Читать книгу The Reincarnation of Clara - Kevin J. Todeschi - Страница 30

FOUR

HUNTSVILLE, UTAH—HUNTSVILLE AIR FORCE BASE, MAIN ENTRANCE, 1955

Two Air Force privates finished hanging the sign on the newly erected entrance to “Huntsville Air Force Base.” As they stood for a moment to admire their work, a white 1955 Ford Fairlane passed through the guard station and was saluted, as it carried the base’s Colonel. The car turned onto the road leading in front of Joe and Clara Cabot’s Victorian house, just beyond the base’s perimeter. The Cabot home was the last one on a street, which contained a dozen houses—the final remnant of the 1920s neighborhood that had disappeared to make room for the airfield after the war. It was only in the last three years that closed door sessions somewhere in Washington, DC had given the small airfield its “Air Force Base” designation. The term had not been greeted with fanfare by anyone on Clara’s street. “Who needs an Air Force base in the middle of Utah?” one of the Cabot neighbors had asked angrily. “What are we planning to do, attack Wyoming?”

The Colonel’s car drove past five miles of wheat fields and scrub oak before coming to the railroad crossing that intersected Huntsville’s Main Street. After the crossing, the Ford turned right onto Main and passed the beauty salon, the Emporium and Woolworth’s. Just as it passed Woolworth’s, a large Buick carrying a now married thirty-seven-year-old Emily and her three-year-old son parked in front of the store.

Although she was smartly dressed, Emily got out of the car with a cigarette dangling from between her lips. She reached across the front seat and took her son, helping him to his feet. “We’re going to get you some new shoes today, Harold.” She adjusted her glasses and made certain that any cigarette ash was brushed from her chest before walking toward the store. Finally, she took Harold by the hand and headed toward the Woolworth’s entrance. Just before reaching the door, however, she saw Clara coming from the other direction.

“Emily!” thirty-four-year-old Clara Cabot said with surprise after getting over her momentary shock.

Stopping in mid-step, Emily appeared horrified and said nothing.

Clara tried again, “Emily, I know I’m not your favorite person, but don’t you think we should try to make amends?

“I have nothing to say to you, Mrs. Cabot.” Emily coughed with a smoker’s hack. Clara reached out to touch her shoulder but Emily brushed the hand aside.

“Emily, it’s been five years! It doesn’t make any sense. You have a darling little boy and a husband with more money than Joe Cabot ever dreamed of. You can’t still be mad at me?”

Emily simply walked around her sister and headed toward the store’s entrance, dragging her son by the hand.

HUNTSVILLE, UTAH—CLARA’S VICTORIAN PORCH, LATER THAT DAY

Clara stood at the railing of her porch, watching all of the activity occurring at the base. With the sound of a massive plane flying overhead, Clara shook her head in disgust. Just then a late 1940s Ford Coupe pulled in the driveway. After a moment, thirty-eight-year-old Joe Cabot got out of the car dressed in his business attire. He walked up the porch, only lightly using his cane, approached his wife, grasped her head between his hands and kissed her first on the forehead and then on the lips.