Driver's Ed A Texas Tale

By Karl Kendall

Just after WWII, widowed Lorraine Hughes and her son Kevin move from Chicago to Houston for his specialized medical treatment. Away from the watchful eye of Lorraine's mother and effectively on their own for the first time, both must learn to cope in this new environment of postwar optimism and consumerism,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karl Kendall
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218401504

Book preview

Prologue

A Case of Beer

The two brothers shared a cigarette as they leaned against the shed door. They had dragged the door open, skimming up a considerable amount of mud in the process. The door sagged on its hinges and the packed clay floor had long ago lost its covering of hay. In the back was an old car, paint faded, covered in cobwebs and dust, its tires deflated. One brother took a drag on the cigarette and handed it to the other.

Dad says to just get it out of here. He needs room for those combine parts.

The other brother took the final drag and stomped the butt into the mud. Think it’ll roll? It’s sunk down pretty low.

Put some boards under it, jack it up. See if the tires will pump up.

I guess it’s worth a try, or we just get the tractor and some rope. Yank it out of there.

Hell, the more I think about it, I’m thinking it might start if we hook a battery up to it, put some gas in the carburetor. Worth a try, don’t you think? We won’t need to get all dirty, won’t need to push it, or even tow it, maybe.

Mom did say she remembered the clutch was slipping a bit when she backed it in, but obviously it ran when she shut it down.

When would that have been? Forty-three or so. It’s been sitting quite a while.

Could be worse, but what are we supposed to do with it when we get it out of there?

Dad says we can have it, but I sure don’t want it. Do you want it? He smiled grimly at his brother, who seemed to ponder their small shared just-starting-to-rust bounty.

Leave it in a field for target practice. Or we could try to sell it; Mom says she’s pretty sure she has the title somewhere. Maybe some colored fellow would want it?

And what? Get enough for a case of beer? If we’re lucky. Can’t even get anything for scrap metal nowadays.

The other brother produced a toothy grin accompanying what he thought was a brilliant solution. I know. Let’s give it to our cousin. As a gift. For free.

Eddie? What’s he going to do with it?

I tell you what he’ll do; he’ll try to fix it. Get it running, at least good enough, try to use it. He’ll have to. Mom says he’s what you call obsessive-compulsive.

You know dad says he’s a pansy, but just doesn’t know it yet. That’s why he does all that artsy stuff, and moved to the city. Besides, don’t he live in an apartment building or something? Where’s he going to keep it?

Well, that’s his problem, ain’t it? I think it’ll be worth a whole case of beer.

You know, now that I think about, I tend to agree.

Chapter 1

Hotel Burleson

The passenger train, a modern streamliner, pulled into Houston’s Union Station shortly after seven in the evening. It was the Texas Chief coming from Chicago the day before, soon to be at its terminus in Galveston. More than half of its remaining passengers disembarked, mostly men in suits with overnight bags, and a small complement of soldiers with their duffels. There were also just a few women, nicely dressed for travel, and each traveling with a man. They tended to have a suitcase or two that the men assisted with. One woman was traveling with a small boy.

The woman, dark-haired and appearing in her mid-to-late twenties, was arguably pretty but modestly dressed, very much middle class and making no pretense of more. She wore just a little fashionable makeup and a minimum in the way of jewelry, but did wear a certain gold star on her lapel, declaring her status as a war widow. Her mother had convinced her to wear it for the trip, but it made her self-conscious.

The boy was five quickly going on six, and small for his age but looked somewhat older because of his build. Not remotely cherubic, he had a thin frame, gaunt was the word often used, but not underfed. He was just not robust. The woman, his mother, had to take his hand and nearly pull him off the train as he seemed reluctant to disembark.

It was August, so it was hot and very humid. The passenger cars were air-conditioned, making the contrast great when stepping down and out of the train. It was suddenly very uncomfortable. The boy meekly called out no. His mother stayed silent, feigning discipline, and weary comprehension. As he settled into the inevitable and stood pouting, she looked up and waved to a Redcap.

They made eye contact as she declared, Two suitcases, the medium blue ones, and I’m sorry, the green trunk as well. It’s quite heavy I’m afraid.

Yes ma’am, that’s what we’re here for. The man smiled and looked at the boy. How are you today, young fellow? his drawl, classically southern and something else, was very strong. The boy just stared. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? the man said and the boy stared back, pondering if this man was one of those strangers he was warned against talking to.

He’s just bashful. The woman replied in a resolute tone, effectively stopping further conversation.

The Redcap recovered the three pieces of luggage and placed them on a cart. The woman placed with them a matching blue overnight case she had been holding, leaving one hand free for her purse, and the other for tugging the boy along.

The three made their way into the main gallery of the station; it was an open to three stories and marble. The echoing was tremendous with people coming and going, and with the doors open to the street, the sounds of traffic added to the mix. The oily-sweet odor of idling machinery lingered in the air. It was slightly cooler inside the gallery, if just as humid.

The woman opened her purse and pulled out a small leather coin purse. Extracting a quarter, she gave it to the boy, telling him, Give it to the man when we get to the taxi. He closed his hand around the coin, and looked up at her, giving no other sign of comprehension.

As they walked to the curb, the Redcap gave off a sharp practiced whistle using his thumb and index finger. As a taxi and driver were just sitting there, this seemed more of a dutiful performance rather than needed. The Redcap opened the rear door of the cab for the woman. He pulled the cart to the back and started loading the luggage into the trunk.

The woman’s green steamer trunk proved to be an issue, with the cabbie getting out and discussing with the Redcap the least haphazard approach to loading it. They resolved it by putting the two suitcases up front with the driver, leaving the trunk for the one oversized piece and the overnight case.

The cabbie returned to his driver’s position and started the engine. The passenger side door was still open with the woman and the boy still standing curbside when the Redcap returned. Before leading the boy into the backseat area, she nudged him, and he, initially not comprehending, hurriedly pushed the quarter into the Redcap’s hand. The Redcap smiled. Thank you kindly, young man, very generous. You two have a nice day now. He shut the door for them.

Where to, Miss? The cabbie asked. He had noted the gold star on her lapel and after a moment of wanting to, elected not to say anything.

We’re going to the Burleson Hotel. She replied, then adding for context, I hear it’s air conditioned.

I wouldn’t know, Miss. He turned on his meter, and without further comment, shifted the car into gear, then when the coast was mostly clear pulled away from the curb. Traffic was surprisingly heavy, first near the train station which the woman thought was understandable, but they traveled in nearly continuous stop and go traffic the ten or so blocks to the hotel. Is it usually like this? the woman asked. She had rolled both back windows down, but the slow pace brought in little breeze, and that little breeze smelled of exhaust fumes and oil, maybe with just a touch of sulphur.

Pretty much, ma’am. Since the war, at least. I’ve only been here three years. Since my discharge. Come from a small town originally. Don’t plan on going back except to visit my folks.

Yes, I understand, I think. I, we, come from Chicago. I think I was expecting something a little less Chicago-like.

Never been to Chicago, or New York, for that matter. Don’t know anything about all that. He pulled the cab to the curb. A fluorescent backlit Hotel Edward Burleson sign was hanging from its old wrought-iron porte-cochère. Here we are, he announced. Other taxis were slow-rolling through the narrow hotel driveway, and the doormen were whistling, loading them with passengers, and moving them along.

Before opening the door, the woman reached for her purse. How much?

Including the trunk, let’s say sixty cents. The meter said fifty cents.

The woman said, For luck, and I’m feeling generous today, take three quarters. Us refugees need to stick together. The boy eyed the quarters as she handed them over to the man, and for a second shot his mother a harsh look, as if he was being robbed. As if one of those quarters could very well be his allowance. He had already given up one quarter that day.

The taxis driver thanked her profusely, seemingly stopping just short of refusing the extra fifteen cents, then got out of the cab and signaled a doorman to come assist. The woman got out of the taxi, dragging the boy out with her. It was noisy and busy. The air was still rife with exhaust fumes and now the stank of cigars and cigarettes.

The taxi driver assisted the doorman with loading the luggage onto a hand trolley, which was then taken inside by a side entrance. The main entrance was an ornate brass revolving door that scared the boy. Back home with grandma there were many revolving doors in the buildings surrounding their apartment. They were beasts who ate children. Grandma warned him.

But his mother was having none of that nonsense today. She so wanted to get off the street, she thought she would have thrown him through if she had to. They had dined earlier on the train and all the woman wanted now was a room, an air-conditioned room, a bath, and to lie down for a bit in silence and with no motion.

Once through the revolving door, it was so much cooler in the lobby. It was also so much quieter. The woman could hear a slight ringing in her ears. She shut her eyes for a second and then the boy tugged on her hand. Mommy, I’m hungry.

No, you’re not. You just think you’re hungry. She replied while walking him over to a sitting area where she plopped him down on a thickly upholstered chair.

There were two men in the sitting area and now the boy. Both were smoking cigarettes and were in some deep discussion on the prospects for the Buffaloes against the Eagles. The woman looked at the men and pointed at the boy. You don’t mind? Only until I check in. The men glanced at the boy and went back to their discussion and the woman told the boy, You behave, and don’t disturb the gentlemen. I’ll be right over there. She pointed to the front desk.

She walked over to the desk and waited behind a man who was checking out. He glanced back at her for a second. When her turn came, the desk clerk looked up at her, surprised, as if, somehow, she materialized out of nowhere. The name is Lorraine Hughes. I should have a reservation. I’m traveling with my son; we just arrived from Chicago. The desk clerk was a short man, with dark, well-oiled hair. His bearing was of nervous energy; forceful but exhausting. He didn’t seem healthy.

He glanced at her and started thumbing through some index cards. Hughes you say? He paused and for a second really looked at her. No relation I take it. When was this reservation made, Miss Hughes?

It was two weeks ago. Here, I got a confirmation letter from a Trudy Jacobs in your reservation’s office. And yes, unfortunately no relation. She handed him the letter.

He inspected the note, it was on hotel stationary, and then continued thumbing through the index cards. Here it is, regular bed plus cot, and air conditioning. Air conditioning is underlined. He smiled and continued, just then noticing the star on her lapel. Misses Hughes, just for your information all rooms at the Edward Burleson are air-conditioned, and very clean, too, I might add. We’re not some backwater hotel in some small hick town. He had an accent not dissimilar to the taxi driver’s, but slightly more restrained and more polished, more studiedly so.

No doubt. I’m sure. I was warned about air conditioning in this environment and asked for a confirmation, maybe a little too emphatically. Apparently, your Miss Jacobs took notice.

That’ll be two days in advance. And how shall you be paying?

I assume travelers’ checks are acceptable?

Of course, you can also cash them over at the purser’s as needed. He pointed to a cubicle next to the tobacco stand. Presumably the man standing idly nearby was the purser.

The transaction proceeded with the desk clerk, with Lorraine Hughes signing the two checks needed at the moment, and the clerk making change.

The boy, meanwhile, was staring at the two men still discussing some arcane sports statistic, until finally they noticed him. One man forced a smile. Well, hey young fella. Is that your mother, or your older sister? The other man laughed, then asked, Where’s your father?

The boy looked away to respond. Daddy’s dead. His airplane crashed.

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. The one man said, and they looked at each other, before reverting to a discussion between themselves that was totally incomprehensible to the boy. He heard clearly the two words mayor and bond, but the rest was beyond him.

The woman returned to the sitting area and smiled at the men. I hope he didn’t bother you two gentlemen. She said graciously, with both men standing and saying, No, ma’am.

The boy interjected a reminder into the conversation, Mommy, I’m hungry. And she turned to him. Well, maybe we can find something to eat after we make a quick stop to our room, and make sure the luggage makes it. She then turned to the men. I see the restaurant in the hotel stopped serving at seven. Do either of you gentlemen recommend anything nearby?

One of the men looked at his wristwatch. Gee, it’s getting past eight now and I don’t know if you’re going to find anyone serving after nine around here. Better hurry whatever you decide to do. The other man added, There’s some dining clubs around here and they serve late, but you have to pay a fee to join, and anyway they’re not the sort of place to take a child.

Oh, said the woman disappointedly as she looked at the boy looking at her. He could become cranky, especially when hungry.

Say, the second man said, The bus station has an all-night diner next door to it, but it’s over on Texas Avenue. You’ll have to take a cab. It’s near the train station.

Oh great, said the woman. We just came from there. The first man shrugged. The second man smiled a little. He stared at the star on her lapel, then made a decision.

Say, ma’am, if you stay right here, I’ll be right back. He rushed out of the hotel.

Where’s he going? she asked the man who stayed. It was his turn to smile. That’s Andy for you. He’s always feeling guilty about not helping someone. Something about his religious upbringing. But mind you, he can be a total scoundrel if he puts his mind to it. He’ll just feel bad about it afterwards. Say, what’s the boy’s name?

Kevin, Kevin Junior, actually. He’s named after his father, obviously.

Yeah, that’s tough. Sorry about that. He looked at Kevin. Hi Kevin. How you doing? Kevin just stared back.

Say hello to the nice man, Kevin. His mother insisted, which resulted in a very meek, Hello.

In a short time, Andy returned. He handed two wrapped sandwiches to the woman. One’s roast beef. The other’s corned beef. I hope that’ll do.

Do you have a jar of mustard in your back pocket, too? the first man asked.

Andy smiled at his friend. Not today. Then looked at the woman who was staring at the sandwiches a little cautiously. They’re perfectly fine. He added, The club down the street makes them ahead of time for the theater crowd, so they can run in and grab something during intermission. The pourer happens to be a friend.

Pourer? the woman asked.

Just a peculiarity of local liquor laws. You’re not from around here, I take it.

No, Chicago. Actually, originally from a small town, Yorkville, south of there, but we moved when I was growing up.

I hope you don’t mind me asking. When’d you lose your husband?

She sighed, then smiled slightly. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this star. Kevin was Ninth Air Force, in a B-Twenty-six. Some port in Germany; they went down on a raid in January forty-five. No survivors.

Tough, that late in the war and everything, he suggested.

Andy’s friend piped in. Tough, anytime. Andy and me, here, we had it easy; Navy, USS Abingdon. Mostly we kept the Caribbean free of U-boats, which was not nothing, but really means our biggest fear was mostly a nasty sunburn.

Andy smiled meekly, no way to feign any heroics at this point. What brings you to this fair city?

Lorraine wasn’t sure why she was confiding in these two gentlemen, but couldn’t see the harm in it either. The boy. Kevin Junior is just not flourishing, as I’ve been told. He’s been diagnosed with failure to thrive. Chicago’s so very cold in the winter, which doesn’t help, and there’s a doctor here, a specialist. I’ve made an appointment. He’s supposed to run tests.

Yes, this town has a lot of doctors. There’s a whole nest of hospitals, medical buildings south of downtown, added Andy’s friend. I’m Jimmy, by the way.

How do you do? replied Lorraine formally, then turned to Andy. How much do I owe you for the sandwiches?

On the house. To be truthful, I just sort of swiped them, told my friend at the club it was an emergency. I ran out with them, really, before he could say anything. I’m sure he didn’t mind.

How fortunate for me and Kevin. I thank you, Andy. Now, if you will excuse us, I think we’re going to go eat in our room. I don’t know why sitting on a train all day so wears one out, but it does.

Well, have a good evening, Miss, said Jim.

And you too, Kevin, said Andy. He gave the child a little wave.

Lorraine took the boy’s hand and led him away, towards the elevator. Kevin glanced back at the two men, who were still standing there.

Jimmy spoke to his friend. When did you become such a bearer of alms?

Andy shrugged his shoulders. You never know, Jimmy. Sometimes you entertain strangers and they turn out to be angels.

And sometimes they’re just lost souls in need of a good corned beef sandwich. Jimmy laughed.

Two women had stepped off the elevator. Lorraine and her son got on. Both sides eyed the other. The women were well coiffured, maybe overly so, considering the outside temperature. Lorraine felt grimy and sweaty, and wanting of a cool bath.

Jimmy looked up and lightly poked Andy while pointing. Here come the girls.

Andy looked at his wristwatch. Right on time, only fifteen minutes late. The two women walked over to the men. One of the women was smiling overly broadly. The other looked relatively sour. Who was that? Your sister? Apparently, she had seen Jimmy exchanging his farewell to Miss Hughes.

Just a fellow traveler, responded Jimmy.

Andy changed the subject. You girls ready?

And you’re saying this is an actual play and not a movie? The more-sour looking woman was quite the stunner and appeared to be fully aware of it. If only she would smile, thought Jimmy.

Yep, new local theater group. Live performance. On a stage. It’s supposed to be really good. Supposedly wowed ’em on Broadway.

I like movies, she replied, preparing to be bored.

Chapter 2

Peacock

Lorraine Hughes sat in the waiting room at the pediatric clinic. The doctor was a specialist recommended by a specialist back in Chicago, who her own family’s physician had recommended. What had started as a simple question by Lorraine’s mother one morning over breakfast, Why isn’t the boy gaining weight? ended up in a thousand-mile journey across six states.

Not that there was anything keeping Lorraine and Kevin Junior in Chicago. Her mother had her own friends, from her flapper days, she liked to say, and Lorraine’s old school friends were pretty much married and disbursed since the war. People were moving everywhere, a flood of humans across a continent.

The recommended specialist in Houston, a Doctor Gleason, had taken Kevin for some tests after discussing the boy’s situation for a few minutes with his mother. He seemed to have been well briefed by his Chicago colleague and told her two days earlier he had received a copy of what he referred to as Kevin’s File. The official prognosis at this point was Too early to tell. Which was a repeat of what she had heard one thousand miles earlier.

In Chicago, the medical community had narrowed down the likely primary cause of Kevin’s problem to what they called malabsorption. This eliminated the other two potential primary causes, also carefully explained to Lorraine by the specialist in Chicago, both of which she felt could somehow wrongly reflect on her as a mother. Her general practitioner back in Chicago assured her that her mothering ability was not at all being questioned, that in all likelihood Kevin was just born that way, obviously to no one’s fault.

Kevin had been hustled into the back and Doctor Gleason told Lorraine that the tests on him would take a while and, if she wished, she could go for a walk, noting that the clinic was across the street from a park and the city zoo nearby. Lorraine thanked him and stepped into the hall, moving towards the reception area. Parks and zoos were something Kevin would more enjoy, and she’d enjoy more with Kevin.

And she really didn’t want to go to the zoo twice, much less once. Certainly, going without Kevin, and having him find out later, would pose the risk of upsetting him more than he had already been lately. And there was heat and humidity to contend with, the overbearing sun. In all, it would be very uncomfortable.

So, she sat in the waiting room. Highly and noisily air conditioned, with its modern chromium-steel framed furniture with vinyl upholstery. The room was lightly scented with alcohol and maybe ether. It all seemed so very sanitary. Lorraine was looking at, but not reading, an eight-month-old copy of American Housekeeper’s magazine.

The magazine was left open to an article on properly ironing pleats, and Lorraine started looking through the Venetian blinds, she could see the straight dark trunks of tall trees, at least as tall as the five-story building they were in. They appeared to be some sort of pine. Odd, she thought pines grew in the mountains, in cooler climates, up in the Yukon, Colorado and such.

There was a light scratching at one of the inner doors; the doorknob turned, and out came Kevin, with the Doctor Gleason following immediately behind. The doctor wasn’t smiling, and Kevin looked distinctly unhappy. No doubt he wanted to go home, but in this case, this would mean back to their tiny hotel room, with barely room for the bed, the cot, and an overstuffed chair with a reading light to the side. It didn’t even have much of a view; just another wing of the hotel.

The doctor’s expression wasn’t unhappy, just studiedly neutral, or perhaps just bored. He asked Kevin to please sit and wait while the grown-ups talked a bit. Kevin obeyed and sat down next to his mother, but not too near to register his displeasure

There was a single children’s magazine on the side table, a nearly two-year-old edition of Active Child Magazine that was dog-eared and well-thumbed through. It had a picture on the cover of a young boy in billowy shorts and a striped collarless shirt. He was smiling into the Sun and about to throw a toy glider, a very happy and confident lad. Kevin picked up the magazine and started looking through it. There were many pictures.

Doctor Gleason made sure the boy had settled in and beckoned Lorraine to join him on the far side of the room. Using a quiet tone, he spoke to her while keeping an eye on Kevin. Lorraine herself would glance back as they talked.

It’s funny Misses Hughes, or is it Miss Hughes? the Doctor was a man of protocol, if nothing else, and knew things couldn’t always be assumed nowadays. Lorraine responded, truthfully not knowing the correct answer. I’m a widow, Doctor Gleason. My late husband is, was Kevin Brendan Hughes, Lieutenant Kevin Brendan Hughes, and before you ask, I am planning to keep his last name for Kevin’s sake, he’s Kevin Junior, but I guess technically I’m not married, no longer married, but Miss Hughes sounds so wrong.

Of course, I’ll call you Misses Hughes, then. Anyway, almost on topic, it’s funny how giving titles to, naming something, affect one’s outlook on that thing. I’m speaking of this ‘failure to thrive’ diagnosis, which, as you know, is no more than a very general classification for a group of symptoms with dozens of potential causes.

I was told he had something called malabsorption.

Likely, perhaps, but not with certitude, and even that nomenclature just represents a whole amalgamation of rather diverse maladies.

Oh, I see, said Lorraine, though she wasn’t sure she did.

The doctor was flipping through pages on a clip-board. So, you two presently live in Chicago?

Yes, we came down here on recommendation of Doctor Landau. He thought this was more in your area of expertise.

Landau? Yes, of course, that makes sense now. I’ve exchanged correspondences with him several times. Including concerning Kevin, as so it would appear. Charles Landau and I met in Philadelphia a couple of years ago, an endocrinology conference. Good man. Did he explain to you that anything like a precise diagnosis, much less any meaningful course of treatment, is not a one-shot affair? This is far from combat surgery.

What do you mean?

Maybe it’s from experiences in the war, all these so-called miracle drugs and so forth. A lot of patients, and even doctors, expect nowadays when someone comes in for any treatment it’s always going to be as simple as removing a single piece of shrapnel, sewing up a wound, administering an injection, or even prescribing a single magic pill, and you’re sent on your way, as good as new or at least on the way to recovery. Twenty-four-hour turnaround, just like a dry-cleaners, instant satisfaction.

However, in this case, once we find out Kevin’s problem, it’s not like he’s going to be cured the next afternoon. I assume you’ll want to continue any treatment with Doctor Landau once we’ve made our diagnosis and set a course of treatment. Even that may take some time. Are you planning to come back to Houston on a regular basis? This may take several months.

Lorraine swallowed. My plans are for us to stay here for as long as it takes. There’s really nothing keeping us in Chicago, not really. I think I was ready to leave, anyway.

The Doctor looked up at Lorraine. Oh, do you have relatives you’re staying with here, or friends?

No, we’re at the Burleson Hotel at present, but I guess I should be looking at something a little more long-term.

Are you planning on working, as a single mother and all? the doctor seemed only mildly curious as he stared at Kevin’s file.

Well, I guess I do need to find something. As you may imagine, a veteran’s survivors’ pension is not a great deal, it really won’t cover more than basic rent at the cheapest of places, at least places where you’d want to live.

The doctor suddenly seemed a little uncomfortable. Of course, you realize this is a private clinic, that we charge for our services. It was expressed as a slightly evasive declarative rather than a question.

Lorraine took the hint. Yes, I have money set aside for any treatment and my mother has agreed to chip in when necessary; she says that’s the least she could do. Anyway, I have enough with me for what I understand will be today’s charges. She motioned to her purse, indicating, if necessary, she would have to show the doctor the actual cash on the spot.

Instead, he deftly moved into an adjacent room and came back with a printed sheet of instructions. Here’s a diet I want you to start Kevin on immediately. May I stress we are trying to determine where he may have sensitivities, in simplistic terminology, allergies, so no cheating is permitted, none.

Wheatless? Lorraine glanced down at the list of forbidden foods as she partially recited the list’s title.

None of any sort, which may be trickier than you imagine. Breads, cakes, of course, even gravies. Ten years ago, I would have been prescribing the banana diet. We know more now. This is supposed to be much better.

But he can have candies? She was thinking about how Kevin likes treats.

Some, with prudence, of course. It’s a shame they don’t list ingredients on candy bars. Chocolate bars should be fine, gum drops and the like, but nothing with a biscuit. Fruits are fine, vegetables, and meats. I’m no dietary expert, but when in doubt, leave it out.

She looked over at Kevin, who was still thumbing through the magazine. He was still just beginning to read and she could see him trying to pronounce some of the words.

The doctor took off his glasses and tried to appear kindly. Frankly Miss Hughes, I mean Misses Hughes, it’s really a shame he doesn’t have his father, other than beyond your obvious loss. A male figure in his life at this age is very important. A father, a father-figure, teaches a boy a lot of things, manly perseverance and such, and even how to enjoy a good steak dinner but, of course, without the rolls. He thought he was being mildly humorous.

Thank you, Doctor, for your concern. I’ll then assume you’ll also prescribe a husband I can pick up at the local pharmacy? Lorraine was trying to counter his humor attempt, but instead, she sounded slightly harsh.

Please, Missus Hughes. The doctor said this as a way to indicate the conversation was over. I’ll expect to see Kevin the latter part of next week. You can schedule it with the receptionist.

And pay my bill? Lorraine added.

The doctor stared at her for a second, offered no response, then decided his exit was in order. Excuse me. He disappeared into the hall. This left Lorraine to scoop up Kevin and leave the examination room, finding her way back to the receptionist.

The bill was settled with the woman behind the desk, who was dressed in a crisp white nurse’s uniform. They arranged a new appointment to see the doctor for the following Thursday.

Lorraine and Kevin stepped out into the summer sun, into a haze of humidity. As informed, the bus route back to the hotel was up two blocks to their left, on Main Street. The park across the street had gleaming new playground equipment spaced between the pines, but no one was in the park and it seemed incongruously lifeless, so uninviting. Earlier, the nurse-receptionist had mentioned the City’s zoo was two blocks away, but it was over to the right. She made sure, twice, to mention that it was free.

Lorraine leaned into the boy, ostensibly to straighten his collar. Hey Kev, there’s a zoo near here. Want to go see the animals?

Kevin looked up, while giving the question serious consideration, I guess. He finally decided.

The entrance to the zoo, following the signs, took them through the park, which must have been brand new, with sandy soil and no grass in the spare grove of trees. The concrete sidewalk looked new and Lorraine surmised the park after a rain must get quite muddy. Apparently, it rained a lot in this town.

More beckoning that the park, the zoo turned out to be a nicely matured development. The entrance, across from a lily pond, was gated with a nicely passé Art Deco style of stone and ironwork. Lorraine guessed WPA involvement. She remembered when she was an adolescent, such construction across the country was a big deal. As they passed the gate, the smell of wet hay and animal dung was present well before the sight of any animals.

Kevin stopped as he was suddenly confronted by a peacock. It delighted Lorraine until she realized Kevin had found it intimidating. The bird let out a shriek and Kevin hid behind her. She couldn’t help but laugh, which angered the boy.

Watching the primates watch him, he calmed down as they walked between the cages of monkeys and apes. Near the back of the zoo, there were several pens with herd animals from Africa, as noted. There, it was quieter and didn’t smell as bad. At least Lorraine felt better, although the animals seemed nonplussed.

The heat was getting to her though and before they left, Lorraine bought Kevin a cherry snow-cone and herself a cold bottle of cola. She thought this moment would be a good time to tell the boy that he was special and needed to go on a special diet to become strong; doctor’s orders. Kevin said, OK, and Lorraine wished he would have shown more emotion of any kind, some enthusiasm or even at the least voicing an objection.

She then told him that the next day they would go searching for an apartment and get out of that cramped hotel room. This seemed to please the boy more. Can I have my very own bedroom and bathroom? he asked.

We’ll see. Rather precocious, and probably unlikely, the boy did like his privacy, but they weren’t rich.

Lorraine began a mental list. If they stayed in Houston, Kevin would soon need to be enrolled in a local elementary school. That would help with socialization. Getting out and making contacts was important for Lorraine too, she reminded herself. Also, she would most certainly need to look for employment. Her mother worked for a large department store in Chicago selling cosmetics and had offered to help Lorraine through a contact with a cosmetic distributor. Following up with her mother was in order. She would begin writing a letter this evening.

As she looked at Kevin, she thought maybe he was more like her than his father.

Chapter 3

Bohemians

Lorraine matched the address given to her by the concierge. One block off the main bus line, about a mile south of downtown, it was an early turn of the century apartment building, just two stories tall and built in that mock Tudor style, then so in vogue. There were maybe just over a half-dozen apartments, it was hard to tell.

A short while earlier, Lorraine had been standing in the lobby of the Edward Burleson, Kevin by her side, holding the want ads section from one of the local newspapers. It was open to the For Rent page. Lorraine had circled in pencil some likely apartments, but she really didn’t know the town, so had approached the concierge to see if he had a map of any kind.

He at first was rather dismissive, suggesting she go find a gas station to get a city map, since he hadn’t any, but then took an interest in what she was doing. She handed him the paper with the circled advertisements. He started offering opinions on where she should and shouldn’t look, what were good areas, which should be avoided, what was up and coming, and what was not.

That’s when he mentioned his friend, who had just moved out of an old apartment just south of the hotel. And to his recollection, the apartments were fairly large, and importantly, I think it’s furnished, and should be cheap. He recalled his friend mentioned the landlord lived on the property, but he didn’t have a telephone number. You should stop by, he suggested.

Apartment One was on the first floor in the northwest corner. It said Office on the door in script on a small brass plaque. Lorraine knocked and after a moment heard a woman’s voice, with a distinct smoker’s rasp, saying brusquely and almost as a challenge, Come on in.

Lorraine turned the doorknob and as the door opened, the distinct odors, stale cigarettes and fried food, mingled in front of her for a moment. Kevin theatrically waved his hand in front of his face and was predictably about to say pee-ew, but Lorraine pinched his shoulder in the nick of time. It seems the boy was starting to mimic the rude habits of people in motion pictures.

So, Lorraine and Kevin met Paula, a rather large woman of past middle age, hair dyed red and wearing a colorful Hawaiian muumuu. She was the owner of the building, whose husband had died in World War One and never remarried. She talked a mile a minute and had a thick Texas accent. She was originally from Dallas, and had been to Chicago once, where it was unbearably cold to her view.

Coincidentally, she had an apartment that just became vacant, two bedrooms on the second floor, and was indeed about to advertise it for rent, so Lorraine’s timing was very fortunate, very fortunate indeed. She was advised it wasn’t air conditioned, but that it had a transom fan and good cross-flow circulation, being on a corner and all.

As she continued her pitch, Kevin stared at the ashtray in front of Paula. It was filled