Secrets of the Red Box (24 page)

That night, Glen slept in his own bed, in his own room for the first time in months. It felt the
same to him, smelled the same, cast the same shadows it used to when he was a kid. The war
seemed like a bad dream now, something that had happened a long time ago in a different life, and
yet was as close to him as his shadow.
He still couldn’t get used to the quiet, couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he still needed to be wary
and watchful, that at any moment the quiet could erupt into gunfire. A full moon hung low in the
September sky, casting its silvery light through the window. Clasping his hands behind his head,
Glen peered up at the ceiling as silhouetted tree limbs danced across the room. A tear welled from
the corner of his eye and trickled down the side of his face. He was home. He was really home.

Chapter 18

Sunday proved to be a beautiful day. The temperature was warm and balmy, which would allow
some of the thirty-four dinner guests to eat outdoors on the lawn. The kitchen of the Orton house
was packed with bodies vying for space to maneuver food in and out of the kitchen. In the thick of
things, Bonnie stood over the stove with boiling pots of water for hotdogs and pasta. She’d put on
one of Irene’s aprons and had been busy for the last two days assisting Irene with every detail of the
welcome-home party.

With the buzzing activity about her, the convivial conversations, the sense that everyone was
woven together in this thing called family, Bonnie felt herself stitched in with them, a part of their
intricate pattern. Her heart warmed with their easy acceptance of her, their inclusion and their
smiles. She found herself trapped between the two things she wanted most—solitude where she
could protect her past, and the overwhelming feeling of love she received from the Ortons. She
never expected to find herself in such a conflicted position. Yet, in just a few short weeks, she would
be back in her own apartment, just as she’d wanted and no longer an adopted part of the Orton
clan. She would miss them, miss their connections to one another, to that something that held them
together with all their shared past, present, and future.

“Glen’s here!” someone shouted above the din of commotion. “He’s here!”

The family funneled out of the kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom, and every room in the
house as Glen stepped through the front door. He was mobbed by hungry arms and boisterous
voices. Bonnie stood back, just inside the kitchen where she could see the happy reunion unfold.
From the glimpses she caught between hugs and kisses, Glen appeared to be tall, with rugged good
looks and thick, wavy hair. The dimples in his cheeks were in full display as he greeted each person
with a smile and a kiss. Bonnie felt a hitch in her stomach at the sight of him. She pushed it down
and tried to ignore the odd feeling.

Someone started playing the piano and soon everyone was singing
For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow
at
the top of their lungs. Glen appeared a little embarrassed, but took it in good humor. His smile was
infectious, Bonnie thought, and found a reciprocal smile spreading across her lips. She reached up
and touched her mouth as if to wipe the smile from it.

“Speech! Speech!” Irene called out at the conclusion of the song.
Glen waved his hand from side to side and lowered his gaze. “No, no,” he protested mildly.
More cheers of encouragement erupted and finally Glen relented, hushing the crowd while

patting the air. He cleared his throat as the family quieted. “First, let me thank you all for such a
wonderful reception. It’s so good to see everyone here.” A murmur of mutual consensus sounded
through the living room. “I really missed you. Thank you for your letters and your prayers. It was
pretty tough going sometimes, but I always knew you were here cheering me on.”

He paused a moment and raked a hand through his hair. It was obvious he was struggling to stay
in control. “I saw a lot of things I hope to forget…and a few things I hope to remember. Most of
all, I hope we never fight a war like this again.” He glanced down at the floor and worked the
muscles in his lean jaw. Glen looked at the people before him and offered a weak smile. “Anyway,
it’s good to be home.”

Bonnie shrank back into the kitchen, his sentiment stirring in her emotions she hadn’t expected
to feel. She couldn’t explain why his words touched her. Maybe it was his sincerity, maybe it was
how everyone in the country felt now that the war was over. Whatever the reason, it had the back of
her throat aching. As the family began to dissipate from the living room, Bonnie quietly swiped at
her eyes and stirred a pot of pasta.

Irene came into the kitchen and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” she said with a
gentle smile. “I want to introduce you to Glen.”

Bonnie felt her heart sink. She couldn’t be rude and refuse, but she wanted to. She suddenly felt
exposed, no longer a fixture of the family nestled in the comfort of the whole. When Irene took her
by the arm, Bonnie went along, but vowed she’d keep it brief.

Irene’s eyes sparkled as she caught Glen’s attention and crooked her finger at him. He smiled,
those dimples drilling into his cheeks. “Iwant you to meet someone,” she began, gesturing to
Bonnie. “Glen, this is Bonnie Cooper. She works with me at Kirkendall’s.”

Glen scowled at his aunt. “Hmm. And she just happens to be single, I suppose? And you just
happened to invite her to my homecoming—very convenient.”
“Glen Taggart!” Irene’s face filled with indignation. “For your information—”
“Look,” Bonnie interrupted as she thrust her hands to her hips. “I’m here only because of your
aunt’s kindness. I happen to be living in her basement at the moment. She didn’t drag me along just
to meet
you
.”
Irene’s brows drew together, her gaze boring into her nephew. “She’s been staying with your
uncle Don and me for the past few weeks. She was evicted from her apartment because she took in
a little kitten.”
Glen shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step back. “Oh.”
“Oh, is right. I think you owe Bonnie an apology, young man,” Irene said.
Glen sighed and looked at Bonnie. “Sorry. I just thought she was trying to set me up.”
Bonnie felt even more out of place now, as well as embarrassed. Then a tinge of anger crept its
way into her disposition. He had certainly assumed a lot on his part. She was only here to help Irene
and the family, not be presented as some sort of door prize for him. She folded her arms and angled
her head. “Don’t worry about it,
corporal
.” She spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen.
A pot of angry water boiled on the stove. Bonnie grabbed a handful of hot dogs and threw them
in, feeling as riled now as the pot of churning water. She visibly shook her head, as if to dislodge her
previous thoughts of him, the way he’d sounded during his speech, the dimples, and those dark,
moist eyes. Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned back to the kitchen table.
Glen was there, his hands still dangling from his pockets, his elbows skewed to the side in
defeat. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
Bonnie flicked him a look of dismissal. “As I said, corporal, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“It’s Glen,” he said, withdrawing a hand and offering it to her. “Bonnie, wasn’t it?”
She glanced at his hand and picked up a tray of buns. “I’m pretty busy here,” she said brusquely.
“You’d better get back to your family.”
Glen reached for the platter. “Let me help—”
“I’ve got it,” she said, swinging the tray to the side.
Glen’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Bonnie said with a cool stare.
“I’ll leave then,” he said, backing up a step.
“I think you should.”
She noticed him staring at her now, that he wasn’t making any effort to leave. A charge of
electricity tingled at the base of her neck as she stared back. She felt her resolve melting, felt his gaze
penetrating her defenses. “Really,” she said, her voice considerably softer now. “You’re the guest of
honor. You’d better go.”
Glen came forward, took the tray from her and placed it on the table. He held out his hand to
her. “I’d like to start over if you’ll let me. I’m happy to meet you, Bonnie.”
Bonnie’s heart tripped and struggled to right itself. The look on his face had her feeling flushed,
as though he could see through her somehow, could read her thoughts. She inched her hand
forward and clasped his. When their fingers touched, Bonnie felt a flush consume her cheeks and
spread to her neck and shoulders. This can’t be happening, she thought. She forced herself to focus,
broke eye contact with him, and glanced at the table. “Welcome home, Glen.”
Glen withdrew his hand slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel
uncomfortable earlier. It just seemed a little too convenient—well, Aunt Irene’s been a mother to
me since I was ten years old. I thought she was—” He paused, and for the first time appeared
nervous. “Just for the record, Bonnie, if this
had
been a set-up I couldn’t have asked for a more
lovely companion.”
Bonnie blinked and took a step back. She hated that her heart was pounding, that she couldn’t
take her eyes off him. “You’d better get back out there.”
Glen smiled, his dimples flashing at her like two neon lights. “All right.”
Bonnie turned to the stove as Glen left the kitchen. She stirred the spaghetti sauce and
swallowed down the feelings he’d aroused in her. She prayed she’d be able to get out of the Orton’s
house soon—away from everything it represented.
Irene came up behind her. She reached for a hot pad. “How’s that sauce coming?”
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder. “It’s ready,” she said.
Irene took hold of the pot and poured the sauce into a bowl. “Bonnie,” she said without looking
from her task, “I hope you didn’t take to heart what Glen said—”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Iknow you weren’t trying to throw us together. I think he just
jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
Irene placed a ladle in the sauce. “Can you take this to the lowboy in the dining room? We’re
ready to serve.”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing a crocheted pot holder to carry beneath the bowl.
“Tell Don to make the announcement,” Irene added as Bonnie headed to the adjoining dining
room.
Bonnie threaded her way through the crowd, careful not to spill the hot sauce. She placed it on
the cloth-covered lowboy and told Don it was time to start. As she turned to go back for another
bowl of sauce, Glen was there, greeting her with a smile. “Let me help. Do you have more to bring
out?”
“Uh, that’s okay,” she said and side-stepped around him. “I can manage.”
Bonnie’s heart hammered in her ears. She became perturbed by the effect he had on her. He
shouldn’t have
any
effect on her, she thought. Back in the kitchen, Bonnie tried to stay busy with
other tasks, sliding hot dogs into buns, straining pasta, pushing plates of food out to others. She
didn’t want to see Glen Taggart again, didn’t want to feel that pulse of lightning charge through her
body when she looked at him.
She managed to remain in the kitchen while everyone else was busy eating. She kept pasta
warmed, hot dogs at the ready, and stirred spaghetti sauce on the stove. When someone came to the
kitchen, she gladly refilled a dish or poured more water into a pitcher. She’d even started a sink-full
of dishes just so she could keep her thoughts occupied.
Bonnie rinsed a washed pot and placed it on the drain board to dry. She heard footsteps behind
her and only turned slightly, her hands dripping with rinse water. “What can I get you?”
“I noticed you haven’t eaten,” Glen said. “Ithought maybe I could coax you out of the kitchen
for a few minutes.”
Bonnie felt a stammer teeter on the edge of her tongue and she had to swallow before she
spoke. “No, it’s all right. I’m fine…”
Glen took hold of a dishtowel and picked up the clean pot. “All right, then I’ll keep you
company.”
Bonnie didn’t know what to do. She squelched down the urge to run and plunged her hands
back into the dishwater. “I’m sure there must be more exciting things to do than dry dishes.”
“Maybe, but you make it look appealing.” He smiled at her, and the dimples winked again.
Bonnie turned her eyes to the sink. Okay, she thought, I’ve controlled conversations before—I
can do it again. “So, now that you’re home, Glen, what are your plans?”
He held out his hand for the rinsed lid to the pot. “Well, I’ve been giving that a lot of thought. I
know I don’t want to do what I was doing,” he said, wiping the towel around the rim of the lid,
“working at the stockyards. I’m thinking I’ll take the government up on the GI Bill and start college
next semester. I can attend Omaha University here, or maybe go to the University of Nebraska in
Lincoln…haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“What would you like to study?”
“There’s the problem,” he said, placing the lid onto its matching pot. “I’m good with numbers,
so maybe something to do with mathematics.”
Bonnie nodded and kept her gaze on the dishes. “Like an accountant or a mathematics teacher?”
Glen raised a shoulder. “Maybe. I just know I want to make something out of my life. I was kind
of aimless before the war,” he said, taking the next pot from Bonnie. “I never really had much focus,
I guess. But things are different now. I came home when a lot of my friends didn’t. Kind of makes a
man think about what he’s been doing and what he should be doing.”
Bonnie noticed her heart had calmed, the tone of his voice soothing her as he spoke. She felt as
if she knew him, but she attributed that to Irene and the fact that they were related. His mother had
been Irene’s sister. There must be some of that in Glen, too, the same thing that made her like Irene.
“I can understand that.” She rinsed a platter and handed it to him. “When your life can be taken at
any minute, you begin to figure out what really matters and what doesn’t.”
He turned his face to her, but she didn’t look at him. “Yeah, that’s it exactly.” He was still
looking at her when he continued. “Most people don’t seem to get that.”
Bonnie drew her gaze to him now. “It just seems logical, that’s all.” She saw him move to ask
another question and interjected her own before he could speak. “So, what was Italy like? I mean,
aside from the war.”
“Parts of it—”
“Here you are,” Irene said, bustling her way to the table with a handful of dirty dishes. She went
to the sink and shooed Bonnie from it. “It’s time for you to go and enjoy the party. You’ve done
enough in here.”
“No,” she protested, trying to nudge her way back to the sink. “You go back—” She gave Glen
an exasperated look. “Take your aunt and you two go enjoy.”
“Oh, no,” Irene said, taking the dishcloth from Bonnie. “You’ve done more than your share. It’s
time for you to step out of the kitchen.”
“I don’t mind,” Bonnie protested.
“And that’s just the point,” Irene said. “You’d work in here all day and never complain.” She
looked at her nephew. “Be a good soldier and take her out of here, Glen.”
Bonnie felt trapped. She didn’t want to go with anyone. She just wanted to disappear. Without
thinking, she rushed to the back door, opened it with a wide swing and ran into the back yard. She
stopped beside a large elm tree and leaned her shoulder against it. Tears began to sting her eyes, but
she couldn’t explain why. She only knew that she couldn’t stay in the house, couldn’t be a party to
the normal life of the Ortons anymore. She was an interloper, a fraud, and she didn’t deserve their
kindness.
Bonnie drew in a deep breath and walked through the yard until she came to a gate in the fence.
She opened it and saw that it led to an alley where trash cans stood lined up from house to house.
Turning onto the gravel road, she started walking, putting distance between her and the Orton
household.
When she heard a scuffle of footsteps behind her, Bonnie turned to find Glen. She sighed and
held up her hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, Glen, really. But I just want to be left alone right now.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said.
Bonnie shook her head. “No. It isn’t you. Please, just go back.”
He didn’t, instead he came toward her. “To be honest, I don’t much want to go back. I can’t
explain it—I know they love me and care about me, but I didn’t really want a big fuss made on my
account in the first place.”
Bonnie folded her arms and started walking again. He caught up to her and she felt herself
wince. Why couldn’t he just leave her as she’d asked? Why did he have to follow her? Bonnie felt her
belly lurch again. If he stayed he’d ask her questions, wouldn’t he? He’d want to know about her,
who she was, how she came to work at Kirkendall’s. She didn’t want to answer any of those
questions.
“How long were you overseas?” she heard herself ask before she could stop herself.
“A little over three years…seems like a lifetime.”
Bonnie clasped her hands behind her and walked through the alley. She turned at the end of it
and strolled along the sidewalk. Maybe if she ignored him he’d turn back.
They walked a few more steps, and then Glen looked at her. “Tell me about your cat. How did
you come to lose an apartment over it?”
Bonnie resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t going to leave. But he’d struck a chord with
her on the topic of Baby Girl. She explained how the cat came into her life and how she’d been
evicted. She told him about the kindness of the Orton’s and how they’d rallied around her without
hesitation. “I just don’t know how I’ll ever repay Irene and her family,” she said, shaking her head.
A strand of her hair came loose from her comb and fell over her face. Glen casually reached
over and tucked the curling lock behind her ear, as if he’d done so a hundred times. She touched the
back of her ear where he’d placed the hair and smiled softly at him. Why had that felt so natural?
She should have recoiled or pushed his hand away. That’s what she should have done—but she
didn’t.
“My mother died when I was young. Aunt Irene has sort of been my mom ever since,” he said,
picking off a leaf from an overhanging tree branch. “She was a godsend after Mom’s death. She has
a way about her…like she instinctively knows what you need or how you feel. She doesn’t say it in
words so much, but she knows.”
Yes, Bonnie knew. She’d felt it too. “My mother died this summer,” she said. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry. It’s tough losing your mom no matter how old you are. After all these years, when I
walk through my parents’ kitchen, Istill see her sometimes…making breakfast, or washing dishes. I
used to help dry. We were like a team, ya know? She’d wash and I’d dry. My younger brother is real
close with my dad, but I was closer to my mom. I really miss her.”
“I wasn’t there when my mother died,” she said softly. “She died in California. I didn’t even
know she was sick. I think she was trying to protect me—didn’t want me coming home to take care
of her, to see her so sick…”
“Then it must have come as a real shock to you.”
Bonnie nodded. “I didn’t even know about the funeral. I’m not on the best terms with my
father—I called to talk to mom one day and he answered the phone. That’s when I found out.”
Glen flicked the leaf from his fingers. “You must have felt really cheated that you weren’t there
to say goodbye to her.”
Bonnie paused beside an ancient oak, the afternoon sun elongating its shadow over the sidewalk
and spilling into the street. “Maybe we should go back.” She was afraid of him, afraid of how easy it
was to talk to him, how comfortable she suddenly was with him. She wanted to go back before she
was forced to start lying to him.
He turned to face her, his deep brown eyes focused on hers. “You’re probably right. Folks will
want to start leaving soon, and I should be there to say goodbye.”