“Hi, Liddy. Nope, don’t ’spect there will be. Ain’t gonna catch our boys off guard more than once. Better be safe though. How’s Jack?”

“Ornery as ever.”

“Tell him Ray says hi.”

“I will.” Liddy patted his hand and went into the store. As she pushed open the front door, the bell jingled over her head and she was met instantly by the smell of cellared apples and Lysol. The floor sparkled and the shelves were scrubbed clean where they were ration bare. She took three bottles of Coca-Cola from the icebox and slipped a newspaper from the rack.

Raymond Tully’s granddaughter May brushed past the burlap curtain to the back room and greeted her customer and friend, “Hi, Liddy.” She swept crumbs from her mouth and off the white apron that was wrapped twice around her tall, slender frame.

“Hey, May. How’ve you been?”

“Tired, bored and bloated from eating so many potatoes. When this war is over I plan to never even look at another potato. How are you?”

“Great!” Liddy laid her purchases on the counter and peeled a bill from the wad she dug out of her pocket.

May pushed down on the register keys. “Heard you’re goin’ to the dance in Kirksville next Saturday with Frank Paulson?”

“Who told you that?”

“Frank.”

“He asked, but I’ve gotta work, I told him that.”

“Still shuffling plates at the diner?” May stowed the pop in a brown paper sack and the exchange was made.

“Still,” Liddy said as she scrunched the bag opening in a clutch and slipped the newspaper under her arm. “You and Harlan going to the dance?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why though. He’ll just perch himself on his car outside the hall with the Shelley boys and smoke and drink Clarence Kimmel’s hooch. I’ll end up driving him home, leave him parked in front of his mama’s house and then walk myself home. Quite a life I’ve mapped out for myself, don’t you think?”

“Well, May, you could always get a different map.”

“Wish you were goin’, Liddy. We could have some laughs.”

“Me too. You make it a good day, okay.” Liddy left the store, snapped a salute to May’s granddaddy and climbed into the Dodge.


Beneath the big cottonwood trees that lined the drive, Liddy drove slowly toward the large white building on top of the hill. Spring was drawing out the leaves and Liddy looked up at the specks of green that dotted the sunshine breaking through the web of branches.

The local hospital was housed in the old Newell mansion. The Newell empire had included banks, land and railroads until Arthur Newell decided to go into the oil business—in Missouri. The man was sure he sensed the bubbling brew beneath him, or it may have just been the tumor that was pressing on his brain. Before Arthur died of brain cancer, he had dwindled the family’s fortune hunting for the black gold, so when the coffers emptied most of the Newells scattered around the country, trying to make a way for themselves. Had the family not left the business solely to Arthur, the second eldest of the surviving matriarch, the plunder may have been avoided. But the eldest son and the rest of the family were too busy living on family money, which was a full-time job.

Old Mrs. Newell still lived in a little house in the center of town where she managed to keep herself with the money she made from the sale of her childhood home. The big house she grew up in wasn’t something she could afford to rattle around in, so she sold it and it was turned into a hospital, the only hospital for a hundred miles.

Carrying the sack of pop and the newspaper, Liddy walked down the hall of the hospital where a nurse was sitting at a desk.

“Hi, Liddy, good show today?”

“Always. How’s my guy?” Liddy asked as she sailed by.

“Keepin us on our toes.”

Liddy turned into the room at the end of the hall and side-stepped Ruth who was changing the sheets on the bed. Liddy’s father was sitting in a chair by the window. His robe hung off his right shoulder and wisps of hair floated above his head. Struggle tensed his face as he studied the day, straining to catch his thoughts before they escaped. Life and hard living had swallowed Jack Hall’s mass, even before illness took hold. His sixty-three years sat on him like seventy-five plus. He had big opinions and a big voice that didn’t match his current size, which seemed out of balance to anyone who had just met him.

“Hi, Daddy.” Liddy kissed the top of Jack’s head. “Hey, Ruth.”

The nurse grunted as she swung the corner of the bed up and flipped the sheet under in one fluid motion.

“Crik says hi, Daddy.”

“How’s the old man?” Jack growled.

“Missin’ you. He’ll be by this week sometime.”

“Good crowd?”

“Thick as corn.” Liddy laid the newspaper on Jack’s lap and removed one of the pop bottles from the paper sack. She took a bottle opener from the drawer of the bedside table, popped off the cap, zinged it into the trash can and set the bottle within his reach.

Jack loved his Coca-Cola. It had become one of his familiars. Routine of the senses and of time become an even greater comfort during seasons of change. His body could no longer take his old familiars and the hospital didn’t allow most of them. When he took the bottle and tipped it up for a swig, Jack coughed and some of the pop dribbled down his chin. “Dammit!” he cursed.

Ruth tossed Liddy a pillowcase and she quickly wiped up the spill, until Jack batted her hand away. She pulled up a stool and scooted next to his chair.

“Hey, Daddy, I’m sending out my application today.” Liddy pinched a phantom object between her fingers and pushed it into the fabric of her shirt. “Wings!”

“Did you know my little girl’s gonna be an Army pilot?” Jack asked Ruth.

“A WASP, they’re not enlisted, not yet that is, and—” Liddy tried to clarify.

“You’re gonna serve your country? It’s Army.” Jack took another, more careful, gulp.

Liddy tried again, “Women’s Airforce Service Pilots and—”

“I know, I know, wasps, bees, whatever. You’re gonna fly to protect this country from them damn Japs and Krauts. I know that!” Jack shook with agitation.

“It’s not combat, Daddy, and I have to get in—”

“Hey, Ruthie, did I ever tell you ‘bout the first time I took my Liddy skyward?”

“Only a hundred times,” the nurse answered as she moved efficiently around the bed lifting, tucking and fluffing. Ruth wore the banner of an ill-temper, but Liddy knew Jack and she went at it like two old pals. He trusted her, and she was the one he preferred to take care of things for him. They were like-kinded.

Jack heard Ruth say, ‘No, but I’d love to hear about it.’ So without missing a beat he continued, “Her Mama was on the ground cryin’ in such gushes that things started to sprout up from where her tears soaked the dirt. The whole time we was up, she cried and cried. When we landed, my little Liddy wouldn’t get out of that airplane. She hung on and bawled and cried to go up again. So she was cryin’ and her Mama was cryin’. Here I was with these two gals, one huggin’ the ground, while the other was reaching for the sky. And that’s the way it was from that day on. Props are in the blood ya’ know, and this girl here’s got her daddy’s blood for damn sure.”

Jack tossed the newspaper to Liddy, and she read the headline, “AIRSTRIKES INCREASE. U.S. and Allies Mount Air Offensive.” Jack listened as Liddy read every story, every announcement and advertisement. Then she re-read the parts that Jack wanted repeated. When his head began to bob, Liddy coaxed him to his bed and continued to read until his lids gave up. Because he would sometimes snap awake and scold her for her silence, Liddy waited. When a consistent rumble slowly bellowed up from his gut and pushed its way out his mouth and nose in turn, she set the newspaper on the bed table.

Liddy watched Jack sleep and tried to remember when he looked young. Ageing had steamrolled the man when he lost his wife. He hadn’t married till he was thirty-five and then he’d settled into the arrangement like a contented cat. Jack once told Liddy her mother was the first sweet thing that had ever loved him and let him love her back.

Edda had given birth to Liddy in her first year of marriage and handled her transition without a twitter. Nurturer was always her role and although she adored her brother, caring for a husband and child was the easiest loving she’d ever known. She was a quiet woman, but didn’t hesitate to call Jack down when he was excessive in his excesses. After the war, Jack flew the circuit with Crik for a few months, but Edda didn’t see that was working for their unit. Jack stayed home and dusted from then on, and Edda kept the little family tightly knit and loved.

Liddy had no photos of her mother and didn’t remember her look. Her folks were simple people and not the sort to spend money on extravagances. Edda’s folks must not have been either. Liddy had never seen a picture of her mother or her uncle as children.

Three memories of Edda lived in Liddy: She remembered her to be a tall woman—images of Edda standing level with men and above the ladies floated in her memory. And she remembered how Edda would screw a silly face when she wanted to lighten a mood or raise a spirit. But her nose, mouth, eyes, and skin had long ago faded. So Liddy would draw a face for her mother, which changed as Liddy grew. The face would fit the feelings she kept of her, feelings that reflected how her mother made her feel. From Edda Hall she had felt loved and safe. This was the strongest memory Liddy had of the woman who so briefly made the Hall house a home. But Liddy knew feelings were funny things, much of the time they had little staying power and those that chose to stay were so influenced by time and space.

The Coke bottle was drained dry and Liddy placed it in the trash can by the bed and gathered up the brown bag that cased the two remaining pops. At the nurse’s desk she turned in the bag for rationing. Jack would drink them all in one sitting if he could.

Liddy was strolling down the hall of the hospital when she saw Dr. Bradley cross the lobby. He drove up from Columbia and was only at the little hospital three days a week. Making a sharp swift turn, she quickly rounded the corner—it was too late.

“Liddy, Liddy Hall, come here!” She heeded the man’s orders, turned on her heels and walked back.

“You know what I’m going to tell you, don’t you, Liddy?”

“Do I?” Liddy rubbed her finger on the bridge of her nose and avoided looking at him.

“These are tough times. Every room means expenses. We have to transfer your dad to the state facility if you can’t pay for his care here, and I—”

“I brought everything I could in last week—”

“I know you did, but—”

“I’ve got a big show coming up and I’ll—”

“The paperwork is on my desk, right now. If there was anything we could do that we haven’t already done…”

Liddy reached into her pocket and pulled out her stash and offered it up. “I’ll get the rest, I promise—all of it by the end of the month. Okay?” she pleaded and then thought to herself, I have a plan Doc, can’t tell you about it though.

“I’m beyond serious this time. Do you hear me?” The doctor looked at the cash in his hand and tightened the side of his mouth. “Liddy, the state hospital isn’t a bad place.”

“But it’s three hours away, isn’t it?” Liddy turned and walked away. Her strut was gone and she was left with a heavy step. She walked out the front door of the hospital and to her car, trying not to think about things she could do nothing about, for the time being.

She grabbed the driver’s door of the Dodge and pulled to open it. Her arm stretched out and popped her shoulder, but the door didn’t budge.

“Come on, girl. This isn’t a good time. Be a pal and open up now.”

She pushed down harder on the hammer and pulled again. Then she twisted her whole body back and forth. She pulled some more and then kicked the door, smashing her toe. “Ow.” She grabbed the toe of her shoe and hopped back a few steps. “Alright, if that’s the way you’re gonna be.”

Liddy stepped on the running board, sat on the top of the door and swung over and into the seat. She leaned back and took a deep breath.

“I don’t need any guff from you today.” Her hands fished under the dash and pinched the wires between her fingers. “I’m not fooling around. If you don’t start for me, I’m leaving you here and you’re getting home on your own.” Gently, she tapped the shaggy copper tails together and heard a few of the usual sputters, then a rattle and a steady chug. “Good, girl.”