Secrets of the Red Box (21 page)

She felt she had to make light of Irene’s joke. “I did,” she quipped, “but for you, I’ll cancel them
and go bowling.”
Irene smiled and clapped her hands together. “Good, good. Now help me with dinner and we’ll
be off in no time.”
///////
The bowling alley echoed with the sound of clashing pins, shouts of success, groans of failure,
and an atmosphere of community. Grilled cheese sandwiches and beer scented the air, the bar and
grill set off to the back of the room. People huddled around small tables eating and drinking, while
opposite sat a row of pinball machines, clanging and ringing to the players’ deft flipper defenses.
Don approached the counter and smiled broadly at the older man behind it. “Hey, Stan. How’re
things tonight?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he said, reaching behind him to retrieve a pair of bowling shoes. He
plopped them on the counter and got another pair for Irene. “Looks like you’ve got a friend.”
“This is Bonnie. She’s staying with us for a while. Thought we’d bring her down and show her
the fine art of bowling.”
Stan stared at Bonnie. Irene nudged her. “What size shoe?”
“Oh,” Bonnie said, chagrined. “Six and a half.”
Stan pulled out another pair of shoes and dropped them on the counter. He took some change
from Don and pushed a score sheet toward them. “Lane four,” he said.
“I’m going to look for my favorite ball,” Don said. “Why don’t you help Bonnie find one?”
Irene picked up her shoes and motioned for Bonnie to follow. Bonnie looked at the ugly
bowling shoes, worn, the sides nearly collapsed into the center, the laces dirty and frayed. Her feet
already felt embarrassed. She chose a bowling ball, went to lane four, and put her ball in the return.
“Now don’t be worried about how many pins you get,” Irene said, tying her shoes tight. “The
main thing is to have fun.”
“And,” Don added as he put his ball in the return, “don’t throw the ball if you see the pin boy’s
legs.”
Bonnie nodded and looked at the end of the adjoining lane. The pin boy stood in a shadowy pit
just behind the pin deck. While waiting for the ball to arrive, he heaved himself up onto a ledge, his
legs dangling three feet above the deck. The moment the ball exploded into the pins, he dropped
into the pit, picked up the ball, and placed it on the return ramp. He grabbed the downed pins by
their necks and slipped them into a triangular-shaped semiautomatic racking machine. He did the
same thing for the second ball.
Don sat in the chair at the scoring table and wrote down their names on the sheet. “You first,
honey,” he said to Irene.
Irene picked up her ball and approached the lane. She held the ball up to her face and sighted
her spot down the lane. As she stepped forward, the ball came back in a short arc, then leaped from
her hand to land in the middle of the lane with a sharp crack. It rolled, gaining speed as it made its
way toward the pins. A clatter of noise spilled into the pit. She’d left four pins still standing.
“Pick them up,” Don encouraged. “You can do it.”
Irene took her ball again, aimed the same as before, let it go, and watched with baited breath.
“Get over, get over,” she called to the ball.
The ball grazed the outer edge of the five pin and knocked it into the four pin. The rest
remained standing. Don scored the frame and waved his hand to Bonnie. “You’re up.”
Bonnie gulped and stepped onto the alley. She put her fingers into the bowling ball and stood
approximately where Irene had. She took a couple of steps and swung her arm back, but the ball
slipped from her grasp and landed behind her. She spun, flushed with embarrassment, and scurried
to gather the ball. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I guess I need to hold it a little tighter.”
Irene sat on the wooden bench behind Don. “I’ve done that before,” she said with a nod of
encouragement. “It’s okay. Try again.”
Bonnie choked back her brief mortification and tried again. This time she clutched the ball with
all her strength. As she approached, she bent forward and released the ball with a smooth motion. It
rolled over the hard maple lane, curving as it went. She jumped up and down, pressed her hands to
her mouth, and held her breath.
“Looking good,” Don called, rising from his chair.
Irene got to her feet and came up next to Don. “She’s got it, she’s got it!”
The ball struck the pins without great force but with steady action as the pins fell against each
other almost in rows. The ten pin remained, a stubborn holdout to the throw. Bonnie squealed with
delight and pivoted to look at her friends. “Did you see that? I almost got them all!”
Don laughed and gave Irene a squeeze. “I think we have a ringer in our midst,” he mused.
“Okay, now pick it up, Bonnie,” Irene said, crossing her fingers for luck.
Bonnie went to the return and took up her ball. She made sure the pin boy was out of the way.
Steadying her gaze, she approached the lane, but this time she let go of the ball with a jerk. It landed
hard on the edge of the lane, rolled for a few feet, then dropped into the gutter. When she turned
back to the Ortons she felt disappointed and gave them a shrug.
“You got more pins than I did,” Irene said, clapping her hands. “Good girl!”
“An ‘A’ for effort,” Don agreed, smiling.
Now Don took hold of his favorite ball and sighted his spot on the alley. He held the ball low,
to the side of his right knee. As he made his approach, the ball arced back higher than his head, then
came down with a speed that had the pin boy angling to the corner of the pit, his legs drawn up
higher than usual. The ten pins flew in all directions, scattering into the pit with a satisfying crash.
Don turned and smiled. “And that’s how it’s done.”
Bonnie clapped for him, jumping up and down with excitement. “Wow, did you see how fast
that was?”
Irene cast a look at her husband. “And that’s how it’s done, huh? Too bad you can’t do it
consistently.”
Don shrugged and laughed. “When you’re right, you’re right.”
They bowled two games each, and as they changed back into their own shoes, Bonnie looked at
Irene. “Thanks for inviting me. That was a lot of fun.”
“It was, wasn’t it? And you gave Don a run for his money a couple of times.”
“Just lucky, that’s all.”
Bonnie got to her feet and turned from the bench. She glanced up and saw Dave Miller standing
behind the ball rack, a bottle of beer in his hand. Her heart seized and she prayed she could scoot by
without acknowledging him.
He waited until Bonnie and Irene left the waiting area and neared the ball rack. “Hello, Bonnie.
Long time, no see.”
Bonnie felt Irene’s eyes on her. “Uh, hi, Dave. Yes, it’s been a while.” She placed a hand on
Irene’s shoulder. “This is Irene. Her husband, Don, is over at the counter,” she said to let him know
she wasn’t alone.
Irene gave him a friendly smile. “Hi, Dave. I’m glad to meet you.”
Dave tipped his beer toward Irene. “Yeah.” He stared at Bonnie. “I didn’t take you for the
bowling type, Bonnie. I figured that was sort of beneath you.”
Bonnie felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “Listen, we’re just leaving, Dave. It
was good to see you again.” She took hold of Irene’s arm and started to pull her away.
“What’s your hurry?” he asked, stepping in front of her. “Why don’t we head over to the grill,
and I’ll buy you and your friends a round of beers.”
“No, that’s not necessary—”
Irene gave Bonnie a curious look and waved her hand. “We have time,” she said. “That would
be nice.”
Bonnie’s heart pounded in her throat. She absently brought her hand up to her chest as if that
would keep the others from hearing it. “Sure, okay.”
Irene motioned for Don to join them at a table while Dave ordered four beers. Bonnie pulled
out a chair and sat down, no longer able to feel her legs. She wanted to run, wished she could bury
herself in the floor, do anything but sit at a table with Dave and the Ortons. Rather than feel
helpless, Bonnie decided she would steer the conversation, try to keep Dave from saying too much.
She racked her brain for a moment. What had she told him? Finally it came to her—the whole thing
about being from North Dakota, nursing her sick aunt, working for an attorney.
Don and Irene sat down as Dave passed around the beer. “Don, this is Dave. Dave and I met
when I first moved to Omaha,” she began, her voice carrying a calmness that surprised her. “He’s
learning the plumbing trade and drives a cab a night.”
Dave shook Don’s hand. “I’m out of the cab business now,” he added. “I’m full-time at the
plumbing job with an offer to buy in to a partnership in a couple of years.”
Bonnie picked up her beer and toasted him. “That’s great, Dave. I’m so happy for you.” She
motioned her bottle toward the Ortons. “Don works for the stockyard. How long have you been
there now, Don?”
He swallowed a swig of beer. “Twenty-four years come March,” he said. “Hardly seems
possible.”
Bonnie picked up the conversation again. “Dave is a war hero. He was awarded the Purple
Heart.”
“Yeah?” Don said, his brows arched. “Where’d you serve, son?”
Dave took a long slug from his bottle. “France, Belgium, a little while in Luxembourg.” He took
another draw from the beer. “I was wounded in Luxembourg. We were just getting ready to launch
into Germany. I never made it that far and was sent home because of my injuries.”
Don raised his bottle. “Well, at least you survived. Might not have turned out that way if you’d
gone into Germany.”
“Who knows,” Dave said. He looked at Bonnie and spoke before she could. “Still working for
the attorney?”
“No, no,” Bonnie said quickly without looking at the Ortons. “I’ve changed jobs.”
“She works with me at Kirkendall, Jones & Company,” Irene volunteered. “We’re switchboard
operators.”
Bonnie shrank. Now he knew where she worked.
Dave scowled and gave Bonnie a look. “Switchboard—aren’t you working your way backwards?
First a nurse, then a legal secretary, now a switchboard operator?”
Bonnie suddenly felt hot, though her hands were cold and clammy around the beer bottle. “I
guess I just can’t make up my mind.”
Irene turned her gaze on Bonnie. “You never told me you were a nurse,” she said in amazement.
Bonnie held up her hand and gulped down the knot in her throat. Now she was trapped. Her
pulse began to race as her thoughts formulated some explanation. She faced Irene. “Well, I wasn’t a
nurse exactly. Iwas in nursing school for a while, but decided it wasn’t for me.” Then she looked at
Dave. “And when I told you I was a legal secretary, well, Iwas stretching the truth. I was working as
a switchboard operator at the Rose Building, which has a lot of attorneys. I guess I was trying to
impress you.”
Dave ran a hand through his dark hair and chuckled. “Yeah, Iguess you were. Too bad I didn’t
impress
you
.” He stood up, a sour look on his face. “I should be going. It was nice to meet you
both,” he said to Irene and Don.
Bonnie sank back in her chair with relief. “Thanks for the beer,” she called cheerfully as he
walked away.
“Thanks,” Don called out.
“Nice to have met you, Dave,” Irene chimed in.
Bonnie stared at her beer bottle and felt the weight of her lies pressing down on her. She felt as
though she could barely breathe when she looked up at the Ortons. “Let me explain,” she started.
“What’s to explain?” Irene said. “A good-looking man like that—I’d want to impress him too.
Can’t say there’s anything wrong with being an operator, but if I’d been in your shoes, I might have
done the same thing.”
Bonnie shook her head. Irene was being too generous. “You would not have done the same
thing. But I wanted to seem more glamorous. I guess I thought it sounded better to be a legal
secretary. Oh, I don’t know,” she wailed softly.
Irene reached over and touched Bonnie’s arm. “Look, you aren’t the first person who tried to
impress someone with a few embellishments. It happens all the time.”
Don started to chuckle. “Remember when we were dating, Irene, and I told you I had tried out
for the minor leagues?”
Irene leaned back in her chair, her head tilted back as she laughed. “Turns out,” she said, giving
Bonnie an impish grin, “he never tried out for the minors. He was a water boy for the Omaha
Rourkes in 1917 for one game! One game!” She laughed and slapped her thigh. “But I didn’t find
out the truth until after we were married.”
Bonnie started to smile. “How’d you find out?”
“Well,” she said, adjusting her position in the chair, “here I am, a new bride, thinking my
wonderful husband had the potential to play professional baseball. He’s tall and slender, and you
know, I could picture him on the pitcher’s mound. But then I couldn’t remember him ever
mentioning what position he played. So one night, we’re lying in bed and I asked him about it.”
Don laughed again and leaned toward Bonnie. “So like an idiot, I said, what are you talking
about?”
“He didn’t even remember he’d told me the stupid story in the first place, so then he had to
confess he’d made it all up.”
“But,” he added with a finger in the air, “she didn’t divorce me over it, and I haven’t lied to her
since.” Don pushed up from the table. “Let’s go home. It’s getting late.”
Bonnie found no real comfort in their amusing story. Don’s lie was virtually harmless. It hadn’t
really hurt anyone. Yes, she’d lied to Dave Miller and Paul Warsoff, and to Christine as well, but
she’d told far worse lies in San Diego. She destroyed lives with her lies. Suddenly her vile past was
churning through her head, regurgitated from the recesses of her mind like a foul and fetid soup of
memories. Waves of nausea roiled in her gut as she climbed into the car. She prayed she’d be able to
keep down the beer. Rolling down the window, Bonnie leaned her head against the side of the car
and breathed in the fresh air while she tried to shove back the blackness of her past.
///////
Bonnie got undressed, the cool basement sending a chill over her flesh. She climbed beneath the
covers and patted the bed for Baby Girl. The gravity of seeing Dave Miller again weighed against her
chest with a nagging oppression. The lies she’d told him, had told Christine and Paul, rose in her
throat like bile, stinging and bitter.
Why did I do that to them? What is wrong with me?
Up until seeing
Dave, she’d enjoyed her night out with Irene and Don. Up until then, she’d felt ordinary, at ease. Up
until then, she’d forgotten who she really was.