Semper Fi (32 page)

“I’ve been resting for months, Cal. They finally released me from the hospital, and here I am in sick bay again. I need to fight. I need to stop letting you all down.”

“Hey, you’re not letting any of us down. It wasn’t your fault you broke your ankle in that damn pothole. Just like it’s not Sully’s fault he got that infection on top of the malaria flaring up. No one blames either of you. We do blame you a little for the Coca-Cola you got to drink and the nurses you got to flirt with over there on Banika Island.”

Jim tried to smile. “You’d suppose it would be great, huh? But I couldn’t stop thinking about you here. Wondering if you’d been hit.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’d do if you’d been gone when I came back. Every day I hated myself for not being here fighting with you. Leaving you all to die.”

Cal rubbed Jim’s arm. “Don’t ever think like that. You couldn’t fight. And you can’t fight now when you can barely see. We’re doing just fine, so don’t worry.” But he had to admit that as glad as he’d been for Jim to be out of harm’s way, he’d missed him fiercely.

“You’re doing fine now that it’s winding down here. Still plenty of our guys dead.” Jim shivered. “Sometimes I hate them so much. The Japs. I hate them so deep down it’s like a disease. Maybe that’s what this is.” He waved a hand at his swollen face. “Hatred.”

“We all hate them. We have to. It’s war.” Cal picked up the blanket from the cot he was sitting on and spread it over Jim.

“I can’t remember what it’s like to be truly dry. I feel like I’m covered in mold from the inside.”

Cal nodded. “My socks are disintegrating again. I only got them last week.”

“I tried to write a letter home, but my pen clogged and then the point split in half. I remembered O’Neill over there had a pencil, but it had swollen and burst.”

“At least we’re out of the rain in here.” It battered the large tent’s roof endlessly in a constant chorus. “I haven’t had a smoke for days. Tried to keep them dry in my helmet, but no dice, as usual.”

“We thought Guadalcanal was bad, but New Britain takes the cake.”

“Having been to the old Britain, which is damn miserable and damp enough, I have to agree.”

Jim sighed. “Melbourne seems like a dream now. Let alone home.” He pulled the thin blankets closer around his shoulders. “I don’t want to miss another Christmas. Missed two already.”

“That’s eight months away. Plenty of time for us to win this damn war.”

“She’s more than four and a half now. Walking and talking, and then some. She’ll be old enough to understand Santa Claus. To believe that reindeer landed on the roof when she sees the presents on Christmas morning. Eddie, the man who tends the orchard, made her a little swing set. Ann says he’s been a godsend. It should be me doing that. Not him. I should be taking care of my family.”

Cal patted Jim’s shoulder. What could he say?

“Ann sent a picture from last Christmas, but I can’t keep it dry.” Jim pulled his arm out from beneath the blankets and handed Cal the small, curling photograph.

Cradling it gingerly, Cal examined the stained picture. Sophie’s chubby-cheeked smile was fading already—her dark ringlets and the Christmas tree behind her disappearing as the paper yellowed. He could see Jim in the shape of her eyes and the set of her nose. “She’s beautiful, Jim.”

“Prettiest girl in the world. I don’t want to miss her next birthday.”

“I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”

Jim’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “She won’t even know me. I’m a stranger to her. Her whole world is her mother and grandparents, and even Eddie. I bet she can’t even remember me.”

Cal crossed the narrow aisle and nudged Jim over on the cot so he could perch on the side. When Jim was at his lowest, this was the fear that plagued him. Cal would reassure him as often as he needed to. He squeezed Jim’s arm and spoke softly. “Sophie’s your daughter. Once you go back home, it won’t take long at all before she forgets you were ever gone. I promise.”

“What if I never go home, Cal?” Tears welled in Jim’s swollen eyes, leaking from the edges. “What if I never see her again?”

Cal hated seeing him like this, and cursed the Japs and a God he didn’t believe in. “Hey, hey. Of course you’re going home.” He smoothed his hand over Jim’s shorn hair. “We’re going to get through this.”

“It’s never going to end. After we won on Guadalcanal, and had that break in Australia, I didn’t think…I hoped it wouldn’t be long.” Jim’s shoulders shook with a broken laugh. “It just keeps going. One island after the other. Battles that never get us anywhere. Good men dying, and all these new boys coming to replace them. And the rain never stops. I feel like I’m growing vines—like the jungle’s consuming us bit by bit.”

“I know.” Cal wanted to take Jim in his arms. Hold him and make everything better, and take the sickness from him for his own. Instead he pulled a sodden cloth from his pocket and gently wiped Jim’s tears from his cheeks. “It’ll be okay. It will.”

Jim swallowed thickly. “Sorry. You should go back. I’ll be fine.”

“Can’t. My stomach’s killing me, remember?” Cal smiled.

As if on cue, the corpsman made his way through the sick bay in their direction, so Cal stretched out on his cot. He schooled his features into a pained expression, shooting Jim a wink. He groaned. “Doc, I think I’m dying.”

“Uh-huh.” The corpsman shined a light into Cal’s eyes and gave him a cursory exam. “It’s probably a parasite.”

“Is that your answer for everything?”

The corpsman smiled wryly. “Pretty much. This fuckin’ jungle’s full of ’em. That garbage they’re passing off as food is probably gonna kill us before the Japs get a chance.”

“Did anyone ever tell you your bedside manner needs work?”

At this, the corpsman grinned. “Yeah, but they’re all dead now.” He turned to check on Jim—another cursory exam. “You two’ll make it. Don’t worry.” He glanced at Cal. “You can stay the night unless we need the bed for someone worse off.” Then he was gone to tend to a man screaming on the other side of the tent.

Cal sat up to yank off his boots. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one. There once was a man from Nantucket.”

Jim smiled—a real smile despite his swollen face. “Thanks for staying with me, Cal.”

“You say that now, but just wait until you hear the rest of this joke. You’ll be begging to get rid of me.”

“Been trying to shake you for ages now, but you’re pretty stubborn.”

Cal grinned. “Afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Taking another gulp of whiskey, Cal picked up the envelope again. From the open window behind the couch, the sounds of the street floated up—cars honking and motors humming. Although it was officially September, the oppressive heat of summer wasn’t in any hurry to leave. A ceiling fan stirred up the warm air. Cal could have turned on the air conditioning, but he felt too confined with the windows shut.

The ice in his glass rattled, and the condensation wet his fingers. In his boxer shorts, he stuck to the leather couch, and he shifted uncomfortably. After wiping his hand on his white undershirt, he traced the neat, curled script of the return address.

Miss S. Bennett

Clover Grove

192
Green
Hills Road

Tivoli, New York

In the envelope was a homemade white card with a drawing in pencil crayon of the doll house. He reread the message.

Dear Uncle Cal,

Thank you for my birthday present. I love it.

I wish you would come visit soon. We miss you.

From,

Sophie

xoxo

The whiskey burned as it slid down Cal’s throat. He’d loved Jim for so long, and had never thought about the possibility of feeling anything so powerful for someone else. But oh, he loved those children. He’d always known he’d never be a father, but for the first time he wished he could be.

Shaking his head, he put the card back in its envelope and dropped it on the coffee table. He hadn’t worked for almost two months, and hadn’t left the apartment now in a week. He’d shaved that morning for the hell of it, even though he knew he’d spend the day napping and listening idly to the radio. On Jim and Sophie’s birthday, he hadn’t gotten out of bed at all.

The radio crackled now with big band music that reverberated along with the low beats of the ceiling fan. Cal knew he could only wallow so long before he had to find a way to move on. Perhaps he’d go to London anyway, or travel across Europe. Maybe go to Paris and see what the Germans had left behind.

He took another drink and wished he had some applesauce. Cal would have thought he’d be sick of apples and apple by-products, but he missed everything about the orchard. He wondered what Mrs. O’Brien was making for dinner.

He dozed, and sweat gathered on his brow. The horns from the street were a strange lullaby, mixing with Benny Goodman’s trumpets. Late in the afternoon, a storm rolled by, and Cal slept more deeply, dreaming of Guadalcanal and the tropical rain seeping into his skin, Jim huddled by his side whispering words Cal couldn’t make out.

It was evening when Cal woke, groggy and somehow more tired. The newsman recited the day’s events, and after Cal hauled himself up to shuffle over and flick off the radio, he froze with his hand outstretched.

“The heavy storm that swept across New York City intensified as it reached the Hudson Valley, with winds gusting up to sixty miles an hour and producing hailstones as large as two inches in diameter.”

Dread uncoiled in Cal’s gut.

“Saugerties and the surrounding area received the worst of it with untold damage to property and homes.”

Saugerties—right across the river from Tivoli. If the storm had hit the orchard…

“Hudson Valley crops have been seriously affected, and injuries have been reported—several life threatening.”

The newsman droned on as Cal snatched up the keys to the Cadillac, pausing only to tug on slacks and cram his feet into the closest pair of shoes before he was gone.

With his heart in his throat, Cal turned off the engine and cut the lights. Clover Grove was shrouded in darkness, and clouds were still heavy overhead. Cal had stopped the Cadillac some distance away, not wanting to wake the kids. No lights shone from the windows, which wasn’t surprising since it was after midnight.

Cal walked toward the house, his leather loafers slipping on the sodden grass. He stood in front of the door, but didn’t knock.
Should just get in the car and go back to Manhattan.
He hadn’t stopped to think before rushing onto the road. Now, standing in front of the dark house, he felt unbearably foolish in his undershirt. He shivered in the night breeze.

It had been hard enough leaving in the first place, and even if the crop was ruined, what could he do about it? Jim wouldn’t take a handout. Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Cal returned to the Cadillac. With his hand on the door, he stopped. Maybe he should take a look at the trees and see what the damage was. Perhaps the hail had missed the orchard and there was nothing to worry about. He could go for a walk and stretch his legs, and then drive away long before Jim woke.

At the thought of Jim sleeping—his lips parted, chest rising and falling as he snored softly—Cal had to close his eyes and steady himself, battling the impulse to rush inside and climb into Jim’s bed. Knowing that he’d never kiss or touch Jim again had carved a hole inside him that would never be filled.

Sure, he’d lived with it for years, and the pain had been dulled by acceptance. But now that he’d actually
had
Jim, his absence was a fresh wound that Cal feared would never heal.

With a deep breath, he gathered himself and headed down the rise into the orchard. He knew the terrain well enough now that even in the dark he didn’t stumble. As he approached the trees, Finnigan’s familiar bark echoed in the night, and Cal made out the low shape of the dog racing his way.

Crouching, he scratched behind Finnigan’s ears. “Hi, boy. I missed you too.” He chuckled as Finnigan licked his face, the dog’s tail whipping back and forth.