Free The Orange Blossom Special by Betsy Carter

door, moved him out of the way without looking at him. Went to the closet and pulled her valise from the top shelf. He watched cow-eyed as she threw her clothes into the bag.
    â€œC’mon Victoria, you gotta gimme another chance.”
    â€œNot on your life,” she answered and walked out of Donald Pierson’s life forever. She hitchhiked to Gainesville, where she stayed with a sorority sister.
    â€œThe weird thing is, I never found out if the hairpins were his or someone else’s,” she said.
    â€œWhere is he now?” asked Jésus.
    â€œDead. He volunteered when the war broke out and was killed in Italy. That’s the last I heard, anyway.” She gave a little laugh.
    It pained Jésus to think of someone wounding his beautiful friend. He stroked her right jaw.
    â€œIt ended all right,” she said. “I met Maynard Landy three weeks later. The kindest man I’ve ever known. He was generous, you know what I mean? Dressed well, didn’t ask too many questions about my past. We went out for a while, and then he asked me to marry him. I didn’t hesitate for a minute. There was a man I could depend on. He’d make a good living. He’d always respect me. These are the important things when you’re thinking of building a life with somebody. Physically, it was okay, but between you and me, that’s never been the big thing between us.”
    Peace of mind, that was worth more to Victoria than all of it. Maynard was a strong man. His thick arms and barrel chest were a barrier between her and the rest of the world. No one in his right mind would pick a fight with a guy built like Rocky Marciano. Ifsomeone takes a punch at you from out of the blue once, there is never a time when you don’t think it could happen again.
    Whenever Victoria felt restless or like Maynard wasn’t paying enough attention, she’d pull out the little music box he had given her one Christmas. It had a skater figurine on top, which twirled in circles, while the box played its frothy version of “As Time Goes By.” Lying like a jewel on the green velvet lining inside was Victoria’s old incisor. The center of the tooth had long since rotted, but the carcass remained. Her only link to Donald Pierson, a reminder of how far she’d come.
    â€œCan I ask you a personal question?” she asked Jésus.
    â€œOf course,” he said.
    â€œDo you ever feel safe?”
    â€œI always feel safe. I am an American citizen.”
    It never dawned on Victoria that for many people, that was enough.
    â€œAnd you? Do you feel safe?” he asked.
    â€œNot for one iota of a second,” she answered. “My daddy left when I was eleven. Seven years later I got married. Life is a matter of avoiding one hazard after another as far as I’m concerned. Lord knows, without shopping I would be a psychological wreck, always worrying about what it will be next.”
    She laughed as pieces of freshly cut hair trickled down her neck.
    â€œIf I may say, Mrs. Landy, sometimes it is just matter of allowing yourself to be okay. Because you are waiting for the next bad thing doesn’t mean you can keep it away. It is unfortunate to waste the times in between.”
    â€œJesus H. Christ!” shrieked Victoria.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œYou’re right, I do look like Ann-Margret!”
    C HARLIE SWAMPED HIS mother with attention when she came home with the short curly hairdo.
    â€œThat’s very modern,” he said.
    â€œOh sweetheart, I am so glad you like it. You know how a little thing like a new look can shape a person’s attitude. Jésus is an artist. What that man knows about hair, I swear, he could write a book.”
    Charlie never said he liked it, but his mother seemed less edgy, almost giddy, and so silently he thanked God for the brilliant and gifted Jésus Baldisarri. That night, when Maynard came home from work, he pulled her into a