Page 40 of His Girl Hollywood

“Pauline, please.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. You’re Mrs. Morgan. If I called you Pauline, I’d have to rap my own knuckles for the impudence.” He turned and winked at Arlene again. Arlene knew her mother was eating it up.

“And you remembered!” her mother crowed, burying her nose in the bouquet.

“Of course I remembered. Got stuck enough by the thorns on your yellow rosebushes as a kid. How could I forget?”

The memory of a day long ago came rushing back to Arlene. They’d been ten years old at the time. Don was making up a dancestep, and Arlene was attempting to be his partner and failing. She’d leaned back as he tried to dip her, and they’d both fallen into one of her mother’s rosebushes. Arlene touched her fingers to the small line above her eyebrow, the scar left by a thorn. She caressed it, as if merely touching it would thrust her through space and time back to that moment. Don gave her a knowing look, and all at once, it was too much for her. Having him here. Standing in her living room. Giving her mother flowers. Inviting him to dinner had been a mistake. This house held too many memories of what he’d once been to her. What he’d never even known he’d meant to her.

“I’ll get those in some water.” She grabbed the flowers and rushed to the kitchen, bracing herself against the sink as she filled a vase. She needed to pull herself together. She straightened and looked out the window, cheerily covered by yellow eyelet curtains. Outside, a cinder-block wall the color of salmon stared back at her. That wall circled the entire yard, surrounding the property that the Morgans and the Lazzarinis had once shared. At one time, the patch of grass, the two clotheslines, the collection of rosebushes, and the cracked pieces of cement that comprised their backyard had been Arlene’s entire world. But it wasn’t anymore. Arlene had yearned for something bigger, and she’d gotten it. No, she’d earned it. That was exactly what Don had done too. The difference was she hadn’t forgotten where she came from.

Buthadhe forgotten? Ten years, and he’d remembered her mother’s favorite flowers like it was yesterday. He’d never called. Never written. Even when she had needed him most. He claimed he’d received her wire too late to do anything about it. But what about the years before that?

Had he thought of her the way that she had thought of him? A line of music or a silly joke used to send her thoughts careening in his direction. She’d been so certain he hadn’t. That the last thoughthe’d spared for any of them had been the moment he waved goodbye to her at the station. But at dinner the other night, he’d seem contrite, like he had truly missed her. And her parents. He was holding something back. She could feel it niggling at her. There was something he wasn’t telling her. What if that something was why he’d disappeared from their lives? What if she was wrong about him and his arrogance and his disregard for her and the entire Morgan family?

“Ach, Lena what are you doing?” Her mother leaned across her and turned off the faucet. The vase was overflowing.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Always daydreams with you.”

“No, no, I was worrying about a scene in the picture.” Arlene grimaced. But her mother gave her a knowing look. She’d never been able to keep anything from her mother. For starters, she was a terrible liar.

But Arlene was saved from trying to explain herself when the doorbell rang again, and the house was flooded with the noisy sound of her brother, Bill, his wife, Nancy, and their two boys. By the time they’d quieted everyone down, made sure Grandma got all her hugs, and wrestled the boys into chairs at the table, dinner was ready.

“Here, Donnie, you sit next to me.” Pauline smiled. Don had already gone to take the chair next to Arlene on the other side of the table by the wall.

“Oh, but—”

“No, please,” Arlene interjected. “She asked me to set you a place next to her. It would really make her night. I know she wants to hear all about what you’ve been up to.” Don bit his lip, and she could tell he was feeling a bit awkward. Did he feel guilty about his protracted absence?

He went around the table, next to her mother’s chair. But then he grabbed at the chair on his other side. “Won’t you sit here then, Arlene?”

“No, that’s Dad’s chair.”

A potent quiet fell over the room and no one spoke for a moment. Arlene and Bill eyed each other nervously, waiting for it to send their mom into tears. Pauline hadn’t let anyone sit there in three years. It stayed empty to remind everyone who should still be at their table. But Pauline Morgan was not about to disappoint a houseguest, and she surprised them all. “I think he’d like you to sit there, Lena.”

Arlene blinked back tears. God, it still felt so raw. “I don’t know if I—” she whispered to the floor.

Don pulled out her father’s chair, the ghost of Patrick Morgan still present in the wear of the wood on the legs, where the heels of his work boots had rubbed it raw. The weight of his body evident in the compressed fluff of the seat cushion. She looked up at Bill, at Nancy who was smiling supportively, at the boys who had no idea what was going on, at her mom who was nodding at her, and finally at Don. “It’s okay,” he mouthed.

She took a breath, came back around the table, and sat down. Don took his seat beside her. Under the table, his hand grabbed hers. She squeezed back in silent thanks. This was what she’d needed from him before. His support. His reminder that things would be okay because he was there. The strength of his hand holding hers made her feel like she could soldier on through anything.

But this was an illusion. A moment of nostalgia. Because he hadn’t been there. He said he’d never written when her father had died because he thought it was too little too late. But that was a paltry excuse. It would’ve never been too late. To know he wasmourning this loss too. That he understood the pieces of her heart that were missing, because they were the same parts of his heart that had cracked and broken. They’d both loved her father. But only one of them had never forgotten him. Don had failed her, her entire family. He’d disappeared. And thinking he wouldn’t do the same thing again once this picture was done was folly. So, she let go of Don’s hand.

Bill grabbed for the chicken-fried steak, while Nancy struggled to convince the boys to let her put some squash on their plates. “Nothing green,” Bobby said, pouting.

“Darling, it’s delicious, I promise,” Nancy tried.

Bobby crossed his arms and clamped his jaw shut. Fred, wanting to be just like his older brother, followed suit. Nancy sighed, and Arlene suppressed a laugh. If the boys knew it was funny, it would only encourage them.

But to her surprise, it was Don who intervened. “Boys, don’t you want to grow up big and strong?”

Bobby and Fred stared at Don, a mix of awe and consternation on their faces, as if they weren’t entirely sure who this strange man was and why he was telling them what to do.

Fred looked nervously at Bobby for approval, before quickly nodding his head. “Of course we do,” added Bobby. “I’m going to be big and strong like my daddy. And then I’m going to work on Daddy’s boat.”

Nancy grinned at their side of the table. “He’s really got a thing for boats right now.”