“You mean, like Nebraska?” he’d asked.

And she’d laughed, then said, “How about Wooster, Ohio?”

Chapter 28

Vivian’s new fur-lined ankle boots crunched over the graying-brown snowpack as she walked to work. All the foot traffic, automobile exhaust, and soot covered every inch of what was once beautiful new-fallen snow. Charlotte sure had the right idea staying home “sick” today. If there was anything bleaker than Wooster in February, Vivian wanted to know what it was. Oh, wait one moment. There was something bleaker. Her marriage. If she’d known the meaning of the word “metaphor” she might’ve compared Wooster’s late winter landscape to her marriage. The once-romantic, charming, and sparkling had sunk and crusted into something bleak, stale, and dirty.

Metaphor:

1: a figure of speech in which a word or phrase literally denoting one kind of object or idea is used in place of another to suggest a likeness or analogy between them

The new boots were Edward’s version of a metaphor. He hoped they could start fresh, following their renewed vows, and was going out of his way to prove to Vivian that she was important to him and that all that “other stuff” was in the past. The boots were the most expensive that Amster’s carried, and they’d gone on sale, as it was the end of the winter season. Edward had bought them for Vivian on Saturday. The afternoon of their wedding day. Their second one. She was only sorry he hadn’t had to pay full price.

Vivian hugged the sidewalk on the building side in order to pass Clyde Walsh walking arm in arm with Ginny Frazier, who must have finally agreed to go to the A&W with him, and now they were out morning-walking. Well, weren’t they just a couple of lovebirds. Vivian sure hoped Clyde wasn’t already secretly married. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but she’d be the first to tell you, it did happen.

If she’d learned anything after the scandal began to leak, it was how quickly the scolding eye of judgment could turn on you. She’d had the awe and respect of the other girls at Bell when they’d figured out how good she was at figuring other people. How she knew them. But now?

The rumor’d started to trickle through the phone lines at Bell in the two weeks following Betty Miller’s tea party. No one was cruel or outright scornful, but a chilly aloof blanket had dropped over the switchboard room. The smiles had been replaced by uneasy grimaces and awkward coughs, and now that the newspaper article had confirmed it, Vivian was sure work was only going to get more uncomfortable. She wondered if the other girls thought her situation was contagious. Like, if they got too close to her it’d happen to them as well. Don’t get too close, she’s got the bigamy!

She also wondered how long this would go on. Dorothy, Ruth, Laura, Pearl, and the others, they were all acting like Vivian had caught a venereal disease, for chrissakes. Like syphilis. The operators at Bell loved a good scandal, they just didn’t want it so close to them. Vivian thought if they could find a cure for something like syphilis, some clever scientist needed to work on a vaccine for the bigamy.