“Hello,” she said
courteously. “Find everything?”

“Yes,” he said. She did
not look at him now—as if she was suddenly self-conscious about their extended
conversation at the gas station a few nights ago.

“Sixty-nine cents,
please.” He handed her three quarters. “Thank you,” she said and returned him
his change. Her eyes met his this time and a small smile formed on her lips.
“Please come back again, on Wednesdays, Thursdays, or Fridays,” she said.

Bert nodded and smiled.
“I’ll try and remember that.”

“You should have written it down. Now run
along.”

V

The Mustang pulled into
the station. The girl was not driving this time. Bert thought the driver might
have been the man who had come in last week and asked about her, but it was someone
his own age. The driver was laughing, as if the girl had just told him a joke.
He stopped the car at the pumps and jumped out, and gave Bert the once over, as
if for a moment sizing him up. In that once-over, he exuded a self-assurance
that bordered on arrogance. Blond, blue-eyed, athletic, he was the epitome of
the all-American fair-haired boy.

“I’ve got use your
bathroom,” he said to Bert.

“It’s around the other
side of the building,” Bert said. “It’s unlocked.”

Bert walked to the car
where the girl sat listening to the radio and acting as if she did not see him.
She pulled down the visor mirror, craned her neck to raise her lips so she
could see their reflection, then pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and
went to work.

“You’re staring at me,”
she said, still looking in the visor mirror. After smacking her lips, a couple
of times she said, “Stop it.” She smacked her lips again, put her lipstick away,
and played with her bangs. “Still staring,” she said, not looking at him. “Only
I know you’re not staring at my legs.”