Scene 5

Scene Five...Armistice Day
Time: Lunch, Sunday, November 11, 1945
Place: William's boat
Storyteller: Janet

Betty is coasting by Sal's. His flag is at half-mast for Armistice Day. The restaurant is closed; plenty of parking spaces. William jogs out to help carry food. I hold the Monopoly game and warm rolls.

"There's that cat again...the pelican chaser. Is it yours, William?"

"Was here when I arrived. Sal thinks he's a friendly stray. Pretty color, black with gold spots. I've been calling him Tom."

Betty is busy in the small kitchen. William says it's a galley.

I might as well chat. "Speaking of pets, Lucy has been following Mom around."

"Cat or dog?"

"Golden retriever. My tenth birthday present."

William's eyebrows go up with interest. "Lucy's monitoring your mother's blood sugar! Dogs can tell when people don't smell right."

"Some bark and growl to warn their owners of dangerous glucose levels...hyper or hypoglycemia."

"So, Lucy knows more about diabetes than I do. Wonder if she knows Paul smells wrong, like motor oil?"

Betty's ready. "Let's eat; food's hot. Those are pretty blue dishes, William. Thanks for setting the table."

"The plates match your dress," he says.

My gosh, he noticed her dress. Maybe he likes hard to get women.

We dig in. Not much dinner conversation. Mid meal he says, "That's the best baked chicken I've ever tasted; mashed potatoes and gravy to die for."

The cook blushes through her fair skin and light freckles.

Wait til you bite into Betty's cherry pie. Mind if we play Monopoly before dessert? I'm full as a tick."

"In France, when times got quiet, we played that game. Bill was from Atlantic City, so he knew all about the real life properties."

"Who's Bill?" Nosy me had to ask.

"My best friend. He's M.I.A. Missing."

"I'm so very sorry." Betty says softly.

Why did I open up that can of worms? "I'll do the dishes. You two stay put."

Betty disobeys, follows me, and won't let our host help. "Not enough room for three in a galley," she insists.

William clears the dishes and sets up the game. "Pick a token." He gives Betty first choice. What a gentleman.

"She always gets the iron. May I have the top hat?" 

"Boy, I would have lost that bet. After all your car talk, I almost handed you the race car."

"No, that's Paul's piece. The hat fits my finger perfectly. In goes the pinkie. See."

Within an hour, Betty's broke. This is no surprise, but I'm not doing so hot either."

"Yeaaa, I get to go to jail and pray for a miracle." It's wise to stay behind bars as long as possible, under the circumstances.

Three turns later, my time is up. I must get out; it's the rules.

"Come on ten." I blow on the dice and give them a toss. "Oh no, four."

My hat moves. "One...two...three...four...Park Place." 

"Park Place with my hotel!" William jumps out of his seat. "Hand over the dough."

Before the pay off is complete, a cat scream grabs our attention.

The grown ups beat me off the boat. Poor Tom is about a dozen yards away crying. His left ear is bloody and floppy. Betty proceeds toward the cat, but William stops her.

"Don't touch him. Injured animals are known to bite. I've been feeding him. Janet, bring me the tuna in the fridge."

I hop to it, returning with the fish.

Betty runs to her black Ford for her black bag.

William takes his time approaching Tom. The cat sniffs the bowl, licks it, and finally takes a nibble.

"Let's give him a tranquilizer and sew that ear back on." William is obviously talking to my sister, not me.

As luck would have it, they turn down my insincere offer to help. I kick off my sandals and hightail it to the beach.

The water feels warm for November.  I bend over to roll up my peddle pushers. In washes a pinky-peachy colored queen conch shell. I scoop it up. Although bigger and prettier than the northern variety, the conch triggers memories of collecting shells on the Jersey shore. I remember the Ocean City white beach. It was dotted with hundreds of multicolored umbrellas.

Kids are building castles from buckets of wet sand. I fill my little red bucket with shells.

Where's Betty? She's calling me.

There she is, leaning over the boardwalk railing, waving with both arms.

I run to her, which is slow going for small feet in the sand.

"Are you hungry?" my very big sister asks.

"Yes! For an ice cream sundae." I look up and down the boardwalk for a malt shop, but see something better. A couple of blocks away, the roller coaster climbs toward the top. It peaks. People scream. It dives. It roars down.

"Can we go on the rides tonight? Please, Betty, please."

A sudden wave drenches my peddle pushers, ending the trip down Memory Lane. It washes in a Florida crown conch shell. Darn. Ocean City was just a childhood day dream. I pick up the brown and white shell. Not as colorful as the queen conch, but still worth taking back to Betty and William.

Gosh, wonder how Tom is doing? I turn around and dash for the marina. My pants are half dry before boarding the boat.

All appears well. Betty's sipping a goblet of wine. William's drinking something bubbly. The cat is asleep on a sheet, oblivious to the vet appointment scheduled for early morning. Tom's getting "fixed", shots, and a check up. William promises to call Betty with an update tomorrow.

Oh, no. They're saying goodnight. This calls for a stall tactic. "I guess the parents who adopted you were very nice people, but couldn't have kids of their own?"

Betty's eyes pop out of her head.

"Right. The priest and nuns who adopted me weren't allowed to have children."

I'm shocked, but not silenced. "You're kidding; is that legal?"

"Probably not."

I can't shut up. "We'll have to ask Dad."

"Is the giant a lawyer?"

"Lucky guess...which reminds me, Mom said you have to come for Thanksgiving."

"What should I bring?"

"Sloe gin would be nice."

Betty hits my arm, waves bye to William, and pulls me toward Sal's parking lot.

It's going to be a dreadful ride home.

She drives about a mile before laying into me. "Who's Bill?" Betty mimics me. "Your parents couldn't have kids?" She continues. "Sloe gin?"

"Someone had to make friendly conversation."

"Well, at least I don't have to see him til Turkey Day. Thank goodness he doesn't work at the hospital."