Into the Night (6 page)
Five minutes before her shift started, she'd take her book bag back out to her car and stash it in the front seat. A trip to the ladies' room followed, and then four relentless hours of her beauty queen false smile and "Do you want fries with that?"
About a half hour in. the smile would start to wilt. And by the time the shift was over, she made a beeline out of there.
She got back into her car, drove back to San Diego, picked up the kid at day care.
And that was when she got wild and crazy. Every two to three days she went to the library with the baby in a stroller. She read like a maniac—taking out an armload of books at a time. Once or twice a week, she stopped at the grocery store on her way back to the little house she shared with a husband who frequently wasn't home.
The kid probably napped every day from around 2:30 to 3:30, because Mary Lou always made sure they were home during that time. Occasionally she went out into the yard, carrying a book and some kind of radio receiver—probably something that allowed her to listen for the kid. And about once or twice a week, somewhat randomly, she went over to the little house right next door, where some kind of a shut-in lived.
She never stayed for long.
Her evenings were as organized as her days. She had an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting to attend in various churches in the city, one for every night of the week. She'd wait until the last minute for her husband to come home. Sometimes he made it before she had to go. Sometimes she planned in advance and took the kid back to the sitter. But sometimes she'd pack up the baby and, loading her into the car with ill-concealed exasperation, she'd simply take her along.
The husband barely ever looked at her, hardly did much more than go to work or sleep in front of the TV
Husaam couldn't have asked for it to be any easier.
When he'd first arrived in San Diego, he'd hung out in the local bars and restaurants, the places where the Navy personnel came to drink and gossip.
The SEALs were a closemouthed bunch, but they were a hot topic of conversation. And not just them, but their wives and girlfriends were often discussed to death by the folks in the regular Navy.
Because of that, he knew all kinds of things about them all—most of which were probably wild rumors. But even the wildest of rumors tended to contain at least a grain of truth.
He'd heard that Meg Nilsson met her current husband while she was still married to her first.
That one he figured was probably true.
Teri and Stan Wolchonok had a hot tub in their backyard, and an invitation to their house would result in everyone getting naked.
He wasn't so sure about that.
Mary Lou Starrett was a bimbo SEAL groupie who had purposely gotten pregnant to trap Sam into marrying her.
A definite possibility.
Mark Jenkins was dating a kindergarten teacher from Escondido who had breast implants.
Only Jenkins and the teacher knew for sure.
Mike Muldoon was so good-looking and nice, he had to be gay.
Sounded like good, old-fashioned envy to him, but not impossible.
Jay Lopez's brother had overdosed on heroin, which had made Jay take a vow of celibacy, and Cosmo Richter had been recruited by the SEALs from his cell in the lifers wing on RikersIsland.
Yeah, right.
Last but not least, rumor had it that Team Sixteen's commanding officer Tom Paoletti had lost interest in his live-in girlfriend, Dr. Kelly Ashton. He kept postponing their wedding date. Rumor was they were fighting pretty much constantly. A day didn't go by in which Kelly didn't drive out to the base to check up on Tom and to exchange heated words.
That situation sounded perfect for what he wanted to do, and he'd targeted Kelly Ashton first, for a number of reasons. But the rumors and gossip about her fading relationship with Paoletti were backward and upside down.
He hadn't followed her for more than thirty-six hours before she met Paoletti at a dinner party at the posh Hotel del Coronado. Minutes after she arrived, she slipped out of the dining room.
And as Husaam had watched, Paoletti followed her. Right into a hotel utility closet.
Husaam had strolled past the closed door and well, well, well. There was definitely not an argument going on inside.
A little more investigation revealed that Kelly was the one who kept pushing back their wedding date. She had cold feet. But that's about all she had that was cold.
Regretfully, he'd crossed her off his list, and started following Mary Lou Starrett instead.
Who lived her boring little life with mind-numbing predictability. Which he couldn't really complain about, seeing how it—as well as the broken lock on the trunk of her car— made things much easier for him.
But right now, something most definitely was up.
It was 1:37. It was twenty-three whole minutes before Mary Lou's shift ended, and she was already in her car and pulling out of the naval base.
It was pure chance that brought him here early. Normally he wouldn't have bothered to come before 2:00 P.M. on the dot.
Mary Lou would take the long way back to the mainland so she wouldn't have to pay the toll. He knew that about her, too.
He went in the opposite direction, determined to get to San Diego before she did.
Because today was the day, after following her for weeks, that he was finally going to make contact.
Vincent DaCosta was jealous of a man who'd been dead for more than sixty years.
James Fletcher.
Vince thought of him as Jim or Jimmy, even though Charlie had never called him anything but James. Of course, sometimes, like right now, Vince thought of him as that son of a bitch. Which was, he knew, entirely unfair.
That son of a bitch had died December 7,1941—a day that had very definitely managed to live in infamy for at least these past sixty-something years. That son of a bitch had left behind a beautiful young wife who had loved him dearly.
Even after nearly eighty years of living, Vince knew few things absolutely for sure. But one of those things he knew in his heart was that if he had been at Pearl Harbor and mortally wounded from shrapnel from a Japanese bomb, he would have fought death tooth and claw to keep from leaving behind a world that had sweet Charlie Fletcher living in it.
She was sitting, right now, on a chair in a living room-like set in this TV studio, her knees primly together, her back straight as a board. She'd been sitting just like that, at her secretary's desk in the senator's office in Washington, D.C., the first day Vince laid eyes on her.
Another thing Vince knew after all those years, well over fifty of 'em spent married to sweet Charlie, was that in truth he had no goddamned right to be jealous of Jim Fletcher.
Fletcher'd had Charlie for one year.
Vince had had her for a lifetime.
"He truly was a remarkable man," Charlie was saying now to young Tim Bradley, the host of this show being made for the History Channel, as the studio cameras rolled.
December was approaching and the anniversary of the Japanese attack was rolling around again. Since most of the men who'd actually been at Pearl Harbor during the battle were finding it more and more difficult to walk and talk, folks like Bradley were interested in interviewing the people who'd known the heroes of that fateful day.
And Medal of Honor winner Lieutenant James T. Fletcher had been one hell of a hero, there was no denying that.
The man had thrown himself on top of an admiral, saving the officer's life, shielding him from shrapnel that would have torn him apart. And then when other men—medics—tried to keep Fletcher from bleeding to death, he'd refused to go to the hospital. Instead he'd led those very men—untrained, untried men—to an antiaircraft gun. With Fletcher's lead, they got it up and firing. Took out a fair number of Japanese planes. Enough to make a significant difference to save God knows how many American lives.
But it had not been without a price.
Vince watched the TV monitor, watched Charlie as she spoke in her usual no-nonsense manner to Tim Bradley.
"The sacrifice he made—that all the young men who fought and died to defend our country made—is awe inspiring." She smiled so sadly, so like she'd smiled in the early days of their friendship, that it nearly broke Vince's heart. "Of course, at the time, I was not inspired. I was devastated. I loved him, and he was dead."
"What did you think when you heard the news that your husband was being given a posthumous Medal of Honor?" Bradley asked.
"First husband," Vince muttered a correction. What was he? Chopped liver? It was weird, hearing Charlie talk about Fletcher again. During all these years they'd been married, neither of them ever mentioned him.
But maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe she'd needed to talk about the guy.
Look at the way she'd jumped at being interviewed when the producer of this show had called.
She'd loved him, she said, and he was dead.
On the video monitor, Charlie shifted her weight and crossed her legs. At eighty-three, she still had a great pair of legs. She looked like she belonged on that TV screen. Like a movie star. But then again, Vince had always thought that. Right from day one. The woman was gorgeous. She still was.
"What did I think? I thought, "Posthumous—what an awful word.' "
"And when you heard the stories of his bravery at Pearl Harbor... ?"
"I thought, 'Why did you do that? James, you stupid ass.' "
Bradley gave a burst of laughter, and Charlie made a face. "I'm sorry," she said. "I probably can't say that on television, can I? But you did ask."
"It's okay," Bradley assured her. "It's fine."
"I was twenty-two when he died," she told him. "I didn't read the reports and records of what happened until years later. I couldn't stand to. My mother-in-law—his mother— somehow managed to read them. She told me what James had done."
She laughed softly, sadly, her eyes out of focus, remembering.
Vince remembered, too. He remembered how wounded she'd been when he'd almost literally fallen into her and Edna Fletcher's lives. Jim had been dead for nearly two years, and Charlie was still raw from it.
"I'd asked her to come and stay with me in Washington when the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor was first announced. We knew James was stationed in Hawaii, we knew the attack was horrendous, that lots of our boys had died, but that's all we knew. So I called Mother Fletcher and asked her to come. I pretended it was so I could comfort her in case we got bad news, but the truth was she came and she comforted me. Can you imagine getting a telegram telling you that your only child is dead?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, she lived it. We lived it. Lots of mothers and wives did after December seventh. Edna Fletcher was a Gold Star Mother after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. And at twenty-two, I was a war widow. And yes, we were presented with James's Medal of Honor shortly after that. But it was cold comfort, sir. I know from shows like this one that James will be forever remembered and revered as a hero. That's as it should be. But I hope he'll also be remembered as a greatly loved husband and son. That's how I remember him."
"Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to us, Mrs. Fletcher," Bradley said.
Mrs. Fletcher.
For the first few weeks after they'd met in the senator's office, Vince had called her that.
"Is the senator in, Mrs. Fletcher? "
"He is, Private DaCosta, but I'm afraid—
"Vince." '—his schedule is completely full again today."
"I'll-wait."
She was sympathetic but firm. "He can't see you today."
"I'll wait. Maybe something will open up."
"Private— "
"My name is Vince."
She gave him that look. Exasperated and disapproving and yet laced with something else. Something that made him more determined than ever to stay. "Go home, Private DaCosta. Leave me your phone number, and I'll call you if something opens up and—
"I'll wait, thanks. Mrs. Fletcher."
"It's Mrs. DaCosta now," Charlie told the interviewer.
"Of course," he said. "You were twenty-two when he died."
"Life goes on."
"It does," Bradley agreed. "You do the best you can with the hand you've been dealt."
And fate had dealt her Vince DaCosta. No doubt about that. He'd made it impossible for her to shut herself away from life, to spend the rest of her days as Jim Fletcher's grieving widow.
Or had he? Hearing her talk about her first husband now gave him pause.
All these years, and he'd never dared to sit down with her, to look into her eyes, and to ask her, "Do you still miss him?"
He'd never dared, because deep inside, he was afraid that the answer was yes.
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