Secrets of the Red Box (7 page)

“Wait,” Christine said, her eyes focused on Bonnie as if trying to read her thoughts. “You said
you were born in Nebraska, and that your family moved to New York. You didn’t say anything
about North Dakota.”
Bonnie didn’t skip a beat. “Well, I didn’t mention that we moved from Omaha to North Dakota
first and then we went to New York.”
Christine waved a hand. “Oh, okay. So, back to Dave.”
Bonnie sighed dreamily and picked at the ham extended over the crusts of bread. “We talked
and talked—we have so much in common. And he’s such a gentleman. He took out two cigarettes
and lit them both, then handed one to me, just like Paul Henried did for Bette Davis in
Now,
Voyager
. Isn’t that wild?”
“Just like in the movies,” Christine sighed.
Bonnie gave a little laugh. “Except I don’t smoke. It was a little awkward, but I took the cigarette
so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. Anyway, we have a date for this Saturday.”
Christine picked up her tuna sandwich. “Oh, Bonnie, I’m so happy for you. If I weren’t waiting
for Joe, I’d ask if he had a brother on deferment.” She laughed and bit into the sandwich.
///////
Bonnie opened the phone book and ran her finger down the page. She found the listing she was
looking for and dialed it.
“Checker Cab, how may I help you?” said a staid voice over the line.
“Is Dave Miller there?”
“No, he doesn’t come in until eight.”
“Would you tell him to meet Bonnie at the secondhand store on Farnum tomorrow at four
o’clock?”
“Bonnie…secondhand…Farnum…Saturday at four. Got it.”
“You’ll be sure he gets the message, won’t you?”
“Sure. I’ll give it to him as soon as he comes in.”
“Thank you.”
///////
Bonnie waited outside the secondhand store, pacing slightly and checking her watch. The sky
had turned pewter and weighted clouds began to gather overhead. She wondered if Dave had found
her request more of a summons than an invitation. She hadn’t been specific about why he should
meet her. It hadn’t been her intention to see him again, but she was in need of transportation and
knew no one else with a car.
She looked at her watch again. It was nearly four o’clock. She crossed her arms and tapped her
long nails impatiently against her sleeves. A few telltale raindrops splashed on the sidewalk and
Bonnie backed up under the overhang of the door.
The ’38 Tudor cut a swath into a parking space, and Dave emerged wearing the familiar bomber
jacket. He smiled tentatively at Bonnie and joined her beneath the overhang. “What’s this all about?
Why are we at a secondhand store?”
Bonnie leaned toward him and clasped his arm with both hands. “I’m so glad to see you, Dave. I
was hoping you’d come.”
He looked at her dubiously and chuckled. “Well, Ihad to, didn’t I? It’s not every day I receive
such a cryptic message. I came out of curiosity, if for no other reason.”
Bonnie pressed her shoulder against his. “For no other reason?” she teased.
Dave smiled and admitted, “Well, Idid want to see you again.”
“I told you I’d call, didn’t I?”
She snaked her arm through his and gave him a demure smile. “I thought we might have dinner
tonight. But first I need some help.”
“What kind of help?”
“I bought a few used items and I need some help getting them into my new apartment. I hoped
you wouldn’t mind lending me a hand.”
“My help and my car?” he jabbed.
Bonnie leaned back and pouted. “Now don’t be like that, Dave. Ineeded help and you were the
first person I thought of.” She retrieved her arm and turned. “Look, if you don’t want to help, then
just say so—”
Dave reached out and caught her by the elbow, urging her back to him. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t
help.”
Bonnie smiled and held out her hand to him. “There are just a few things. I’ve already paid for
them, so all we have to do is load them into the car.”
Dave shook his head and took her hand. “All right. I can’t resist a damsel in distress.”
Bonnie flicked her lashes and sent him a flirtatious smile. “So I see.”
The cavernous trunk was loaded with an undersized drop leaf table, two ladder-back chairs, a
small coffee table, and a floor lamp. Dave secured the load with a piece of rope supplied by the man
in the store while Bonnie dumped a box of dishes and cookware in the back seat.
A rumble of thunder shook the ground and reverberated between the tall downtown buildings
like the sound of stampeding buffalo. The clouds finally released their pent-up burden and great
sheets of rain pelted the city with a vengeance. The gutters filled with rain water as lightning fired to
the ground, arcing with hot electric current. The smell of damp cement and old buildings mingled
with the rain to scent the air with an acidic tang.
Dave and Bonnie took refuge in the car and started for the Drake Court Apartments. It took
only a few minutes to get there and Dave sprang from the car, half hopping on his bad leg.
“You get the small things off the seat,” he instructed. “I’ll carry all I can before I need your help
with the table.”
Bonnie filled her arms with a heavy box as Dave trailed behind her, the two chairs placed back
to back and gripped together in one strong hand, the floor lamp in the other. Before they could even
reach the apartment building, they were drenched in the cold spring rain. The four flights of stairs
offered a challenge to Dave, but he persevered without complaint.
They returned for another load and then again for the last, the drop leaf table. Bonnie insisted
she was up to carrying her half. It took stopping at each landing for a few moments before
ascending the next flight, but they were successful in reaching the fourth-floor apartment.
They were soaked and cold. Bonnie brought in towels and handed one to Dave. “We’d better
get out of these wet things. I’ll bring you a robe,” she said, turning toward the bedroom, “if you
don’t mind pink chenille.”
Dave laughed and shrugged off his jacket, the leather soggy and ripe with a pungent scent.
“Anything would be better than this.”
Bonnie returned with the robe. “Drape your clothes over the chairs and turn up the radiator. I’ll
be right back.”
Bonnie closed the bedroom door and changed into some dry clothes. She toweled off her hair
and then knocked on the door. “You done?” she called through the thick wood.
“Yeah.”
Bonnie inched open the door and peeked around it before swinging it wide. Dave stood near the
radiator, obviously uncomfortable in the woman’s robe. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric
exposing his hairy chest in a wide V. There was sufficient material to cover his tapered hips, but he
looked miserable nonetheless. Bonnie covered her mouth with her hand and choked back a laugh.
“You can laugh if you want,” he said, peering down at the ill-fitting pink chenille, tugging at it
self-consciously. “Iknow I look ridiculous.”
Bonnie stepped toward him, chuckling. “No, really…you look great in pink.”
Dave shot her a sarcastic smile. “Gee, thanks.”
“Listen. We’re in no shape to go out to dinner, but I can cook us up some scrambled eggs and
coffee. What do you say?”
“Sure.”
Bonnie started for the tiny kitchen. “At least that way, you’ll havea little something to eat before
you report to Checker.”
Dave took a seat in the chair Bonnie had purchased from Brandeis. “I’m off duty tonight,” he
called to her. “I get every fourth Saturday off. You caught me on my lucky day.”
The hair on Bonnie’s neck prickled and a shiver of dread iced down her spine. She hadn’t
expected to hear that. She wasn’t prepared to offer Dave anything more than a “thank you” for
bringing her furniture.
“Do you want some help?” Dave asked, interrupting Bonnie’s thoughts.
“Sure,” she said, collecting herself. “Why don’t you rummage through those boxes and find
some plates and silverware? I’ve been eating out of the frying pan the last couple of days.”
Dave got up from the comfortable chair and circled the boxes on the floor. He bent over the
first and began pawing through its contents. The robe separated near the bottom exposing his
injured leg. Bonnie could plainly see the crimson scars that peppered the limb. The calf muscle was
half its normal size, shriveled and puny against the shin bone. The flesh extending over the
disfigured muscle was blemished with white and pink splotches of scar tissue. The sight of the leg
repulsed her, and she found herself struggling to suppress the urge to wretch.
“Here we go,” Dave announced, holding two plates in his hand.
Bonnie swung toward the sink and turned on the tap. “Just put them in here and I’ll wash
them.”
Dave brought them to the sink and stood behind Bonnie. He brushed her shoulder with his as
he placed the dishes in the water. He paused and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. “You
smell good,” he murmured, “with the rain in your hair.”
Bonnie was still sickened from the sight of his leg and eased herself away from him, avoiding his
gaze as she turned toward the refrigerator. He pursued, taking hold of her shoulders and pulling her
against him. She turned her face, pushed at him.
Dave recoiled as if he’d been singed by her movement. “What’s the matter?”
She reached into the refrigerator for the eggs. “Nothing’s the matter,” she said with a nervous
laugh.
The look on Dave’s face registered his frustration. “I’m good enough for a steak dinner and a
delivery service, but—”
She held up a hand, shook her head. “Dave, don’t—”
“No, I get it,” he spat. “You put out the signals, but—” He spun toward the radiator and jerked
his wet slacks from the back of the chair.
He turned away from her and thrust his legs into his pants, then shed the robe onto the floor.
He grabbed his shirt and coat, collected his shoes and socks, and headed for the door.
Bonnie stood fixed in her spot. She felt her heart pounding against her ribs, a clammy sweat
breaking out on her forehead. She had no desire to encourage him to stay, wanted nothing more
from him. When the door closed behind him, she felt a sense of relief.

Artillery fire rained down on the Po Plain of the Italian landscape, adrenalin pumping through
Glen’s veins with ferocious fire. Explosions deafened him as he dove behind an overturned jeep, the
driver dead and pinned beneath its bulk. His lungs burned from the jagged sprint for cover. He
craned his head to see that Charlie was close behind, and motioned for him to stay low as the young
man dropped down beside him.

After U.S. heavy bomber strikes, the German forces started retreating north from Bologna
toward the Po River, but had not given up the fight. They continued to shell the area with longrange artillery, buying time until the bulk of their forces could regroup. With the advance of U.S.
artillery counter fire, it would be the job of the infantry to move in and secure the city.

Glen peered around the edge of the jeep, looking for the next available cover. When he noticed
a blur of movement to his left, his vision focused. There were four Germans running through the
trees, apparently cut off from their company. He looked back for the rest of his squad and saw the
other five men under his leadership crouched behind an outcropping of rock. Glen pointed to the
trees, then held up four fingers to his men. He motioned for them to join him at the jeep, where he
split them into two groups.

With a new surge of adrenalin, Glen left the cover of the jeep and ran toward the trees, his men
behind him. He swerved to the left and could see that one of the Germans had tripped on a tree
root. The man was scrambling to right himself when Glen raised his rifle and fired. The enemy
soldier collapsed face-first in the dirt.

Glen hadn’t counted on a lull in the barrage of artillery, leaving his rifle shot ringing sharply
through the trees .Hearing the shot, the other three Germans swiveled, firing as they took cover.
“You two to the left,” Glen ordered his men. “I’ll draw fire while you circle around.”
The two men nodded and did as they were told while Glen motioned for the other group to
swing right. Glen popped out from the cover of a tree, firing. He was met instantly with returned
shots. He darted back behind the tree, then waited a breath before he exposed himself again to fire.
Shots continued as his squad began to surround the three remaining Germans. Glen stepped out
and aimed, sighting one of the men as he ran between the trees. He squeezed the trigger and a bullet
lodged in the German’s shoulder, knocking him off balance though he managed to stay on his feet
and continued to run. The other two Germans had started running again, only pausing every few
yards to fire back at the Americans.
Glen charged ahead, firing, his heart hammering in his chest. His boots pounded the earth in
pursuit of the enemy, his lungs heaving to bring in oxygen. The trees gave way to an open fie ld
where the Germans were running frantically toward a bombed-out farmhouse.
Another shot sizzled to Glen’s left, and the soldier previously wounded in the shoulder tumbled
to the ground. In a final effort to face their enemy, the two remaining Germans turned and aimed at
the oncoming squad. They were no match for the Americans as they closed ranks and fired. One of
the Germans, hit in the chest, sank to his knees, but not before his finger pulled the trigger and a
bullet sang over Glen’s head.
The last German began lowering his weapon as if to surrender, halting the squad just long
enough for him to jerk the rifle up and squeeze off a shot. The bullet ripped through Glen’s left pant
leg, grazing the tender flesh of his thigh. Before he could react, his squad fired, bullets striking the
German’s body in rapid succession. For a fleeting second, the soldier smiled before he collapsed.
Glen lowered his rifle and limped toward the first of the downed men. He kept his finger against
the trigger as he nudged the body cautiously with the toe of his boot. The soldier was dead. Glen
looked up and saw Charlie moving toward the man he’d shot in the shoulder. The German was lying
face down, and when Charlie reached to turn the man over, Glen caught a glint of steel sparkl e in
the sunlight. “Charlie, watch out!” Glen shouted, aiming his rifle at the German.
Instead of moving, Charlie froze over the man, either stunned at the sight of the knife or
unaware of it. The German rolled, the blade slashing toward Charlie. Glen couldn’t get a clear shot.
He fired at the ground beside them, and Charlie lurched back. Glen fired again, the bullet driving
into the German’s neck, and the knife fell from his hand.
Charlie spun toward Glen, his face a pasty white. Glen lowered his rifle. “You okay?”
Nodding, Charlie glanced back at the dead soldier, then at the knife. “I didn’t see it,” he
muttered. “I thought he was dead—”
Glen dragged an arm across his sweaty brow, relieved that Charlie was unhurt. The adrenalin
pumping through his body began to wane, and he was suddenly aware of his shaking knees. He had
to get Charlie home to Amy. He had to.
Charlie’s shoulders sagged, and his rifle hung limply in his hand. He was visibly unnerved and his
face drained of color once more. Falling to his knees, Charlie collapsed in a heap, wailing into his
palms.
Glen dropped down beside him and opened his canteen. It wasn’t cowardice that had driven
Charlie to breakdown—he’d faced worse situations by far. Glen knew it was the culmination of
sheer exhaustion and the relentless tension of war that had everything crashing down on him. His
frayed nerves had finally snapped. “Hey,” Glen said, offering the water. “It’s okay, Sam—uh,
Charlie.”
Charlie shook his head, as if trying to force his self-control back into place. “I—I’m sorry…”
Glen’s heart went out to him. He could see how hard Charlie was fighting to rein in his
emotions, and he didn’t blame him at all for faltering. There were times when he’d felt the same
way—terrified and weak. Some days it felt impossible to go on, to take one more day of fighting a
fight that never seemed to end. Glen knew what it was like to feel his grip on sanity slipping through
his fingers—the smell of blood, the sounds of death, the taste of gunpowder, the feel of drenching
sweat, and his mind screaming for it all to end.
Glen helped Charlie to his feet. Charlie raised his face, streaked with a mix of dirt and tears. “It’ll
be okay,” Glen said, wincing slightly, the stinging flesh-wound reminding him of his injury. “Let’s
keep going.”
Charlie nodded and took his rifle in a fierce grip. The squad gathered, empathy painted on their
weary faces. Glen motioned them forward, his arm slung around Charlie’s waist to support him.
“You can make it,” he said to his friend. “We’ll rest soon and eat. You’ll feel a lot better.”
Glen only hoped Charlie believed him.
///////
Monday morning, Bonnie left the Drake and started her walk to work. She tried to occupy her
mind, keep herself from thinking of Dave. She couldn’t explain why she’d even accepted his dinner
invitation, or asked for his help with the furniture in the first place. She knew it had been a mistake.
It was dangerous to get involved, even casually. And she knew it wasn’t his leg that had turned her
away. It was him. She couldn’t afford to feel anything. Feelings meant losing control. Hadn’t she
learned that lesson the hard way? And the lies…all the lies…
She crossed the street, watched some little girls walking toward their parochial school. They
looked so proper in their burgundy jumpers and starched white blouses. They seemed so oblivious,
their world tiny and safe. They don’t know yet, she thought. They don’t know how it is. They don’t
know what it’s like…
Bonnie sat in the classroom, feeling inadequate and lost. She tried to keep up with the other students, but too few
years of formal schooling had left her unprepared. Her attention span waned, her eyes drifting to the window, the
teacher’s voice fading to a faint drone in the back of her mind.
Her father had found work as a longshoreman in Long Beach loading and unloading freight on the docks. He
was lucky, he’d told her and her mother, to have this work during such a tough economic time. They rented a tiny
apartment, and for the first time in over twelve years, Bonnie slept in her own bed, in her own room, with a solid roof
and four walls. The fields were behind her now. No more sleeping in the truck or in some shanty on a farmer’s
property. No more back-breaking work, no more days spent in the punishing sun. Now she lived in the city, went to a
real school, tasted a morsel of stability.
But there were problems with her new life, too. She was embarrassed by who she was, her migratory life, living like
a gypsy, traveling up and down the coast, following the harvests. She had never made real friends—there wasn’t time.
Other migrant families moved on, went to Idaho, to Colorado or Texas. The only consistency Bonnie had was the
fluctuating ebb and flow of new hands, workers who would stay for a while and then disappear. With no brother s and
sisters, she was alone and socially inept.
Above all, though, she was ashamed of being poor, so poor that she couldn’t relate to the other children at school
who spoke of going to the movies, eating ice cream, attending birthday parties. These were things she hadn’t
experienced, and whenshe’d expressed her amazement at such activities, the children laughed at her. It made her feel
like an alien, as though she’d suddenly appeared from another planet, ignorant of the customs of her new world.
When it came time for recess, Bonnie took a seat on a swing and edged the tips of her scuffed shoes against the dirt
to propel her gently back and forth. She watched as the other children ran and played, laughed with ease and
unknowingly taunted her with their happiness.
A girl Bonnie had seen in the classroom meandered toward her. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”
Bonnie simply nodded and kept swinging.
“Where are you from?”
Bonnie scowled for a minute and debated how to answer. “Around.”
The girl cocked her head. “Around? What’s that mean?”
“Well—” Her thoughts spiraled around what to answer. She couldn’t bear to tell her the truth, that this was the
first real home she’d ever had. She reached up and tugged on her earlobe, stalling for time as she decided wha t to say.
“We came from up north, around Sacramento.”
“Oh, I’ve never been there,” the girl said, taking the swing next to Bonnie. “My name is Susan. What’s yours?”
“Bonnie.”
Susan began to swing in unison with her. “Do you like it here?”
Bonnie nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Why did you move?”
“My dad got a better job.”
“Doing what?”
Bonnie screwed up her face. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”
Susan looked indignant for a moment, but then pursued her questioning. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
“No, it’s just me.”
“Gee, you’re lucky. I have two brothers and two sisters,”Susan said. “They’re all older than me. They call me the
baby of the family. I hate that. You’re lucky you’re the only kid.”
Bonnie pondered that a moment. She’d never considered it lucky to be an only child. “What’s it like having
brothers and sisters?”
Susan shrugged. “Sometimes it’s good, like when they give me candy so I won’t tell on them.”
“Tell on them about what?”
Susan narrowed her eyes and peered up at the sky as if calculating her answer. “Like, if they sneak out of the
house at night without my parents knowing and I hear them. Or, when my mom sends them to the grocer for something
and they buy a candy bar with some of the money. You know, they’re afraid I’ll tattle.”
Bonnie leaned forward in the swing. “So if you tattled and they got in trouble, your dad would beat them, right?”
Susan’s eyes widened, and she gasped in surprise. “Oh, gosh, no! My dad never hits us. We just get sent to our
room without supper or might not be able to go to the movie for a week.”
From the sound of shock in Susan’s voice, Bonnie came to understand that not all fathersbeat their children.
“Oh,” she said.
“Why? Does your dad hit you?”
The question came like a bolt of lightning, charging through Bonnie’s body with a visceral shock. Bonnie couldn’t
answer, couldn’t tell the truth. She suddenly felt ashamed and embarrassed. She rubbed the earlobe between her thumb
and forefinger. “Oh, no. My dad’s as gentle as a lamb.”
The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. It was as if she had no choice in the matter. The
lie felt good on her tongue, melting the bitter truth with its silky taste.
“We do lots of things together,” Bonnie continued. “He takes me to the movies and buys me pop corn. And for
Christmas last year, he bought me a new bicycle.”
“Hey, maybe we could go riding together,” Susan suggested with eager anticipation.
“Oh, well, beforewe moved here, it was stolen.” Bonnie gaveSusan a look of disappointment, and her lower li p
jutted forward in a pout. “But maybe I’ll get a new one for my birthday, and then we can go riding.”
Susan bounced out of the swing, as if her allotted time with the new girl had ended. “Okay, gotta go. See you
later.”
Bonnie let her swing come slowly to a stop as the soles of her shoes scuffed against the gravel. She paused a bit
longer in the world she’d created, the one whereher father took her to the movies and bought her popcorn and a bicycle,
and never hit her.
///////
When she arrived home from work, Bonnie took down the red leather box from the top of the
closet and placed it on her bed. She opened the bureau drawer and shuffled through her stockings
until she found the tiny silk purse embroidered with a Chinese dragon motif. She pinched open the
little clasp and withdrew the key that would open the box.
She put the key into the lock and turned it. Her fingers slid along the lid, feeling the grainy
texture of the leather. She hesitated, lifting the lid only an inch, then closed it again. The myst erious
magnetic draw of the things inside possessed a power over her, things from which she couldn’t seem
to separate herself. She knew it was dangerous to keep these things, secrets from her past, strident in
proclaiming her guilt. But she was helpless against them, unable to be rid of the very evidence that
could condemn her.
Her hand came to rest on the top of the box. She locked it again and slipped the key back into
its silken purse. Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the box to its resting place and pushed
her memories to the far recesses of her mind.
Bonnie poured herself a cup of coffee and stood at the living room window. Pulling back the
ruffled edge of the white Priscilla curtain, she sipped the hot liquid and stared out into the courtyard.
The sun drenched the dewy lawn in early morning light, beating back the cool shadows of dawn. She
let out a discontented sigh and glanced at her watch. She wished she didn’t have to go to work,
didn’t need the money. That part had been easier in San Diego, the money—until there was too
much money. It had been so nice to be able to go where she wanted, when she wanted, and have
plenty of money to spend. She couldn’t count the number of hours she’d spent inside a movie
theater, sitting in the dark, absorbed in a make-believe world where she didn’t have to think. How
she loved the lives other people lived in the movies, wished that she could live those lives.
Sometimes, after watching the same movie again and again, she’d close her eyes and become Ingrid
Bergman to Humphrey Bogart in
Casablanca,
or Claudette Colbert to Clark Gable in
Boom Town
. She
would mirror the dialogue, vicariously become the woman on the screen. She loved it, loved being
someone else.
Bonnie checked her watch again and took another sip of coffee. She needed to leave for work,
but a nagging reluctance kept her from moving. Her resistance was only a momentary rebellion, and
she finally peeled away from the window and headed out the door.
///////
Bonnie placed her handbag and hat in her locker, took a cursory look in the mirror, and started
for her station. She was beginning to feel like a caged rat, living alone in an apartment, working in
the tight quarters of the switchboards, trapped within the confines of an uneventful life. That
unquenchable urge to break free of her dull routine began to resurface, her limbs itching for
movement, her soul hungry for some sort of action.