Gladys grinned. “Not so. I caught him necking with one of the girls in my department in a janitor’s closet. Now that I have something on both of them, I’ll use it as I need it.”
“You are one ruthless woman, my friend.”
“Life is a battle, Margaret. That’s my motto. And the sooner you listen, the wiser you’ll be.”
Margaret shrugged. She had a passive admiration for Gladys. Somebody had to carry the mantle for the progression of women, and there was none better suited for it than her.
“Anyway, our shifts are almost over. I’ll tell you more after that.”
“What about Dottie? She’ll want to hear about it too.”
Gladys nodded. “I called ahead and told her we’d be over for dinner. Can you believe it? George bought her not one, but two telephones. One for each floor of the house.”
“Awfully convenient for times like this, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m going to teach her to use it for good. I’ve signed her up to make campaign calls in the upcoming election.”
Margaret grinned and shook her head. “Of course you have.”
“And I fully expect your participation as well.”
“And of course you have it.”
“Good.” Gladys checked her wristwatch. “I’ll meet you on the promenade in an hour. We can go together.”
* * *
Margaret could hardly open the door of the welding room. It was always heavy, but this time, she had to push every ounce of her weight into it. As soon as she saw the first crack of light, a wind gust blew past and it was all she could do to keep the door from slamming back into her.
“I’ve got it!” she heard from the other side. There was Gladys, pulling as Margaret pushed, and at last they opened it enough for Margaret to slip through.
“There’s a storm coming,” Gladys shouted over the howl.
Margaret walked to the railing on the promenade and looked at the bay where the half-built frame of the Coral Sea bobbed in the water. The men working on it kept their balance, but she could tell that it was an effort. She’d never experienced anything like this.
“I can see that! It seemed to come out of nowhere.”
“I read in the newspaper that mid-September is the height of the Atlantic hurricane season. But it doesn’t usually hit us here.”
“This is a hurricane?”
“Heck if I know, but look at that sky. It’s a different shade of gray than in a regular storm.”
Margaret glanced up, gripping her felt hat so that it wouldn’t fly away. Indeed, there was an ominous cloud covering that sent a chill through her bones, darkening the sky well before sunset. Her parents were away in Pennsylvania visiting relatives and sourcing leather, and she was glad that they were out of this storm’s path.
A metal screw flew past, skimming her cheek. Instinctively, she ducked in case there were any more.
“Do you think it’s still safe to go to Dottie’s? She’s right on the water,” Margaret shouted. She pressed her hand against her face. It was just a surface cut. Nothing that would last.
“I think so. If it hits hard enough, my little basement will flood. And your electricity is spotty in the best of circumstances. At least we can go and help her with the baby.”
Margaret nodded and followed Gladys to the exit, where they’d pick up the bus that would take them to Shore Road.
“Get in, girls! The rain is going to start any minute.”
They turned to see Dottie driving the new car that George had ordered for her. He’d been so excited to surprise her and had asked Margaret and Gladys for their opinions. They’d studied the many pictures he’d shown them and suggested a new Cadillac Fleetwood in her favorite color—baby blue—with tan seats and leather on the steering wheel. It was finished out in chrome details. Dottie had been excited to show it to them, but they hadn’t expected to see it in person so soon.
“What are you doing here?” asked Margaret. “And where is Joanna?”
“I’m rescuing you. I heard on the radio that the buses are delayed, so I zipped over to pick you up. And as for your niece, I left her sleeping in the arms of the nanny.”
Margaret smiled. Life could certainly be full circle. The former nanny now had one of her own. And no one deserved that more than her dear friend.
Gladys opened the door in the front and slid in next to Dottie. Margaret took a place in the back as the first raindrops fell on her shoulders.
“Just in time, Dots. Thank you.”
She rubbed her hand along the soft interior and let out a long breath, her heartbeat slowing now that they were in the safety of the car.
There were few cars on the road, but a series of red lights halted their progress. All the while, the sky blackened.
“Nice wheels,” Gladys commented. She rubbed her hand along the dashboard. “It’s like she’s purring.”
“George told me some little birds helped him. Thank goodness, because I don’t know much about cars. And really hadn’t planned on getting one.”
“And you’re already behind the wheel?”
“Yes—he’s been teaching me on his. I got my license last week.”
Gladys whistled, as a man might do when walking by a beautiful woman.
“Must have set him back a bit. I’ll bet it’s nice being rich.”
“Gladys!” Margaret tapped her on the shoulder. “That’s not polite.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Dots? I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask.”
Dottie smiled in the generous way that indicated her long-suffered tolerance for Gladys’s quirks.
“I don’t mind since it’s you. And to answer your question, yes, it’s nice to have some help with Joanna. And to have a house where I don’t have to worry if she’s keeping a neighbor up because of her crying. And to have a car so I can pick up you soggy ladies. But my riches do not lie in what George’s family has in their bank account. It lies in my two cherished friends. And in having known the love of two good men. It’s more than many women will ever get to have.”
Gladys sat back and folded her arms. “That is such a typical Dottie answer.”
“Do you want a different one? Because that’s the only one I’ve got.”
Margaret laid her head against the rear window and listened to their back-and-forth.
What would John think of Dottie’s newfound domesticity? She missed him every single day, though the sting diminished bit by bit. It was a strange thing to rejoice for your friend and how her life turned out and yet remain so brokenhearted at the tragedy that had led to it.
Was there such a thing as perfect happiness? Or did it always come laced with some tragedy? Some shoe that would drop as soon as you’d captured it?
Would we even recognize perfect happiness if it existed without suffering its opposite?
Rain always put her in a philosophical mood. As did William’s letters. She’d just received a postcard from him while he was in Paris. Love, William, it had said. Two words that made her heart leap. And yet, she didn’t quite trust the feeling.
Joy and sorrow were like seats on a playground teeter-totter.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.