December 1941
The songbirdsoutside my window are reviving me from the few hours of sleep I stole after spending most of the night tossing and turning as I stirred over the commotion at the dinner table. I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is anger, resentment, or suppression. I suppose it could be all three. I must wonder if any of us have choices in life, or are we just led to believe we do?
The arguments between Dad and me aren’t new, but Everett’s opinion took me by surprise. It was challenging to say goodnight to him because I was at a loss for words, which doesn’t happen often.
Part of me wonders if Everett was taking Dad’s side to appear as a figure of authority, or maybe he felt the need to prove his worth as the man in my life, protecting me at all costs. But after Dad left the room, Everett and I spoke in private. That moment, realizing his opinion hadn’t changed, made it hard to assume anything more than the fact of him agreeing with Dad.
Of course, I could very well be wrong, but it’s a tough concept to digest when I feel I should be independent and enjoy the liberty of choosing the path I want to follow.Freedom.
Maybe someone should search the word’s definition in a dictionary because the meaning seems to have become lost or forgotten.
I’m going to have bags under my eyes today. I should ring Everett and tell him I’m feeling ill. The thought of breaking our plans yanks at my heart. Even though I’m distraught about the conversation we had last night, I still want to see him and spend the morning together. This must be how a woman falls under the hypnotic control of a man. She falls in love and becomes too weak to do anything more than smile and agree to his every whim.
The decision is mine to make.
I blink at the time on my clock, telling myself I have less than a half-hour to get myself ready before Everett pulls up out front to wait for me. A cold splash of water against my face might help get me moving.
One by one, I unwind the curlers from my hair, realizing I twisted them tighter than usual last night—a side-effect of going to bed frustrated and angry. With one glance in the mirror, I realize I look like the childhood version of Shirley Temple with her tight barrel curls and dimpled cheeks. I run my brush through each tendril, yanking at each spiral. With a mess of locks to deal with, I haven’t had a chance to paint a coat of mascara over my lashes when I see the glow of headlights outside my window.
As usual, Everett is right on time, never a minute early or late. I take my lipstick and smooth it over my lips, check my teeth for remnants of pigment, slip on a sweater, and grab my purse and shoes to sneak out of the house before Dad notices my footsteps.
I tiptoe through the cool dew-covered grass, inhaling the lush aroma of damp plumerias, as I make my way closer to Everett’s car. I spot him standing by the passenger door with eager eyes and a radiant smile. He always finds a way to make my heart melt, even in my fit of exasperation. “Aloha. Good morning,” I whisper.
“Aloha, doll-face,” he greets me. “Gosh, who needs the sun when I have a pretty little thing like you to light up the day? The Burgundy of your sweater makes your eyes light up.” There he goes again, saying things I can’t move passed. He presses his lips to my cheek before inviting me into his car. “I missed you.”
I want to tell him I slept poorly because last night upset me so much, but I bite my tongue for the moment. He closes the door and rushes around to his side, smoothly closing himself inside. “I missed you too.” My response feels delayed, but I always miss him when we’re not together despite my frustration.
While placing his hands on the steering wheel, Everett pulls in a sharp breath through his nose, hinting at a sign of anguish. “I know you’re upset about what I said last night. Am I right?”
To think that there is a type of man who can read a woman’s mind ... well, he must be wise beyond his years. I sigh and drop my gaze to my interwoven gloved fingers. “Well, yes, I’m still quite bothered over the conversation that took place.” There’s no reason to lie about the way I feel. I always thought Mom should have been more honest with Dad about how she felt about specific topics.
Everett twists his head toward me and takes one of my hands into his. “Lizzie, I shouldn’t have interfered. I love you, that’s all.”
“Well, I appreciate your words. Thank you for understanding,” I reply, trying to sound proper and cordial in favor of my argument.
“But to be fair, it is slightly your fault.”
“Well, I’ll be. How in the world do you suppose that?” I argue.
“It’s entirely your fault that you made me fall in love with you. You took away my control to be a man of restraint. Some might even say you stole my freedom of choosing whether I fall in love with a beautiful, smart, sassy, outspoken woman like yourself, but what’s the point in arguing. I allowed it to happen, right?”
His words permeate my tired mind. I believe he’s trying to explain that he allowed my influence to take over. I wouldn’t have thought I could have such an effect on someone.
“I see.” I try to stifle the smile growing across my lips.
“If I didn’t want to fall in love with you, I could have walked away.”
“You mean to say you could have avoided heartbreak,” I remind him.
“Spending these months with you is well worth any form of heartbreak I might experience beyond today.” Everett veers away from the curb, cruising in near silence toward the end of the street.
I twist my body to stare at the profile of his face; a silhouette within the darkness. “How do you always know just the right words to make me forget what I was angry about?”
He peers over at me for a brief second. “The last thing I want to do is upset you, but I promised you I would be honest no matter what. Honesty is our foundation, isn’t it?”
The truth should be something I appreciate, respect, and consider—but not allow it to dictate my decision. “You’re a smart man, Everett.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but my respect for you goes beyond what I can express. I just want you to know what I’m thinking. You’re a resilient woman, and I know you can handle more than most might give you credit for, which means I don’t doubt you will make the best decision for yourself. In fact, I find this trait to be one of your finest qualities.”
