In Perfect Time (22 page)

“Who doesn’t?” Shell asked.

Roger turned to Klein. “I want to go because our boys are up there in the Vosges Mountains in the rain and mud, getting shot up by the Germans, and they’re low on ammo and gasoline and food and medical supplies.”

Veerman clapped Roger on the back. “Thanks, Cooper. Knew I could count on you.”

Probably the first time in his life Roger had heard that, and it felt good.

He collected the forms he’d need for the flight, stashed them in his kit bag, and headed out of the house.

Half a dozen children waited outside, climbing the cyclone fencing, their thin little shoes stuck in the holes. “Monsieur Ro-zhay!” they called.

“Hiya, kids.” He grinned and joined them on the street.

The fence jangled as a dozen feet pulled free and jumped to the ground. The children hung on his arms and legs and chattered in French embellished with American slang words. He made exaggerated grunting noises and lumbered down the street, shedding giggling children with each step.

The languages changed, the clothing and customs, but all around the world, kids were kids.

The ringleader, a ten-year-old boy named Philippe, tugged on Roger’s sleeve. “Drum,
sil
vous
plait
?”

“
Non.
Désolé.
Today I fly.” He stuck his arms out like an airplane and made a puttering sound.

Half a dozen frowns, half a dozen droopy heads.

Roger squatted down and ripped six pages from the back of his logbook. With his hours almost up, he wouldn’t need those pages anyway. “I’m a pilot.” He pulled aside his jacket collar and pointed to the silver wings over his breast pocket. “Pilot.”

“Oui
,
pilote.”
Angelique, Philippe’s little sister, moved her hands like on a steering wheel.

Roger handed each child a piece of paper. “Angelique is
pilote
too. Philippe is
pilote
. Paper airplane.” He folded the last piece of paper.

“Oui,
oui.”
Philippe folded his paper without watching Roger and called out instructions to his friends.

Roger handed his paper airplane to the tiniest child. “For you, Jean-Paul.”

“
Merci
, Monsieur Ro-zhay.”

“Merci!
Bon
voyage!”
The children smiled and waved.

Roger waved back and jogged to the end of the side street, where the men from his squadron waited in the open back of an Army truck. As soon as he climbed in and sat, the truck rumbled down the street.

Roger unwrapped a stick of gum and stuck it in his mouth. “Guess we’re all braving the weather today.” Since two squadrons of the 64th Troop Carrier Group had been sent back to Italy, the two remaining squadrons shouldered more work. In lousy weather.

“Not Klein.” Bert Marino slouched back on the bench. “Man’s a big fat chicken.”

Murmurs of agreement circled the truck, but Roger refused to join in. Klein had been a strutting rooster back when they flew in North Africa and Sicily. But when he crashed into Roger’s parked plane and killed Clint Peters and Rose Danilovich, the rooster turned chicken.

Roger propped his elbows behind him on the side of the truck. Before the crash, Klein had been the top pilot and walked around with Kay Jobson on his arm. Now Roger had passed him as a pilot. He had Kay’s heart as well.

His hands balled up. Despite his intentions, it had happened. Kay had fallen for him. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice. He’d fallen hard for her too.

The truck turned onto the road to the airfield, away from the lagoon. How could he turn down her invitations? Music, fun, friends. Their conversations ranged from playful joking to serious discussions. The more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her.

Their friendship had sliced deep through his defenses, and now the breach had widened into love. How long until she realized she’d broken through and came storming in?

The truck lurched to a stop on the airfield, and Roger climbed out with the other men. He walked to his plane at a fast clip, leaving Elroy behind so he could think things through.

What would happen if Kay stormed his heart? Disaster.

He could ruin her like he’d ruined his girlfriend in high school. He couldn’t even resist Kay’s invitations for sightseeing excursions and evenings by the lagoon. How could he resist if he held her in his arms? He’d never had any self-control.

He’d have to marry her right away, but that would turn a short-term disaster into a lifelong disaster. Veerman was sure to give him the recommendation, and with practice, he stood a chance of passing an audition—if not with the Veerman band, then some other. He’d be on the road, city to city, hotel to hotel. Sure, it’d be fun for a year or two. Until kids came along. He couldn’t haul a family around. What about school? Church? Kids needed stability. Wives needed stability. So husbands needed to have a stable job, like a farmer.

Or a teacher?

Roger stopped by his plane and examined its familiar lines and the unfamiliar idea. He’d never allowed himself to examine it for long, always shoved it aside.

What if he could become a teacher? If he was reliable enough for Veerman, maybe he was reliable enough to teach. Sure, he chafed at routines and regulations, but he followed them now. And it didn’t kill him. He had a purpose—at first to impress Veerman, but now because he saw the importance of documenting his work so others could do their work.

Perhaps he could follow the rules and regulations the teaching profession required. He’d have a good purpose—for the children. For Kay.

Vertigo struck. He planted his hand on the fuselage to regain equilibrium. Kay would make anything worthwhile. When he was with her, he didn’t feel like a no-account. He felt like the kind of man who could support a wife.

But could he? Above him, scattered clouds tumbled with the wind. “Lord, what do you want me to do? You got me into this mess. Help me out of it.”

Footsteps approached, the sound of gravel skittering on asphalt.

Roger turned around.

Mike Elroy patted the tail of the plane like a dad patting a baby’s bottom. “You took off, Coop. In a hurry?”

“Yeah.” Roger pulled his clipboard from his bag. “As Veerman said, weather’s dicey.”

“Good thing we’re not flying air evac today. Still . . .”

Roger recognized the wistful tone of a man enamored. “Why? Got your eye on one of the flight nurses?”

He flushed. “Ah, she’s out of my league. Doesn’t even know I exist.”

Kay was nice to Mike. Thank goodness it wasn’t her. The flood of relief came as a shock.

But who was it? Mike was too good a man to fall for a woman with a boyfriend. Who was left? Vera Viviani sure was a looker and she was single, but she was haughty.

Roger poked his clipboard at his copilot’s chest. “A man like you deserves better than a dame who won’t acknowledge you. Look around. Plenty of nice girls.”

A twitch of a smile, but a strained one. “Yeah, thanks.”

They started the preflight inspection, and a truck pulled up, loaded with five-gallon jerricans of gasoline for the Seventh Army front.

Roger studied Mike as they did their inspection. A good-looking fellow in a boyish way, seemed younger than his thirty-one years. Smart, steady, kind. A banker. The sort of man who’d make something of his life and never doubt he could be a good husband, a good provider.

The sort of man Kay Jobson should fall for.

26

Istres
November 2, 1944

Another memorial service.

Kay sat with her friends in a church in Istres, waiting for the service to start, the walls cold and gray and stony, the organ blasting somber tones. The day before, a C-47 from Roger’s squadron had crashed in a storm on a flight from Luxeuil, killing the entire crew, flight nurse Lt. Aleda Lutz, a medical technician, and over a dozen patients.

The church was packed with personnel from the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron and the 64th Troop Carrier Group, as well as locals who considered the Americans “their” boys and girls.

Kay patted her shoulder bag, over and over. Why did her lap feel empty?

Her Bible. She didn’t have her Bible.

She sprang from her seat.

Georgie looked up to her with red-rimmed eyes. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

Kay leaned down to whisper back. “I forgot my Bible.”

“We can share.”

“No.” On a day like this, nothing but her own Bible would
do. She lowered her head on her way down the aisle, as if that would make her less obtrusive.

A flicker of motion to her left.

Roger sat on the aisle and waved low. “You okay?”

She nodded, a lie. He didn’t look okay either, pale and drawn. Had he been close to the flight crew, or was he reliving Clint Peters’s death, just over a year earlier? “Forgot my Bible.”

He lifted a wan smile. “I can give you another one.”

What would she do without him and his sweet friendship? “That’s all right.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze on her way out.

The organ quieted, and the chaplain approached the pulpit. Oh dear. She’d miss some of the service and make a disturbance when she returned, but it didn’t matter. She needed her Bible.

Everyone mourned. Some had gotten drunk last night. Many cried. Some shared stories. All came to the memorial service to pay their respects. All but Vera. For her, setting foot in a church would be more painful than the loss itself. Poor thing.

A horrid drizzle moistened her cheeks. She’d left her coat in the church, so she’d just have to put up with limp hair. Who would notice anyway?

She turned onto her side street and approached the house she shared with eleven other girls. No, only ten now. The drizzle on her lips tasted salty, and she wiped her eyes. Somehow crying seemed right.

Another hole in their squadron. The hole left by Rose’s death the year before had never been patched. Everyone loved Louise Cox, but no one could replace Rose, and no one could replace Aleda either.

Kay climbed the outside steps to reach her room on the second floor. The dampness had darkened the walls to a mustard color. Even the house wept.

Her room sat to the left, but faint sobs rose from behind the closed door to the right.

Vera.

Kay’s heart wrenched for her friend. Vera’s aversion to church didn’t erase her need to grieve, and why should she have to grieve alone? Maybe this was why Kay came back.

She opened the door.

Vera didn’t grieve alone. She sat on her cot, cuddled up beside Capt. Frank Maxwell. He held her in a familiar manner, caressing her arm, kissing her forehead.

Kay sucked in a breath, icy cold, freezing every muscle, every thought but one.

Vera scrambled to her feet. “Kay! What are you doing here?”

“I—I forgot . . . What are
you
doing here? In women’s quarters?” She turned a pointed glance to the flight surgeon.

He put on a flat smile, stood, and fumbled with his shirt buttons, as if checking to see that he was dressed. He was. A wormy feeling in Kay’s gut told her that wasn’t always the case when he was with Vera.

Captain Maxwell smoothed his tie. “I was comforting Lieutenant Viviani.”

Kay’s upper lip curled. “Your wife must be very proud of you.”

“Kay!” Vera swiped tears off her cheeks. “What’s wrong with you? The old Kay wouldn’t have batted an eye.”

“Baloney. Even I never stooped so low as to date a married man.”

Maxwell’s dark eyebrows bunched up. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Nothing unseemly is going on here.”

“More baloney. How long has this been going on?” Her head swam, and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh my goodness. This is why you’re always so mysterious about your boyfriend, your dates. You’re embroiled in a tawdry affair.”

“It’s not like that.” Vera fiddled with the ends of her hair. “It isn’t tawdry. We’re in love. After the war is over, Frank will divorce his wife and marry me.”

Kay’s mouth dangled open. “I can’t believe you fell for that. That’s what every married man promises his mistress.”

She wrinkled her pert little nose. “It’s different with us.”

“Is it? And what then? What if he actually divorces her and marries you? Don’t you think he’ll tell his next mistress the same exact thing?”

“Enough, Lieutenant.” Maxwell stepped between Vera and Kay. His green eyes burned. “How dare you talk about me like that? I outrank you.”

Her green eyes could burn too. “How can I speak respectfully to someone I no longer respect?”

His expression darkened, stiffened. If he hit her, she’d hit him back.

“Now, Kay.” Vera darted around her lover, took Kay’s arm, and turned her aside, her voice sugar-sweet. “There’s no need to get worked up. We’ve been friends for ages. You mustn’t be cross with me.”

Heaven’s sake, the woman talked as if she’d done nothing worse than borrowing one of Kay’s dresses without permission. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re having an affair with a married man. It’s wrong and you know it. Not to mention it’s against regulations.”

Vera grasped Kay’s hand, tilted her head, and dimpled one corner of her mouth. “Oh, you wouldn’t say anything. I know you wouldn’t. After all, how many times did I cover for you when you broke curfew?”

Kay pried her hand free. “It’s not the same, and you know it. You expect me to ignore this?”

“Well, of course. Mellie knows and she’s never blabbed.”

Kay blinked her eyes as if that would clear her ears. “Mellie knows?”

“She’s known for ages and not one word. And you know what a stickler for rules she is.” Vera chuckled in a conspiratorial way.

Kay didn’t chuckle back. Mellie knew? Good, sweet, honest-to-a-fault Mellie Blake blithely ignored adultery? How could she?

“You’re my friend.” Affection shone in Vera’s dark eyes. “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just asking you—begging you—not to say anything.”

Kay’s stomach and mind and heart churned. She backed out of the room. “No promises.”