Winter in June (15 page)

“I'm not so sure I want to talk to him,” I said.

“Please,” said Peaches. “Give me five minutes. And then I'll leave you alone for good.”

Jayne widened her eyes in a silent plea. I couldn't help but feel that she was betraying me in her eagerness to get away.

“All right.” I splayed my fingers. “Five minutes.”

“We're going back to the tent,” said Jayne. “You come back there the minute you're done.”

We waited until she and Billy had disappeared around the bend, and then the two of us walked toward the ocean. “How'd you get here?” I asked.

“I'm a pilot, remember.”

“So you can just take off whenever you want to?”

“Not exactly, but I thought this was important enough to break a rule or two.”

“Come on now—what really happened? Did you feel guilty about today, or did your pal have a hankering to see Jayne and you decided to tag along?”

He stopped walking. “Why do you have to think the worst of me?”

“Because you haven't given me any other option.” I wrapped my arms around my chest and shivered in the night air. “You've got four minutes left. If you've come here to speak, speak.”

His shoes dangled from his hands. His socks were tucked inside of them, and as a breeze passed through they wagged like the stubby tails of dogs. “I never should've told you about Jack like that.”

“Spoonfeeding never helped anyone.”

“Maybe not, but there was a right way to say it. I was hurt when you asked about him and so I wanted to hurt you too.”

“So I figured.”

“Doing that was unforgivable.” No—dead was unforgivable. “Once you left, I couldn't stop thinking about the look on your face when you got the news. I know in light of what I told you, how I said it is probably the last thing on your mind, but I wanted you to know how sorry I was for both the way I acted and for your loss. He was a good man, Rosie.”

Of all the things that had happened that day, Peaches' apology surprised me the most. “Thank you.” I took a deep breath and was relieved to feel tears finally appearing in the corners of my eyes.

“I suppose I should go. You must be exhausted.”

I couldn't find words. All I could find was water, so I shook my head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

I nodded. I had to keep my mouth closed. If I opened it, I was certain I would never stop sobbing.

Peaches dropped his shoes and gently pulled me into his chest. I buried my face in the crook of his arm and wailed until I was hoarse.

Whoever said things always look better in the morning deserved to be shot. To my eyes, the morning looked even bleaker, probably because a heavy rain was falling all over the island, turning the ground into thick, impenetrable mud. Lightning momentarily brightened the sky outside our tent, while thunder rumbled a warning that mimicked the sound of bombs so perfectly that it took my breath away. Water leaked through our roof, revealing dozens of small holes the sun had worn into the fabric. Someone had placed our helmets beneath the leaks, and the sound filled the thick jungle silence with the funereal march of horse-drawn Victorian hearses:
pling plop, pling plop, pling plop
.

I was still wearing my clothes from the night before, and my mouth made it clear that it hadn't met a toothbrush in at least twenty-four hours. I had a vague memory of Peaches leading me back to the tent and helping the girls put me to bed. I had been limp by then, so spent from crying that he'd had to carry me part of the way.

I rubbed my eyes and searched the room for my companions. I was alone. Someone had left a note pinned to the nail that held our performance schedule:

I didn't feel up to rehearsing, but I felt even less like sitting in the rain-drenched tent entertaining myself with my thoughts. I dressed and pulled on the military-issue rain gear. It billowed like the garb of a vinyl ghost. As I stepped outside, I saw dozens of men and women dressed just like me, all of us anonymous beneath the sameness of army issue.

Did Jack have rain gear and an M1 helmet? Had he been supplied with a mess kit full of K rations? Did he have multiple pairs of navy-issue underwear and a sewing kit for mending tears with thread that was white, khaki, and blue? Where was that stuff now? Did the armed forces recycle a dead man's possessions or retire them like the Yankees retired Lou Gehrig's number? And what about the rest of his things, the stuff he'd brought from home? I wanted all of that to take with me as evidence that he'd been here and hadn't disappeared in a puff of air the minute he climbed aboard the bus headed for the Brooklyn Navy Yard. I needed that proof. Maybe if I accumulated enough remembrances of him, it would be like having him back.

“I thought that was you!” Gilda's voice reached across the downpour, and her hand extended out of her rain gear and waved me over. “I was just going back to the tent to check on you.”

“Is rehearsal over?”

“We're taking a break.” She looked worse than she had the day before. I wanted to ask her if she was all right, but the rain picked up its rhythm, preventing further conversation. The storms were never like this in New York. There, the concrete buffeted the downfall, turning the noise of the falling drops into something manmade and industrial. Here, for all the attempts that had been made to turn the island into a suitable home for Westerners, it felt as though nature was trying desperately to reclaim the earth. The rain actually hurt as it hit the vinyl cape, each drop a stinger desperate to get past the barrier protecting me and burrow into my skin. We had to focus our efforts on navigating through the sheet of water that seemed determined to foil us. At last, we made it into the enlisted men's mess, where the other women were drinking coffee.

“Look who I found.” Gilda removed her cape and wiped her forehead dry. “
Whew
! I didn't think it could get any worse. Never in my life have I seen rain like that.”

“Get used to it,” said Kay. “The rainy season is upon us.”

“You're kidding, right?” said Violet.

While they continued to ruminate about the weather we'd be experiencing for the next few months, Jayne helped free me from the rain gear and showed me where the others had hung theirs to dry.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“No. Not really.”

I knew she had a thousand other questions she wanted to ask, but Jayne was keenly aware when it was better to dance around a subject than approach it directly. “I wasn't sure if I should stay with you this morning.”

“And watch me sleep? That's not your job.” The other girls were starting to send looks my way. They wanted to know, just as much as Jayne did, how I was really doing. “Did Peaches make it out okay?” I asked.

“I think so. He took off before the lightning started anyway.” She tore at a fingernail. She'd chewed her entire left hand down to the quick. “I hope you don't think we ambushed you last night. When
he told me why he wanted to see you, it seemed like it might be something you needed to hear.”

I pushed my damp hair out of my face. “Don't worry about it. Talking to him was the best thing that could've happened.” I felt weak and weepy, but I didn't want to give in to it. “So what are we rehearsing?”

Violet caught wind of my query, and she stopped pretending to be gabbing about the weather. “We're trying to come up with material for a new show. We've picked a few songs, and Jayne has a swell idea for a dance, but we're a little uncertain about the other stuff.”

“Such as?”

It was clear that some sort of battle had started before my arrival and that Violet was currently on the losing end. Rather than conceding, she decided to use my presence as a chance to bolster her argument. “I was thinking we should put some political content into the show. You know, maybe a sketch or two making fun of the Japs and the Krauts. Spanky and I came up with a whole slew of jokes last night.”

I relaxed my scowl. I kind of liked the idea. So far the content of our show had been going along with the idea that the war was one big party. Why shouldn't we acknowledge the elephant in the room and poke a little fun at the Axis nations? “Sounds fine by me. So what's the problem?”

“I think it's dangerous,” said Gilda. “Jayne and I both do.” Where did Kay stand in all this? I looked her way, but her face was blank. If she had a vote, she wasn't willing to share it yet.

“And why is it dangerous?” I asked.

“The men are here to forget,” said Gilda. “If we start making fun of the Germans and the Japanese, it's only going to remind them of the danger they're in. Do we really want to do that?”

“Do you really think they've forgotten just because we're strutting around the stage singing songs from home?” asked Violet.

“It's not just that,” said Gilda. “I'm afraid they'll think we're devaluing the danger they're in.”

“I doubt anyone's going to think that,” said Kay. I was shocked
to hear her siding with Violet. Had the world gone topsy-turvy since the night before?

Gilda crossed her arms, and I could see a hint of her onscreen persona fighting to come out. “You don't know that. There are some things that are sacred. How would you feel about the Germans making jokes about how stupid American soldiers are?”

Violet cracked a smile. “It would be a relief to know the Krauts had a sense of humor.”

“But would you still feel that way if you'd known someone who'd been killed by one of them?” asked Gilda.

Violet never got a chance to respond. Spanky and Mac had entered the mess, and they weren't alone.

 

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” said Spanky. Mac shook himself from head to tail, spraying the room with rainwater. “I have a favor to ask. It's not mine really, but…well…”

The man beside him had the bars and bearing that branded him as someone important. “What RM Gallagher is trying to say is that he is making this request on my behalf. I'm Colonel Reed Hafler of the Fifty-second Airborne.”

We said our “how-dos” and introduced ourselves.

“A number of us have been grounded here since last night, and we just found out that the camp is host to the five of you. I was told that you weren't traveling because of the weather, and I was hoping we might be able to persuade you to do a command performance for my men.”

Spanky's face made it clear that he'd had about all of Colonel Hafler that he could take, and while the good colonel might be making a show of politely extending his request, it hadn't been anything less than an order when he'd first shared the idea with Spanky. “If you're too tired after yesterday, we understand—”

“No,” said Gilda. “We're happy to perform. Of course, if we were to do so, we'd insist on doing it for the entire camp. They've been kind enough to host us, and they aren't even on our schedule yet. I'd hate to hurt their feelings by performing for a limited group.”

“Of course,” said Hafler. He scowled and turned to Spanky. “Will the rain let up by then?”

“I'll see what I can do, sir.”

“Do, Gallagher. Do.” Hafler turned on his heel and marched out of the tent.

Spanky lingered, waiting until the man was out of range before speaking. “I'd like to wring his neck.”

“So they're army air force?” I asked.

“Yep. There are only twelve of them, but they've been making a stink since they arrived last night. There's some VIPs in the group, and being stranded in Tulagi wasn't exactly in their plans.” Spanky pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the rain from his head. “You don't have to do the show. You're not under any obligation.”

“Hogwash,” said Violet. “We'd be thrilled to do our part for the red, white, and blue.”

 

The afternoon passed in a heavy haze of grief. I think we rehearsed, but whether or not I participated in it, I can't recall. I suspect my body was there going through the motions while my mind traveled beneath the ocean, plumbing its depths for the spot where Jack spent his final moments. What was the last thing he saw? The last sound he heard? What was he thinking as he began to descend to the bottom of the sea? Knowing Jack, I figured he was angry and embarrassed that he couldn't get himself out of this fix.

If he was still alive when the shark attacked, he would've fought hard. I knew that for certain. He would've struggled to the very end. There was probably a shark out there bearing the permanent marks of his last moments. A missing eye. A lost tooth. A heel mark emblazoned on his back. Was it possible to hate an animal? Because I think I did. This unknown, unnamed creature that was only fighting for its own survival, following the instincts nature had given him, made me hungry for a taste of blood. If I had the strength, I would've dived into the ocean and hunted him out.

Was Jack scared? He had to be. No matter what Kay and Violet
claimed, drowning had to be an awful, panic-stricken way to go. Add a fresh bullet wound and potential shark attack to the mix, and his last minutes must've been terrifying. Not only was death fast approaching, but he had no idea if the truth about what had happened to him would get out. Jack was a proud man, and I imagine the idea that his parents would be told that his death had been anything but honorable would seem like the cruelest blow of all.

“What are you thinking?” Jayne asked me at regular intervals.

“Nothing.” My tone was short and irritated. I wasn't able to share my strange, disjointed thoughts with anyone, much less the one person who'd always been there for me.

I owed it to Jack to tell his family the truth about what had happened between him and his CO. Perhaps I could get Peaches to write them a letter outlining what he knew. They were wealthy people. They had connections. They could see to it that Jack had justice.

“We need to get ready for dinner, Rosie,” said Jayne.

While I'd been lost in my own head, Gilda talked to a former pianist assigned to the motorcade and gave him the sheet music for the songs we were planning to perform. He was thrilled for the chance to do something other than repair Jeeps and convoy trucks, and we agreed to be at the amphitheater a half hour before curtain.

I went back to the tent with the others and dressed for dinner. We arrived ahead of our guests at the high commissioner's house. The men we'd already met were in place, welcoming us back after our week of travels. My mind wasn't in the room with me. I stared dully at each face, trying to figure out the name that went with it. Jayne whispered something to one of the men, and he took me by the elbow and led me to my usual seat. Rear Admiral Blake, the man with the pale eyes who'd branded me a Jap-lover, watched me with a bemused smile on his face, and I silently dared him to say something to me. I desperately wanted to take the rage I felt and direct it at someone, and Late Nate was just as good as anyone else. As though he sensed that I was already wounded, he left me alone and focused his attention on Gilda. With a smile, he patted the seat
beside him, inviting her to once again share his company. She hesitated, hoping, I'm sure, that the new guests would show up and save her from another meal with this insufferable companion. She had no such luck. By the time they arrived, we were already working on our soup course, and our fates—and seat assignments—had been sealed.

I heard the men enter before I saw them. Not just the sound of their footsteps and the murmur of new voices, but quiet gasps emitted from each of the women at the table. I didn't have the strength to turn around, so I looked toward Jayne for confirmation that something interesting was happening. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was a perfect circle.

Please, God. Let Jack be alive. Let him be standing behind me ready to apologize for the awful joke he'd decided to play. Please.

I turned to find Colonel Hafler and another man I recognized, even though I'd never met him in person.

“Van Lauer,” Jayne mouthed. Excitement rippled around the table, and Kay, Violet, and Jayne all looked toward Gilda expectantly. I looked toward her, too, desperately hoping to see someone suffering as much as I was. Never mind that it was Gilda, whom I actually liked. I needed to know that I wasn't the only one whose life was being turned upside down.