Atomic Love by Jennie Fields

Author:Jennie Fields
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin UK
Published: 2020-08-17T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Hey, Charlie, telephone call,” Mack yells down the stairs. Charlie’s just had dinner with Peg and her family for the first time in weeks. Pork chops in spiced tomato sauce, scalloped potatoes, chocolate cake. Why doesn’t he come home early more often? He loves the laughter around the family table. Mack knows how to crack the kids up with imitations and jokes, which he tells very slowly and with a great deal of fanfare. Charlie loves eating real food that isn’t wrapped in white paper. And he’s always grateful for the way his sister makes him feel so welcome. After dinner, he helped her with the dishes just to say so. Drying off the big white platter, she told him that she’s been thinking of taking a class in stenography, because it might land her an afternoon job at the church during the school year.

“I want to do something other than be a mother,” she said.

“I didn’t know you were thinking of it.”

“Well, the kids are gone all day now. How am I supposed to fill my time? Mangling the sheets twice, ironing Mack’s underwear? I think I could contribute to the church, make a difference.”

“You could make a big difference, I’m sure.”

“They don’t like to hire married women. They think it’s wrong for the church to give money to a woman when her husband’s working. But I could volunteer . . .”

“Seems like they should pay you if you work, Peg. You’re a force to be reckoned with. Fact is, I’m sure you could give a lot better homily than Janowski.”

“Don’t be blasphemous. I could help organize him, though.”

“You could do that and more.”

Now Charlie’s just come downstairs, full, happy, and vowing to come home early more often. He’s taken off his shoes. And someone’s phoning. He glances at his watch. Who calls after nine P.M.? Besides, when was the last time the telephone was for him?

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Peggy says. She stands at the top of the stairs, her hand over the receiver, leaning against the doorframe. In a stage whisper she booms, “Mack says it’s a woman.”

He takes the steps two at a time.

“Hello?”

“Charlie, it’s Rosalind Porter.”

“Rosalind?” He pauses, tries to get his bearings. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Was I not supposed to call you at home? I tried the office and I got a service.”

“No. No. I’m glad you called. You sound upset.”

“I’m . . . something happened, something . . . frightening . . .”

“What? What’s happened?” He hates how the feeling of worry distorts his voice.

As she describes what she came home to, her voice fragile, somewhat desperate, he looks up to see Peggy frozen in front of him, arching one brow. He grabs the back-door handle and steps out onto the stoop with the receiver. The cord forces the door to remain ajar and he feels the damp concrete stoop through his socks, but at least his sister isn’t standing in front of him listening.

“And nothing’s missing that you can see?”

“Nothing that I’ve noticed yet.

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