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Authors: Patricia Hagan
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felt driven to confide everything to him. He had written her back that he understood—even though he didn't—and warned her she was playing with fire but wished her well.
His letter had opened the door for Sara to unload all her problems and she had written often after that. She told him the reason why she had married Tim Speight right after graduation. She and Dewey agreed she could not spend her life living for stolen moments, and, most importantly, she wanted children and a home of her own. Tim seemed to be the kind of guy parents hoped their daughters would marry. He had a good job in the steel mill in Birmingham and the future looked bright. The only thing was, once they were married, Sara had discovered how he really was: tight with money, domineering, and verbally abusive. She took solace in the son and daughter born within the first three years they were married, and, eventually, in Dewey's arms. It didn't matter he was old enough to be her daddy. They loved each other and lived for the precious times they could steal away to be together.
The letters had fallen off since Luke had come back from Vietnam, and he hadn't heard from her in a while. "So how are things between you two?" he asked.
"Fine, but we don't see each other much this time of year," she said. "He's got quite a truck garden, you know, so it keeps the whole family busy, and believe me, if Dewey wasn't family, Tim would never let me work for him. He thinks all I should do is stay home, keep house, and bake cookies."
"The ones you sent me in Nam were pretty good. They didn't last long, either. The other guys would steal them out of my pack."
"If you'd written more, I'd have baked more. That's what you get for being so lazy."
"It wasn't altogether being lazy, Sara," he soberly reminded. "I was always afraid Tim would find out." He had sent his letters to Sara's cousin, and Sara would pick them up at her house, but he worried just the same.
"And I was always afraid you'd get killed with mine in your pack and they'd be sent home to Alma. Then there would have been two new graves in the cemetery—yours and mine."
He tossed his bag in the back of the truck, then went inside the station and bought a frosty cold bottle of Coca-Cola and a bag of salted peanuts. Climbing in the cab beside Sara, he poured the peanuts into the Coke, then took a long swallow and sighed with satisfaction. He had forgotten how good the two tasted mixed together because, for some strange reason, he only thought to do it when he was in Alabama. Anywhere else just didn't seem natural.
He asked about her kids. She said they were great. The boy, Tim Junior, had just turned six, and the girl, Bonnie, would be four in a few months.
"I saw Tammy last week," she told him. "The church camp she's attending came by Dewey's farm on a day trip. He showed them around and gave them free watermelons. She's really growing, Luke. What is she now? Eight?"
"I think so. Alma reminded me a few months ago we'd been married eight years, and Tammy came along about five months later." His tone was bitter as he added, "I sure as hell messed up when I had to get married. I never loved Alma, and you know it."
"But sometimes people learn to love each other."
"Not this time."
She gave his arm a pat. "You'll meet somebody some day, Luke. Wait and see. Till then, just try and hold things together for Tammy's sake. That's the only reason I'm staying with Tim now. When my kids are grown, I'm leaving him and to hell with what folks think."
She eased into a parking space in front of Woolworth's Five and Dime. "I've got to run inside and get some Band-Aids. One of the workers has a blister. Want to come with me? I won't be but a minute, but it's hot out here and air-conditioned in there."
He reached for the door handle. "Sure. Anything to beat this heat."
He froze at the sight of a sheriff's deputy dragging a little colored girl out the front door. She looked to be eight or nine years old, and she was
His letter had opened the door for Sara to unload all her problems and she had written often after that. She told him the reason why she had married Tim Speight right after graduation. She and Dewey agreed she could not spend her life living for stolen moments, and, most importantly, she wanted children and a home of her own. Tim seemed to be the kind of guy parents hoped their daughters would marry. He had a good job in the steel mill in Birmingham and the future looked bright. The only thing was, once they were married, Sara had discovered how he really was: tight with money, domineering, and verbally abusive. She took solace in the son and daughter born within the first three years they were married, and, eventually, in Dewey's arms. It didn't matter he was old enough to be her daddy. They loved each other and lived for the precious times they could steal away to be together.
The letters had fallen off since Luke had come back from Vietnam, and he hadn't heard from her in a while. "So how are things between you two?" he asked.
"Fine, but we don't see each other much this time of year," she said. "He's got quite a truck garden, you know, so it keeps the whole family busy, and believe me, if Dewey wasn't family, Tim would never let me work for him. He thinks all I should do is stay home, keep house, and bake cookies."
"The ones you sent me in Nam were pretty good. They didn't last long, either. The other guys would steal them out of my pack."
"If you'd written more, I'd have baked more. That's what you get for being so lazy."
"It wasn't altogether being lazy, Sara," he soberly reminded. "I was always afraid Tim would find out." He had sent his letters to Sara's cousin, and Sara would pick them up at her house, but he worried just the same.
"And I was always afraid you'd get killed with mine in your pack and they'd be sent home to Alma. Then there would have been two new graves in the cemetery—yours and mine."
He tossed his bag in the back of the truck, then went inside the station and bought a frosty cold bottle of Coca-Cola and a bag of salted peanuts. Climbing in the cab beside Sara, he poured the peanuts into the Coke, then took a long swallow and sighed with satisfaction. He had forgotten how good the two tasted mixed together because, for some strange reason, he only thought to do it when he was in Alabama. Anywhere else just didn't seem natural.
He asked about her kids. She said they were great. The boy, Tim Junior, had just turned six, and the girl, Bonnie, would be four in a few months.
"I saw Tammy last week," she told him. "The church camp she's attending came by Dewey's farm on a day trip. He showed them around and gave them free watermelons. She's really growing, Luke. What is she now? Eight?"
"I think so. Alma reminded me a few months ago we'd been married eight years, and Tammy came along about five months later." His tone was bitter as he added, "I sure as hell messed up when I had to get married. I never loved Alma, and you know it."
"But sometimes people learn to love each other."
"Not this time."
She gave his arm a pat. "You'll meet somebody some day, Luke. Wait and see. Till then, just try and hold things together for Tammy's sake. That's the only reason I'm staying with Tim now. When my kids are grown, I'm leaving him and to hell with what folks think."
She eased into a parking space in front of Woolworth's Five and Dime. "I've got to run inside and get some Band-Aids. One of the workers has a blister. Want to come with me? I won't be but a minute, but it's hot out here and air-conditioned in there."
He reached for the door handle. "Sure. Anything to beat this heat."
He froze at the sight of a sheriff's deputy dragging a little colored girl out the front door. She looked to be eight or nine years old, and she was
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