Lies and More Lies, part six

Leta was having a bad Saturday. First she had been jarred awake in the mid-morning after sleeping later than usual. This was because she and her husband had spent a much longer time the prior evening at the speakeasy. He had been in a merry mood after some triumph at work and drank heavily up until the time they left. All evening and well into the night they drank and laughed with their companions until the crowd had dissipated and they were nearly by themselves in the establishment. Fortunately, their drive home was rather short, for he was unsteady at the wheel and wove back and forth on the street before finally parking at an angle in front of their house. They helped each other inside and up the stairs, where they both collapsed into bed.

The sound of the children getting their breakfast awoke her like a loud clanging in her ears. She quickly turned to her husband. Fortunately, he was still sleeping soundly, but that might not last long with the commotion that was rushing from the kitchen in the back of the house, through the living room and up the stairs to her bedroom. She stumbled around the room until she found her robe and hurried clumsily down the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind her. Every step seemed to be a little out of place. It was nearly nine o’clock. Dale was sitting at the table with a half-empty glass of milk. Vivian was at the sink, washing their breakfast dishes. The aroma of oatmeal and toast hung in the air. Being early August, the air was already warm and humid.

“Good morning, Ma,” Dale whispered cheerfully.

“What are you doing?” Leta demanded furiously. “What’s all this racket?” Her own voice felt like someone knocking her in the head.

Dale winced and sank into his chair, and Vivian turned toward them, freezing with her hands covered with suds.

“All this noise you’re making woke me up, and any minute you’re going to wake up Mr. Hoose! And you know we don’t want that to happen,” Leta continued in a harsh whisper.

Both of the children stared at her. Her head was pounding and she rubbed her temples with one hand. Then she thought she heard a noise from upstairs. Was her husband waking?

“Let’s go, let’s go!” she ordered. She grabbed Dale’s glass and pushed Vivian aside to plunge it into the water. “You’re not even dressed. What time is it? I want you dressed and out of the house in five minutes!”

Again, the children didn’t move.

“March!” she snapped.

The children rushed out of the room, leaving the nearly finished dishes and sink filled with sudsy water. While they were being very quiet, even the slightest noise seemed like thunder to Leta. With her hands dripping, she sat down at the table. Her strength had given out, and all she wanted to do was lie down.

After a few moments, she stumbled her way to the sofa and lay down. While she thought she heard her children slip out of the house, she could not be sure. She hoped, for all their sakes, that they had. Then darkness overtook her.

She was awakened suddenly by Vivian. The girl was shaking her shoulder and calling her. While she did not know how long this had been going on or even how long she had been sleeping, Leta knew immediately that the girl’s voice was louder than necessary. She raised her hands anxiously with several shushing noises. Once Vivian saw that she was awake, she became quieter instantly.

“What time is it?” she inquired, still groggy.

“Ma,” Vivian said forcefully. “It’s Dale. He fell. He cut himself pretty bad.”

“What?”

Everything was hazy, and while she heard her daughter’s words, she wasn’t sure she understood them.

“He’s got a big gash on his leg,” Vivian clarified.

“Oh Lord,” Leta said, pulling herself into a sitting position.

“He’s on the porch,” Vivian said, pulling on her arm to help her stand. “I think he needs a doctor.”

Vivian was correct. Dale’s leg was covered in blood, and he was sobbing uncontrollably when she reached him. She instructed her daughter to get three clean rags, and once she returned to hold them firmly on the bleeding area. He definitely needed treatment. After she telephoned the doctor, she ran across the street. Mr. Simmons was working in his flowerbeds. Was it that late in the day? She asked him if he would assist her in bringing Dale into the house. He needed to be carried, and she did not have the strength to lift him. Her husband was not at home to assist her. Mr. Simmons dropped everything and immediately complied. Dale’s sobs had reduced themselves to whimpers, and Mr. Simmons was as gentle with him as a devoted father. He was even remarkably quiet, considering the circumstance, and that she had obviously lied about her husband.

“You need to keep the pressure on,” Mr. Simmons said, referring to the wound. The rags were already full of blood.

“Yes, yes,” Leta said as Vivian went to get more rags. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered. “You called the doctor?”

“He’s on his way,” Leta answered, and she escorted her neighbor back to the front door.

“You take care now,” he said.

Once he left, she saw herself in the mirror. She was a disheveled mess—her hair, her robe was buttoned askew and barely covered her slip. She was wearing one stocking, but not the other. Her eyes were puffy and red. And her breath reeked. Startled and embarrassed, she hurried up the stairs and rushed into her bedroom. Her husband was still sound asleep, thank goodness, She hurriedly changed her clothes and ran a brush through her hair, leaving the door open if Vivian came for her.

To be continued.