Page 26

BARBARA

“ W hat’s with the scarf?” Frank asked as he glanced at me from the passenger seat of our Plymouth.

I adjusted the silk scarf covering my hair, smoothing it into place. “Oh, I went to visit some of Mr. Cardello’s properties. My hair got messed up.” Technically, neither of those statements was untrue.

“What properties?” he pressed.

“A few apartment buildings downtown, some hotels, a department store or two, and a future residential site.” Again, not a lie. I glanced at him sideways. “It was pretty windy.”

I turned my attention back to the road, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The silence stretched between us, thick with tension. From the corner of my eye, I caught Frank’s jaw flexing as he stared out the windshield.

“I don’t like it,” he finally said, his voice tight. “You running all over town with that man. It’s not proper.”

I took a deep breath, willing myself to remain calm. “It’s part of my job, Frank.”

“You’re a part-time secretary, Barbara. Your job is to type letters and answer phones,” Frank retorted, his voice rising. “Not to go traipsing around the city with your boss like some…some…”

“Some what?” I challenged, my temper flaring.

Frank’s jaw tightened. “You know what I mean,” he muttered.

I clenched the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles turned white. “No, Frank, I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“People will get the wrong idea,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “The war is long over. You don’t need to be out there being Rosie the Riveter.”

I bit back a sharp retort, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “Mr. Cardello values my input,” I said carefully. “He’s teaching me about the business. It’s an opportunity to learn and grow.”

Frank scoffed. “Learn and grow? What on earth for?”

His words stung, rekindling the familiar ache of unfulfillment.

“This job… It gives me a sense of purpose. Is that so wrong?”

Frank sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t understand why you need more, Barb.”

“Why does it bother you that I want something for myself, Frank? I’m still your wife.”

“Then act like it!” he snapped. “A proper wife doesn’t spend more time with her boss than her own husband. A proper wife is home when her family needs her.”

I bit back every fiery retort that bloomed on my tongue. It wasn’t worth it.

I pulled into our driveway and shifted the car into park.

Frank glanced up, then turned to me, brow furrowed. “Aren’t we going to Edith’s place to pick up Frank Junior?”

“ I am,” I answered. “I just figured I’d give you a head start on your whiskey.” My tone was ice.

Frank’s face flushed red. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you’ll head straight for the liquor cabinet the moment we walk through that door. So why don’t you get a head start while I pick up our son?”

Frank’s jaw clenched as he glared at me. “You’re out of line, Barbara,” he growled.

“Am I?” I shot back, my composure finally cracking. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

We stared at each other in tense silence, neither willing to back down. Then, Frank shoved the car door open and got out, slamming it behind him hard enough to make the whole vehicle shake. I watched him stomp to the house and fumble with his keys before disappearing inside.

He shut the front door so violently, the windowpanes rattled. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I wouldn’t cry. Not over this. Not over him.

Not when I had someone far better.

“Where did you stash Frank?” Edith glanced over my shoulder at my empty car in her driveway.

“I left him at home.”

She smirked, giving me a once-over. “So…”

“So what?”

“Don’t play coy with me. How did it go?”

I hesitated, glancing around Edith’s front porch. “Let’s go inside.”

Edith nodded and ushered me in, closing the door behind us. She led me to the living room where Frankie was playing with wooden blocks on a lime-green-and-yellow crocheted rug.

“Hi, sweetie,” I cooed, bending down to ruffle his soft blond hair.

He beamed up at me, proudly showing off the tower he had built. “Look, Mama!”

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” I kissed his forehead. “My little architect.”

He smashed the tower with a firetruck. His eyes lit up at the destruction, and he set about stacking the blocks anew.

Edith settled onto the sofa, patting the spot beside her. “All right, spill. I want all the juicy details.”

I sank down next to her with a heavy sigh, a dreamy smile tugging at my lips as memories of the past hours washed over me.

“He’s everything I imagined,” I said, soft and reminiscent.

“Passionate, tender, and utterly sure of himself. When I’m with him, Edith…

it’s like he sees straight into my soul.

Like he knows every secret desire I’ve ever had.

He’s unlocked a part of me that I didn’t even know existed. ”

“He’s that good, huh?”

“Earth-shattering.”

Edith raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of skepticism and concern. “And you’re sure this is what you want? To risk everything for a fling?”

I bit my lip, the reality of her question sinking in. “It’s not just a fling, Edith.”

“Then what?”

I looked away, my eyes wandering to the framed photographs on Edith’s mantel—pictures of her and her late husband, of our family, of her adventures in exotic locales. “I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “But when I’m with him, it feels real. It feels like…love.”

She sighed, uncrossed her arms, and leaned forward, her expression softening.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, sis.

Remember when you thought marrying Frank was the solution to everything?

That it would make you happy and fulfilled?

” She held up her hands before I could retort.

“You made the twenty-one-year-old marriage just like I did. Anything to get out of Mother’s shadow.

Believe me, I get it. But you rushed into that, and look where you are.

” She paused and looked at me poignantly.

“And now you’re rushing into this with Victor. ”

“It’s different,” I insisted.

“I’m sure it is.”

Edith’s telephone rang. “Hold that thought,” she said over her shoulder as she stood and walked to the kitchen. “Hello?”

I turned my attention back to Frankie, watching him drive his wooden cars around the rug like a racetrack.

Edith returned to the living room, stretching the phone cord as she walked. “Barbara, it’s Frank.”

I stepped forward, but she cut me off with a raised hand.

“He wants to know if you’re still here,” she whispered, cupping her palm over the mouthpiece.

“Tell him—” I started, then caught myself. “Tell him yes.”

Edith shrugged and uncovered the mouthpiece. “She’s still here, Frank.”

I turned to leave, but Edith motioned for me to stay. She winked at me. I froze.

“And she and Frankie are staying for dinner.”

“Edie,” I whispered urgently, but she waved me off.

“Frank,” she said, her voice thick with syrupy sweetness. “You’re a big, strong man. You can handle dinner on your own for one night. Surely you can make a sandwich without Barbara’s help.”

“Edith!” I hissed.

She turned her back to me, stretching the phone cord as far as it would go. “Oh, come now, Frank. It’s not that hard. A bit of bread, some ham, maybe a slice of cheese.”

My heart pounded, and my ears burned hot. I was in for it now.

I strained to hear Frank’s response, but his voice was a muffled growl through the receiver. Edith listened, her lips curling into a feline grin—the kind that spelled trouble. She was enjoying this far too much.

“Of course,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely. Bye now.” She hung up the phone while he was still talking and turned to me, hands on her hips.

“Are you insane?” I spat. “He’s going to be livid!”

“Let him be,” Edith said, unperturbed. “You need some time away from him to think clearly.” She walked past me and into the living room, where she picked up a stuffed elephant and handed it to Frankie.

“Besides, I miss my baby sister. We hardly get any real time together now that you’re such a career woman. ”

I stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over my chest. “Edith, I can’t?—”

“You can,” she interrupted, returning to the kitchen. “Sit. I’ll make spaghetti.”

“Edith—”

“Sit,” she commanded, pulling a pot from a cupboard. “Frank will cool off.”

I hesitated, then nodded and settled into a chair at the kitchen table. Edith opened her icebox and rummaged through it, pulling out vegetables and a package of ground beef.

“So,” she said, setting the items on the counter, “you never finished telling me about your day with Victor.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It was wonderful.”

“Details, darling. I live vicariously through you now.” She chopped an onion with swift, practiced strokes.

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “We skipped out of work mid-morning and went to his downtown apartment.”

Edith’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she set the pot on the burner. “Straight to the den of sin. Bold move.” She opened a cupboard and took out a box of spaghetti.

“He owns the whole top floor,” I said, the memory washing over me. “The view is breathtaking.” My words were laden with the awe I had felt standing in Victor’s arms, the world seeming small and conquerable from such heights.

“And conveniently, no neighbors to share walls with…” She winked.

I bit back a smile, unable to suppress the warmth spreading through me.

“And how is he in his natural habitat?”

“He’s very…assertive,” I said, shivers rippling down my spine at the memory of his hands on me and that commanding voice. “He knows exactly what he wants and takes it. He’s intense, and it’s irresistible.”

Edith smirked. “And you like being taken, do you? Like a damsel in one of those cheap romance novels?”