Make the Sky Blue

By Virginia Mason

In the early ’70s, husbands had jobs outside the home and wives had jobs at home. Sally and Ken Lansing and their baby Tiger live in a rural area, and Beth and Laurence Wellcroft in a wealthy subdivision with Beth’s mother and her black caregiver, Verna.

Adultery by Ken and an unplanned pregnancy upend Sally’s life. Beth’s miscarriages and inability to conceive and her mother’s deteriorating health challenge Beth. A Thanksgiving surprise for Verna with son Jeff propels the two women to take a trip to the Sierra to visit Sally’s friends. Laurence, meanwhile, travels to China on business and has an adventure. Living during the rural to suburban transition and the beginning of feminism bring Sally and Beth closer together.

Sally phones Beth about Tiger and about her husband, Ken, having an affair. Beth phones Sally over infertility and her mother’s Alzheimer’s. These two women, different in age and background, forge a friendship of mutual solace. Their friendship shows how women’s friendships are necessarily life-changing and life-affirming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781984575760

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Virginia Mason.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2019900171

ISBN:              Hardcover                978-1-9845-7578-4

                        Softcover                  978-1-9845-7577-7

                        eBook                       978-1-9845-7576-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover: Cloud Painting by Jim Warren

Rev. date: 01/22/2019

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Contents

That Old Black Magic

Embraceable You

Beth’s Country Club Pool

Ladies Who Lunch

No More Ironing Shirts

Mystery Maid

Verna’s Day Off

The Spotlight Man

Triumphant Return

The Note Is Out of the Closet

I Need to Talk

Say It Isn’t So

Your Cheating Heart

Verna’s Birthday Quilt

Home ‘Sour’ Home

Houses of the Rich and Famous

Another Park Date

Birthday Boy

What’ll I Do?

Telling It Like It Is, Phase One

Telling It Like It Is, Phase Two

The Phone Call

Girl’s Talk About A Getaway

Thanksgiving Day

Verna’s Fury

What Can I Do?

Our Man In Hong Kong

The Girl’s Head North

Bishop Or Bust

Sunrise

Sally’s Return

You’ve Got a Friend

Blithe Spirit

Laurence as Chinaman

Beth and the Lonelies

Work, work, Work

Memories

Tell Her to Go

Sleigh Bells Ring

A Stroll in the Park

O, Tannenbaum

Oh, What a Night

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

I’ll Be Loving You

Man of the Hour

The ‘Good’ Life

The Party’s On

The Party’s Aftermath

The Way You Look Tonight

The Baby In the Pool

An Unfortunate Slip

The Empty House

A Misstep

What’ll I Do…?

Trooping Out the Colors

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

My Buddy

Mildred’s Pills

A Song Without Lyrics

An Unexpected Call

Hello, Out there

Dream, Dream, Dream

Still On The Line

Homeward Bound

Someone to Watch Over Me

For

Olive and Alan

and

Mossimo

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Sally stood at the kitchen window listening to the old farmhouse groan, waiting for the sun. Plaster walls with lintels above the doors creaked like old bones caught up with rheumatism. She watched the long slant of grass that led down to the road shift slowly in the morning air. Her mind free-roaming, though attuned to the baby’s cry. She felt a chill thread its way across her shoulders and down her arms, thought she’d smelled a whiff of Grandpa George’s Robert Burn’s Cigarillos. She rubbed her forearms to warm them, reminisced about Grandpa, how he’d favored her, encouraged her to read books about history and nature.

A creek, seasonal usually only a trickle followed the back line of the property. The boundary wall made of dredged up stone from the creek. Three acres of property walls needed attention, without mortar the stones slipped and slid to the ground. As a little girl, Sally helped, wheeling her child-sized wheelbarrow with river stone wherever needed. One day she’d found an arrowhead in the shale. She’d showed it to Grandpa and he told her to run ahead and look for the Chumash Indian who’d lost it. But where could he be? When she tired of the game, he sat her on the stone wall and told her about Father Junipero Serra and the mission not far from the farmhouse. Why had the Indians needed to be ‘converted? Grandpa George didn’t have an answer. And where had the Indians gone, were they chased away by the white man?

Sally walked to the window in the baby’s room. She could almost hear Grandpa, You stand on one side of the tree while I go to the other. Now put your arms around the trunk and I’ll see if I can catch them. He’d knelt down to Sally’s height and taken her hands in both of his. As Sally had grown taller, the olive tree grew wider and before Grandpa George died, their hands could no longer touch. Sally listened as the wind stroked through the leaves, making them dance like Indians around a bonfire.

April this year started cool in the mornings and warm by afternoon. A development across the road had sprung up this last year. Sally’d heard bulldozers carving and digging to make terraces for the houses. A wall was constructed of wire mesh over rocks, concrete blown onto the form from cement mixers. Very different from the wall Grandpa had maintained. Tracts with pseudo Spanish titles, her midwestern grandfather would have been sure to mispronounce, began to encircle the lone farmhouse. Sally’s family, her sister Gretchen and two brothers ‘allowed’ Sally, Ken and the baby to live in the farmhouse. Sometimes the agreement more tenuous than assured.

The baby was asleep so Sally walked to the kitchen, waited for the coffee to reheat on the gas stove and looked out the kitchen window. At the bottom of the rise to the house, the old barn hunched its’ sloping shoulders, the last of the farm buildings still standing. The John Deere tractor had been stored there, replaced by Sally’s husband’s Mazda. The kiddie pool, lawn mower, rakes and hoes for Sally’s garden leaned against the spider-webbed walls. Sally stood in the kitchen waiting, she wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, little blank moments that came and went throughout her day. Tiger was quiet as she looked down the sloping field across the road at the new ‘fake’ wall. Then she remembered she was going to iron Ken’s shirts. As she dragged the ironing board from the kitchen closet she heard the baby. She set up the board then hurried down the hall and lifted him from his crib. The baby’s tush was wet clear through and stinky.

Oh, my sweet prince you need a diaper change. He wagged his head from side to side, leaned over her shoulder toward the dog, Daisy whose tail slapped Sally’s legs like a metronome. God, what a mess. I don’t get paid to do this, she exclaimed. It’s an outrage. Sally was glad the baby didn’t understand her quirky humor. Tiger looked at her, his eyes darting up beyond the dangling duck mobile then back to Sally, wiggling as much as possible. Stop! you little rascal. She subdued the baby, pinned the clean diaper and snugged his undershirt.

Back in the kitchen she waited for the steam iron to get hot and begin to hiss, keeping her eye on the baby who was scooting around on the floor in a sand crab like crawl. The steaming iron flattened the shirt collar under the pressure from her hand. She watched the baby crawl nearer, stabbing at a toy truck with his forehead. Tiger crept closer to the dangling cord of the iron.

Back up, Tiger! Sally tried to stop him with her strongest mother voice. The nine month old paused, looked up and kept crawling adding car-like noises. Sally grabbed the iron - held it high overhead pulled the dangling cord taut. Furious at her husband for insisting his shirts be ironed, not at the baby who was reversing his backside near the ironing board’s tripod legs. She carefully lowered the iron to the counter and turned it off. Then she lunged for Tiger knocking the ironing board to the floor, fortunately well away from the baby. With a metal cry it collapsed, one leg askew like a wounded heron. Tiger was unscathed.

She waited for her heartbeat to find its normal rhythm, held her adored child’s head next to her mouth and whispered into his hair, Sweet Jesus, baby, but you scared me. Tiger looked up at her, made his eyes so big she could see the universe inside. She hoisted him onto her hip, and waited for him to cry as he snuffled then hiccuped. She tucked his downy blond head into her breast.

Sally grabbed the shirt on a hanger with one hand, her other arm around Tiger and walked down to their bedroom, put the baby down on the rug and hung the shirt in Ken’s end of the closet. She saw the corner of an envelope sticking out of a suit jacket. It was a Crane paper envelope, already opened, She took out the note and began to read. Yes, Ken, I think Wednesday would be best. Give me a call…. Her heart thudded with hammer beats. The writing was feminine on creamy Crane red-bordered note paper. Sally put the note back in the pocket and lifted the baby onto her hip. She stood still and waited for her mind to click over, her heart to stop thumping. She closed the closet door and walked down the hall to the kitchen. What to do next next? She pushed open the screen door, still holding Tiger. Daisy charged past, ears flying, tongue lolling to the side, racing down the hill to meet Ken.

She began the trek down the slope carrying the baby to meet him. The farm house, small for the size of the property, stood old and proud in centered aloneness. Maybe she loved this land more than she should, a kindred spirit to her Grandpa, his grave - unmarked, ashes long ago hallowed the soil beneath the olive tree. The Crane paper’s writing stabbed the walls of her papery heart, creased her throat tight but she kept walking.

Ken appeared from the corner of the barn carrying an amorphous shape and another odd object. It was the ‘pool’ date, planned a day ago. She watched as Ken blew up the plastic wading pool with the bicycle pump, pulling the garden hose from the side of the barn to fill it, then signaled, Pool’s ready, Sally, come on Tiger.

Sally capped her eyes with one hand, and squinted into the sun, notched the baby higher on her hip. We’re coming. She watched for uneven places in the grass, the ubiquitous gopher holes. Ken watched but did not come towards her to take the baby. She walked to the bottom carrying him.

I’m going for a quick bike ride, Sally, I didn’t tell you…. He kissed the baby’s cheek and gave Sally a squeeze around the waist. As she looked down at the pool, Ken wheeled his bike onto the driveway. Sally wondered where he might be going, someplace to make a phone call? She felt her heart bump, a small door slam. He waved and winged away leaving Sally and the baby following with their eyes.

Have fun, Tiger and Tiger Mom, Ken called back.

Sally made a face, Thank you very much. I thought this would be ‘give mother a break’ time….

He skidded back onto the gravel and put the kick stand down for the bike. You didn’t think I would leave you two…? Actually, I’m riding later with Ben, I forgot… false start. He looked at the baby, You will learn the crawl stroke today, young man. Sally handed Tiger to him and turned back to sit on the rusty lawn chair Ken had dragged from the barn. Ken placed the baby slowly in the water held his drum-like tummy from underneath before he propelled him around the pool, water sloshing gently over the side. Tiger butted his head against the rim, splashing his face and swallowing water. He squealed happily, both eyes shut tight. When Ken rolled him over onto his back, he started howling, big gobs of air held between piercing shrieks, stopped as soon as the crawl resumed.

To keep from being splashed, Sally dragged the lawn chair farther away, securing her sun hat with one hand. Daisy nosed her arm, tongue swiping a wet patch. Go!… Sally ruffled the dog’s chest fur, and find a ball. The Golden Retriever bounded away, understanding clearly the word ‘ball’.

Sally could feel the niggling presence deep inside her belly of new life. It wanted her to tell. She felt it scratching little letters to remind her. Ken had to know there was another baby on the way. Sally said ‘be quiet’ to her body, stretched herself long in the chair, pointing her toes like a ballerina. The timing was wrong the babies too close. Should she tell him she’d found the note, force an explanation? Her pregnancy and the note twisted themselves into a ball of kitchen twine making it hard for Sally to separate the strands.

She thought she loved this man. She loved this baby. But did she love this marriage? She was unsure about ‘the ties that bind.’ How could she know, and what should she feel about her husband?Maybe these were questions to ask the young wives who lived behind the wall. Sally was isolated in the farmhouse not part of morning coffee klatches. Was there a code of silence between young married women? Did they talk about their husbands or was the subject taboo? Sally grew impatient with her thinking. She had gotten pregnant with Tiger, dropped out of college, leaving her major in English, minor in Biology, shelved for the present. She and Ken married at City Hall, her sister her only attendant. The farmhouse a family decision to give Ken, Sally and the baby a place to live while he started his accounting business.

Sally examined her legs, checking for varicose veins, wiggled her toes free from her flip flops and pressed them into the grass. She felt gaseous, a heaviness lying on top of her pubic bone. The babies would be approximately eighteen months apart, the same as she and her sister, Gretchen. When she closed her eyes, the letters from the note wrote themselves on the inside of her eye lids. She blinked her eyes quickly to keep herself safe in her known world.

Ken lifted Tiger out of the water, held him high over his head, shaking him gently from side to side, the baby gleefully happy. Water sprayed Daisy back from her roaming. The dog began jumping, yipping, turning circles in the air.

Sally thought of the noisy concrete trucks, the disagreeable crushing sound, drums turning round and round, a slurry of sand and water spewing out the ugly concrete wall. She could see a palm tree like a lone soldier, one branch held askew. From the farmhouse window, Sally often saw the branch nodding to her, the tree not mature enough to open its frond fan of leaves. The sun was hot now until a passing cloud interrupted, writing its shadow along the roof lines of the houses. Sally felt remote from the people who lived behind the wall, as though they were living in an unknown foreign country.

She tasted bile and swallowed. She was not suffering morning sickness - more an acrid taste as she thought of the note, what it might mean for her family. The handwritten words like poisoned pricks from a pen. The Crane paper, cold and sharp where it was creased, as loaded as finding a gun.

Want to get your toes wet, Sally? Ken, broke into her reverie and without waiting for her answer, began pulling one corner of the pool up to spill some of the water onto the ground.

No thanks. Why did he start emptying the pool? He’d hardly waited for her answer. Maybe she’d like her toes in the water. Words were both on the tip of her tongue and buried. I’m fine right now. You can keep Tiger. She wanted to sound fun and clever. Maybe that would impress Ken and make her seem more hip. She was frantic to know what she could do, angry thinking anything was her fault. Last week at the grocery store she’d looked at a magazine about adultery. How hard it must be for those people, she’d thought, smug in knowing it would never happen to her. Was that why she’d noticed the article, an ominous warning?

He needs more sunscreen, Ken handed Tiger to her.

Don’t put him on me, he’s wet. She lifted herself out of the chair and pulled her Levi shorts down on her backside. She handed Ken a towel, and helped him wrap the baby. Anyway, the sunscreen’s on the kitchen table. You hold Tiger, I’ll go get it. Ken did not offer to walk up the hill. He could never seem to find anything anyway unless it was one of his own things. Sally walked away quickly to keep from blurting out about the note. One foot stopped the screen door from slamming behind her just as the phone rang. Sally hurried across the kitchen to pick it up.

Hi, c’est moi. Beth said in greeting. Sally found it annoying today. She was caught in the note’s clutches, Beth had broken into her thoughts.

I haven’t talked to you in a long time….How’s the baby and Ken?

Good, Beth. Tiger has been in the kiddie pool. It’s hot here today.

Have you got him now?

No, Ken has him. I came up to the house for sunscreen.

What’s Ken doing home?

He’s taking today off. Sally paused. Beth, maybe we can talk later, I hear the baby. She turned to go back outside and stopped, hand on the back of a kitchen chair. Her throat burned, tears pushed against her eyes. She needed to talk to someone and she’d shut the door on its being Beth.

Ken called just before stepping onto the porch steps, the baby in his arms. He let the screen door slam as he came into the kitchen. Did you find it? Sally’s mind flashed on the note. She thought about speaking from her upset but stopped herself.

I was on the phone, she ran her hands down her arms kneading out shivers. It was hot and she felt shivers of cold. She thought of cheese sticks and got them from the refrigerator. She almost forgot the sunscreen and turned back to pick it up from the table.

What are you doing? Ken asked.

She knew he wanted to get away, go for his bike ride. Sally wanted to delay his leaving. She took the baby and pressed her face into Tiger’s warm, towel-wrapped body. She handed Ken a cheese stick, then went outside to sit on the porch with the baby in her lap, the sunscreen and cheese sticks in one hand.

Thanks, Sal, I’ll see you guys later. He had not commented on the crunched ironing board lying contorted in a corner of the kitchen. Sally thought he probably hadn’t noticed it.

What’s later? This afternoon? Dinnertime? She could feel sharpness in her questioning. Where are you meeting Ben? She pressed the baby close against her heart.

At his apartment. I’ll be back later. Ben’s got stuff to do. He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. Bye, little man, he said to the baby, brushing his cheek with his finger.

Sally watched Ken walk down the slope, his tan tennis legs gathering speed, his muscled body excited to get away. He turned back and waved. Sally looked at the baby, squeezed out a bit of sunscreen, dabbed it across his cheeks and nose, and on his pillowed shoulders. Her head hurt where her pony tail was caught in a rubber band. She undid her long brown hair, shook it loose, draping it over the baby’s face. Tiger looked up, pulled loose strands of her hair making soft cooing noises. She peeled the plastic strip and broke off a piece of cheese. Here, my hairy man.

Tiger laughed, gummed the soft cheese, swallowed and pulled her hair as she gave him another piece, which he spat out. She looked across the road before tears blurred her vision. She felt a small whir deep inside her belly, You taking this in little boy child? Tiger cried one soft cry. She clucked at him to make him laugh. She looked up at the sky to stop her tears, gray clouds shifting from west to east, other patches of sky a flat denim blue.

Maybe the people who lived behind the wall were leading a happy life. She hugged Tiger too hard, he began to whimper. Sally stood up, slinging him lightly over her shoulder, opened the screen door and airplaned him into his high chair. She had forgotten to tell Ken about the broken ironing board. He would have smiled vaguely, moved it out of his mind, his own plans already set.

That Old Black Magic

The Christmas party at the famous Mexican restaurant, El Adobe, Nixon’s favorite and close to where they lived, pushed into Sally’s mind. She had made her silk dress, a complicated Vogue pattern of small black dots on a silver background. Why she had sewn her dress she wasn’t sure. She could have bought a dress at Bandido, a shop she and Beth had been to down the street from the restaurant. Ken made enough money for her to buy a dress. It had to do with remaining creative while being Tiger’s Mom. She wasn’t the best cook, and housework was hideous. Did she look frumpy? She did look different from the women at the party. Their hair had been done, nails manicured, she hadn’t gotten around to either, that would have mean’t finding a sitter. Finishing the dress had to wait until Beth could pin the hem of the skirt. There had been a rush to finish hand sewing the morning of the party.

With a drink in hand, Sally had looked around for someone to talk to. She knew only one person and he was busy being the host. Sally felt conflicted, a target as both the bosses’ wife and as though she was an outsider guest. The food looked good, Mexican menu of course but there seemed too much of everything and she felt too nervous to put much on her plate. She should be more adept at enjoying herself. She wasn’t. Ken said to mingle, she wasn’t good at mingling.

I’m Sally, she’d smiled and put out her hand. The couple looked at one another embarrassed and laughed nervously. Of course, they knew she was Sally, she’d been introduced when they’d arrived. They stood up and asked if they could refresh her drink. Yes, thank you, it’s scotch and soda.

The lone woman left at the table looked up at her. I’m Mary Ann… I just joined your husband’s office.

Are you new to California? Sally asked as she pulled out a chair to sit down.

No, just new to your husband’s company. We moved here a while ago from northern California so my husband could work for Boeing.

Across the room a few people stood up to dance. A young woman with a striking figure was talking to Ken. Her shoulder length auburn hair was cut beautifully, a tight dress accentuated a perfect silhouette and the side-slit skirt elongated her height. She was wearing very high heels that accentuated the curve of her back. Sally felt a sensation prickle her scalp as though she had been mildly shocked. Glad to be seated, she was not sure she could have stood up. A rippling across her chest, a clipped heart beat. Sally didn’t know then but she would always feel this sensation whenever she thought of this image. An unravelling of the fabric of their lives, everything coming apart like a chain-stitched hem. She asked Mary Ann if she knew the woman’s name who was talking to Ken.

She’s Blythe, I think she might be his new assistant..

Embraceable You

The sickening reverie passed as she watched Tiger, banging on the tray with his baby spoon, kicking his feet against the footrest and cursing in baby talk. Don’t use that kind of talk with me young man. He wiggled and blew bubbles, threatened to knock over the highchair. She pulled a chair alongside to calm him. How could he be excited about carrots? His mouth was open, she spooned them in, wiping his orange chin with the edge of the spoon. She knew she should eat something herself for the sake of the new baby, but she could not think of anything that she wanted. Her stomach tightened into a vise. She ate a few saltines.

Tiger, my monkey man, my miracle.

She carried the baby into his room, singing, You Are My Sunshine, a tradition her mother began before dishwashers. Mother washed while Sally dried, and they both sang lustily, switching off with one another to sing harmony. Someday Tiger would sing if she kept encouraging him to use his voice. The new life growing inside must feel the vibrations. Sally stretched out on the day bed and waited for Tiger to fall asleep. Nap time for her was 20 minutes, before she jumped up to think about dinner. Ken would be home soon. Why hadn’t she pinned him down to the time?

She dressed a sleepy Tiger in a sweater Ken’s mother had knitted, a lovely cornflower blue that matched his eyes and fit perfectly. She found a jacket for herself in the hall closet and carried Tiger out onto the kitchen porch. A lone gull flew high overhead on its way to the dump. Not an uncommon occurrence, the birds knew how to find what they needed to sustain them. She smiled up at the bird and put Tiger in his stroller. A breeze ruffled her hair, and she reached in her pocket for a hair clip to catch her hair in a pony tail. The baby looked up at her with a puzzled expression. Air blew across his face and he closed his eyes to make it stop. The dog batted her tail against the screen door so Sally grabbed the leash, snapping it onto Daisy’s collar. The three started down the field. The baby screamed, happy going over the rough patches. Soon it became too hard for Sally to push the stroller. It was dragging through the grass, the wheels not turning, leaving a wake in the turf like a prairie schooner. Halfway she gave up, hefted Tiger onto her hip and pushed the empty stroller the rest of the way down to the road.

Sally crossed the new blacktop road, courtesy of the development, put Tiger back in the stroller and walked along the sidewalk that lined the wall. A sign at the entrance said in old fashioned lettering, La Mirador Manor. Sally walked past the tree she could see from the farmhouse window. She stopped when she heard the voices of children behind the wall. Tiger started fussing, banging his feet against the bumper of the stroller. She did not want to be caught out eavesdropping, so she began to walk faster. After some distance she started to half run. Tiger began screeching with joy. Out of breath, Sally slowed to a stop.

From the other side of the wall, she heard the ‘sprong’ sound of a diving board reverberating, the splash of someone entering the water. Sally knew it was a clean dive, hearing the water slosh gently against the side of the pool. She kneeled down on the grass in the shade of a large Plumbago bush, pulling the stroller near her. Daisy flopped down by Tiger who leaned over and pulled the dog’s fur, then clutched at the blue blossoms tickling the top of his head. Sally stopped Tiger from putting them in his mouth remembering another plant, Hibiscus was poisonous. Another sprong sounded and a