Chapter 12

The Curtis' basement was usually full of teenagers tripping over things and fighting over the TV and generally making a mess, much like the Curtis house of the late '60s. Tonight, however, it was quiet. Soda and Maureen sat on the couch, Sandy's box between them. The overhead light was on and the room was bright. After a long pause, Maureen looked at Soda – at her father – and, with a deep breath, opened the lid.

At first glance, the box appeared full of clothes. Maureen pulled them out carefully. They were maternity clothes. She held a flowery, flowing blouse to her chest and put her hands on the belly of it. I was in there, she marveled.

Soda picked up a pair of jeans and felt in the pockets when he came across something solid. He pulled out a necklace, a small silver peace sign. "Lord Almighty," he said. "She wore this everywhere. I completely forgot about it." He could see it winking in the moonlight, between Sandy's breasts, as she had taken off her shirt.

He handed it to Maureen, who immediately fastened it around her neck. "Do you think that's all right?"

"Of course it is," Soda said. "Everything in this box is yours now."

"Oh my God – look." Maureen held up a Polaroid, faded and discolored, of two teenagers, the girl in a short blue dress, the boy in rolled-up jeans with his hair too long, his hand draped over her shoulder, in front of a brick building. "That's the two of you, isn't it?"

"It sure is," Soda said. He ran one finger over the border. "That was in front of the Dingo. It's gone now, it was where that steakhouse is, near Darry's – it was a place we hung out. I don't know where this came from. I can't think of who would have had a camera." He looked in the box. "Are there more?"

"Yeah, a few." Maureen handed the stack to Soda, who fingered through them slowly.

"This here is Sandy with Evie," he said. "She went with my buddy Steve. Those girls were thick as thieves. That's Sandy's mama, and that's your aunt Debbie, the one who gave me the box. I don't know this lady – must be her grandmother. Look, Maureen, here she is pregnant and that … Hell's bells, darlin'. Look at that."

It was Sandy in a hospital bed, looking tired and drawn but happy, with a baby in her arms. Maureen burst into tears. She had never seen a newborn photo of herself – her baby book started in December of 1968, when she was six months old. She buried her face in Sandy's old top and cried for a long time. Soda said nothing, just patted her head and waited for her to collect herself. Finally, she put the pictures aside and put her hand back into the box. There were a few more blouses, a couple of books and some 45-records, warped and melted. One was the Beatles, with "Julia" on one side and "Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da" on the other.

"She liked the Beatles?" Maureen said.

"She was in love with Ringo," Soda said solemnly.

"Ringo?" Maureen echoed. "Seriously? I thought everyone loved Paul and John."

"Nope. Ringo."

The bottom of the box contained a stack of letters, held together with a paper band. Maureen pulled them out. "Are these from you?"

"They can't be," Soda answered. "All mine came back."

Maureen pulled the band off. "Wow," she breathed. "You're right, they're not from you -- they're to you." She looked at Soda. "Go on, open them."

"They're yours now," Soda said, finally understanding why the box made Maureen so nervous.

"They're not addressed to me," Maureen said stubbornly. "Opening someone else's mail is a federal offense."

Soda pulled out the first letter and, as he worked his way through the pile, read parts out loud to Maureen.

I miss you something terrible. My granny and my father think we're done with each other, but I know you'll come. I'm sorry I said all those awful things to you, but my daddy made me. If he believes we don't love each other anymore, he won't think I'm with you when we run off.

My father sent me the newspaper. It says Johnny Cade killed a boy. That can't be right. Little Johnny Cade? Run off from the law, and Pony is with him? I hope he's all right. I hope they both are. You and Darry must be awful worried.

I can't believe Johnny is gone. I always thought Dallas Winston might come to a bad end, but Johnny? How is your little brother taking it? Y'all have had too much death, Sody. I wish I was there.

I'm so bored here. There's nothing to do. Gran just watches television all the live long day. I expect I'd even like to study if I could go to school. No Beatles here. She says they're sinful. I'm even trying to read. Evie sent me "Airport" but it's long and not very interesting. I don't think you'd like it much.

I wonder if you'd still think I was pretty. My belly is awful big. I wish you'd write me back. I wish I'd know if you still love me.

Soda's voice was breaking. Maureen was sitting perfectly still, tears streaking her face. She reached out and squeezed Soda's hand. "I know this is hard for you, too," she said softly.

"It's just … it's not what I thought," Soda murmured. "Her letters all came back. I thought she left me, but she must have thought the same thing." He cleared his throat. "There are two more."

June 12, 1968

Dear Sodapop:

Our little girl was born yesterday. I put your name down on the birth certificate. They didn't want me to, but now they have to put a notice in the paper. I know you won't see it, but it gives us some more time. She is beautiful. I think she has my eyes but Gran says all babies have blue eyes. I named her Julie Diane. Diane is for your mama, of course. I loved your mom. I don't know if I ever told you that. She was tops. Julie is kind of from the Beatles song "Julia" but I liked Julie better. It was hard having her. But it was worth it. I never loved anyone like I love this little baby. You will love her too.

Idon't mean to nag but you need to hurry.

Your Sandy

The last was scrawled on the back of a postcard.

Nov. 16, 1968

Soda,

We're out of time. I can't believe you didn't come. Why didn't you write? I had to sign those papers, I had to – I can't raise a baby alone on the street and I have no place to go. How could you do this to us? I hope she'll be all right, my baby Julie. I don't expect her to forgive me. I'll never forgive myself.

S.

"That's all," Soda said softly, stacking the pile neatly. That's all. That's all it took to ruin a life.

"How can these be here?" Maureen wondered. "I mean, it sounds like she thought she was mailing them, so how come you never got them?"

"Debbie said their grandmother took them out of the mailbox before the mailman could take them," Soda said. "I don't know why she kept them. All these years, I thought it was Sandy who sent those letters back, but it must have been her granny."

"Do you have any of those?" Maureen asked.

Soda shook his head. "I got rid of them all when I moved out." But he could still remember the last one. He'd taken hours to write it. He'd almost asked Pony for help a dozen times, sure that if he could only find the right words, Sandy would come back to him. He whispered it to Maureen, like a prayer.

Dear Sandy,

I wish you would write to me. I know your daddy's mad. Darry's awful mad too but we love each other and it will be alright. I can ask Mrs. Mathews if we can stay there, if Darry won't change his mind. But I think he will. He was just surprised. I am too but still I want to marry you. The rest don't matter. Come home or tell me where to get you.

Sodapop Curtis

Maureen put the box on the floor and slid next to Soda, hugging him tightly.


An hour later, they ventured upstairs to the kitchen, both of them quiet and tearstained. Shayne and Liz were watching TV in the family room just beyond. Corinne was sitting at the table, paying bills, and when she saw Soda and Maureen, she got up and put on the kettle. "Tea?"

"Please," Maureen said, setting the box on a chair.

Soda kissed Corinne's cheek and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. "Memory Lane ain't all it's cracked up to be," he mumbled as he shut the door.

Liz stood timidly next to her sister. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she ventured.

Maureen nodded. "Yeah. It's a sad story."

"Things were so different then," Corinne said. "Young girls, they just didn't keep their babies. Sandy never had a chance, honey. Especially since her family kept Soda away from her."

"I know." Maureen looked around, at Liz and Corinne, at Shayne sprawled on the couch, and suddenly she knew, as sure as she knew her name, that this scene would be different if Sandy had kept her. Soda might have gone on to meet and marry Corinne, to have Shayne and Lizzy, but it wouldn't have been the same with an older child – and maybe an ex-wife – to support.

Maureen thought of her mother, Beth, so grounded and down-to-earth, and knew that her upbringing with Sandy would have been very different. No matter how Sandy had loved her, or wanted her, she was still a 16-year-old girl with nowhere to go. What might have happened, if she were desperate to feed her child? What if Soda continued to believe her lie, that she'd slept with other guys, and turned his back on her? Would they have made it on their own, mother and daughter? Would she be Julie Curtis now? Would Sandy have lived?

Maybe. But maybe not. It wasn't fair, what happened to Sandy or to Soda. It wasn't fair to either of them, or to Maureen, either. But maybe, Maureen thought, Sandy had made her own bad choices when it was over. Maybe the drugs would have called her anyway. What if the drugs got her while she was raising a child? What if she'd run off to Oklahoma City, to heroin and Steve Randle, with Maureen at her side?

Maybe things turned out exactly as they were supposed to.

"There buried treasure in there?" Shay was suddenly at Maureen's elbow, grinning crookedly at her, looking amazingly like Soda.

Maureen grinned back and pulled the lid off. "Sort of. Wanna see? After you check out this picture, your dad will never be able to fuss at you about your hair for as long as you live."