Radar Girls

by Sara Ackerman

  An hour later, with three fish on her line, she came out a new person. Never mind that her body was covered in goose bumps, and she was shivering from cold, the world seemed righted again. She scaled and gutted the fish in no time, sliced two slabs, whisked up a lemony garlic sauce and put it in the fridge. Walker was in for a treat.

  At 1000 hours, she hopped on her bike and rode to Chock store to call Lei and tell her she had a ride. Humidity thickened up the air. Beyond the sugar mill and its rancid smell, down past the elementary school, she came to the small wooden building that sold a little bit of everything: fishing supplies, consumables, tools, toiletries and even some clothing. Myra Chock, ever the busybody, immediately bombarded her with questions. Where you been? How’s your mother? Did you hear we lost the Houston? Sank in the Java Sea. Daisy had heard. In fact, working at Little Robert, she heard more than she cared to. But she couldn’t tell Myra that.

  “I’ve been staying with a family friend in town and assembling bandages and other odds and ends for the soldiers,” Daisy told her.

  “They pay you for that?”

  “Some.”

  While she was talking to Lei, Daisy heard a car door slam, footsteps coming up the rickety steps. A moment later, Mrs. Montgomery walked into the store.

  “Myra dear, I need some aspirin for my son and asthma medicine for my daughter. And can you please throw in a bag of coffee and some Camels and matches. The only thing that calms my nerves are these cigarettes,” she said, waving her smoke across the room.

  Daisy felt trapped. She hung up the phone quietly and stood there, immobile. There was no way out. Myra flitted about the store like a chicken, gathering goods.

  “Hello,” Daisy finally said, as cheerfully as she could muster.

  Mrs. Montgomery jumped. “Oh. It’s you.”

  A current of dislike ran between the two women, setting Daisy’s hair on end. Or maybe it was the electricity in the air from the incoming storm. Daisy opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  Myra asked, “How is your boy feeling?”

  “The concussion seems to have affected his thinking.” Mrs. Montgomery looked directly at Daisy. “The doctor says this is normal, that people change for a time after head injuries, so you can’t believe a word they say.”

  “Nah, they just need sleep. John used to bump his head a lot in football,” Myra said as she rang Mrs. Montgomery up.

  “I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

  Daisy had the distinct feeling that the comments were directed her way. Though why Walker would mention Daisy to his mother, she had no idea. Maybe Peg had said something. The barefooted high school dropout, hired help who stole horses. Clearly not a good match for her dashing and eligible son.

  Daisy circumvented Mrs. Montgomery by walking around a big table with stacks of neatly folded jeans and Gob shirts. “Thank you, Myra. See you next week,” she said, in her most pleasant voice.

  * * *

  Noon came and went with no sign of Walker, and Daisy began ruminating whether this counted as a date. She had asked him to lunch, hadn’t she? But only after he had offered her a ride to town. Either way, it certainly felt like one. Maybe he changed his mind. A ridiculous twenty minutes had been spent deciding which lock of hair to pin back, then applying a coral-colored lipstick of Fluff’s, only to dab most of it off with tissue. Choosing what to wear had been even more of a troubling issue. She finally decided on a pink-and-white-checkered blouse with beige tapered trousers.

  At 1230, she began wondering if the concussion had made him forget about their plans. Or maybe Mrs. Montgomery had been right, and he’d had no idea what he was talking about yesterday afternoon. The sound of an engine put an end to that.

  The only way to properly prepare fish was over an open flame, though the clouds had marched closer, bringing darkness and the threat of rain. Daisy was outside tending to her fire, and when Walker came up behind her, she felt a vibration along her skin.

  “Sorry I’m late. M¯akaha foaled this morning and I got tied up helping Doc Wilcox,” he said.

  M¯akaha was one of Daisy’s favorite horses. “Was it a filly?”

  “How did you know?”

  She smiled up at him. “Just a hunch.”

  “Seems like your hunches are usually right, according to Silva.”

  She shrugged. “I pay attention.”

  “They miss you, you know. Silva and Hank and Cyril. Every time I show up, they ask how you’re doing.”

  This was news. “Those old buggers? Besides Silva, they hardly gave me the time of day.”

  “Tough nuts, but they admired you.”

  “Well, tell them I say hello. And they might miss me but your mother sure doesn’t. She made that clear today,” Daisy said.

  Walker’s family was a big hurdle she wished she could forget about. But seeing Mrs. Montgomery had been a rude slap in the face.

  “You saw my mother?”

  Daisy spoke into the fire. “At the store.”

  He squatted down next to her, knee touching. “Tell me what she did.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. I want to know. If I don’t know, I can’t do anything about it.”

  “Nothing you say or do will change anything.”

  He touched her wrist. “You’re wrong about that.”

  Something about him always made her want to open up. “It was more innuendo than anything. She told Myra about your concussion and how you are not to be believed right now, and how she doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. She was looking directly at me as she spoke.”

  Walker lowered himself to a log. “Please, Daisy, try not to take it personally. My mother has a tendency to believe herself above everyone. It’s not just you.” He paused, a faraway look passing over his face. “She also holds on to things.”

  She knew he meant the accident and all the horrible things it brought with it. Dredging up old wounds was not what she wanted right now. There was already too much tragedy in the air.

  “I’m used to it by now.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  She shrugged. His mother was not going to change, no matter what. And Daisy wanted to enjoy what little time she had with Walker, before he sailed off. “I need to get the fish on the fire, so do what you think is best.”

  Walker insisted on helping cook the fish, and she let him even though she had a system. Daisy put him in charge of the frying pan while she washed and boiled the rice. This was not the cocksure Walker she knew. The way he kept lifting up one side of the fish with the spatula told her that cooking was not his specialty. But he seemed so concerned to getting it just right, it was endearing.

  “I have to admit, that is the first time I’ve ever cooked a fish,” he told her.

  “What?”

  He put his hand over his chest. “Swear to God.”

  “How does a man grow up so close to the ocean and not ever cook a fish?” she said.

  “My mother and Lucinda never let me near the kitchen, said it was a woman’s place.”

  Lucinda was their Filipino maid, who ran the house like an army installation. Daisy had always liked her.

  “Is that how you see it, too?” she asked.

  He cocked his head. “That sounds like a loaded question.”

  “Because it is.”

  “If that’s where a woman wants to be. But suppose the woman wants to be a horse trainer or a pilot or an ace plotter and vectorologist, I say it’s her call,” he said.

  She laughed. “How do you know about vectorologists?”

  “Word travels fast aboard the Big E. A whole slew of pilots were talking about you gals, and how they might have had their doubts to begin with, but not anymore.”

  “Can someone please tell Colonel Nixon that?”


  “He’ll come around.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  They sat on a blanket under the ironwood tree, Daisy noticing for the first time the age stains and unraveling threads. If Walker cared, he didn’t show it. The fish was overdone but she kept quiet. Having him by her side was what counted. The sad truth was, Walker was her first houseguest. Partly because of Louise, and partly because there had been no one to invite.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Walker said, when they had finished eating and were watching the shore break creeping up the beach with the rising tide.

  “I suppose.”

  “How come you always avoided me when we were younger?”

  The question caught her off guard. “I avoided you? I think you have it backward, Walker Montgomery. Whenever our paths crossed, I felt invisible.”

  Something dark passed over his face. He shook his head. “That’s not true at all.”

  “It is and you know it.”

  At that moment, the skies intervened with a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning that lit up the whole western sky. A fat raindrop landed on Daisy’s leg. And then another. They both jumped up at the same time and made a dash for the porch. By the time they made it under cover, they were both soaked. Daisy pulled a towel from the railing. It was still damp from her earlier swim, but she handed it to him. Walker dried his face and stepped closer. He placed the towel around her shoulders and pulled her in to a big, warm hug.

  They stood that way for some time. It could have been minutes or hours, she wasn’t sure. And then their eyes met. Beneath the weariness, she saw a longing as deep as her own. He hesitated for a fraction of a second and then brought his mouth to hers. Soft, with tenderness and a touch of fire. Butterflies took off in her chest. He pulled back slightly, eyes asking permission for more, and she granted it. His tongue parted her lips, moving slowly and surely.

  Daisy was no kissing expert. It had been years since she had kissed a boy, and clearly Walker was no boy. He was a fully formed man who knew how to properly kiss a woman. He reached a hand up and coiled a lock of her hair around his finger.

  “This,” he said, pulling away. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this?”

  She really had no idea. “No.”

  “Oh, about a hundred years or so.”

  Just the edges of his mouth turned up. The very act of him smiling only for her, because of her, with her, completely undid Daisy. Her heart was full. His hands moved from her back to her waist. An inch or two taller, he pulled her into his warm, hard body. Hip against hip, thigh into thigh. He kissed her with hunger this time and she felt herself melting. Pretty soon they were up against the screen door.

  “Is kissing allowed for concussion patients?” Daisy asked, when they broke apart.

  “No one mentioned it being off-limits.”

  Heavy rain began to fall around them, peppering the tin roof. All the questions she’d had simply washed away, dissolving into the wet grass. Who cared about Thelma or his family right now? Nothing mattered but Walker standing here with his arms around her. Water blew in on them, until their legs were soaked. Daisy led him inside.

  Walker got a serious look on his face. “Daisy, I want to go on record as saying that I told Thelma I’m not interested. Her father brought her out here the day after I got back—I think Peg put them up to it—and I made it very clear. Not that there was anything there to begin with but a whole lot of expectations. Everyone just assumed we were going to marry because of who she is and how much money they have. But you are the one who kept me up at night, the one I had to make it home for,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  A part of her believed him, while another part was still waiting to wake up. Now she understood why Mrs. Montgomery had been going on about his head injury. Another clap of thunder shook the house. Windows rattled and Daisy jumped. Walker pulled her close. An eerie midday darkness fell and shadowed his face, but she could feel a burning from his gaze. To quiet her thoughts, she kissed him. She tasted sea on his breath, which made her want him even more. His hands were everywhere—neck, collarbone, hips, ribs—leaving trails of heat in their wake. The whole room hummed, as though a cauldron of bats had taken up residence. So this was desire. There was a distinct possibility that she would never recover from this kiss.

  18

  THE PLANES

  It was the rainiest winter in recent memory, of that Daisy was sure. The mudflats outside Shafter had turned into a swampland, several of the WARDs had contracted strep throat and everyone was trapped indoors for days on end. Even Blanche never left the house. The only ones who loved it were the cane toads. Daisy had not seen or heard from Walker since he dropped her off three days ago and was beginning to wonder if the whole thing had been a dream.

  To be prudent, Walker had pulled over two blocks before the barracks, on a back street. He seemed to think it was entirely unnecessary, but Daisy insisted. There were eyes everywhere in the neighborhood and the coconut wireless was rampant with this many women living in one place. Words traveled fast on the trade winds. Nor was she ready to deal with Peg and Thelma blaming her for Walker’s decision. Though they would anyway.

  To make matters worse, they were now on the graveyard shift, which for some reason happened to be when most air-raid sirens sounded. Usually a result of American pilots not properly identifying themselves. It stunk.

  “Someone needs to tell those boys they’re causing needless panic,” Fluff told Lieutenant Dunn one day.

  “I’ll take it up with Owens and the other guys,” he said.

  An hour into their shift on the night of March 5, Daisy was stirring sugar into her second cup of coffee when a call came in over VHF radio from Koke‘e. Only every fourth word came through and the voice was muffled. Several of the girls crowded around to hear.

  “Say again,” the radio operator responded.

  “Bogeys—bearing—coast—unknown—” followed by the hiss of static.

  “I’ll put money down that it’s another one of our pilots not following protocol,” Fluff said with her hands on her waist.

  Daisy wasn’t so sure. “He sounded concerned, more so than usual.”

  Major Oscar and Sergeant Jones, the naval liaison, had come down from the balcony. “What is it?”

  “A garbled message from Koke‘e. Sounds like they picked up something and I’m guessing whatever it was is coming our way,” Daisy informed them.

  “Call Opana and Wai‘anae, tell them to be on high alert, paying special attention to the northwest,” Major Oscar said.

  Daisy and Betty sprang into action. Since losing Chuck, Betty worked with a new ferocity. Anything to do to help win this war, she threw her all into. On her days off, she had taken up knitting scarves for the pilots, and fashioning bandages from old socks. She canned guava jelly by the truckload and wrote them letters to boost morale. Though it was her morale that was being boosted. Helping others, she said, was a backdoor way to helping yourself.

  The Army Air Corps officer leaned over the balcony and frowned at the mostly empty boards. “I don’t like this,” he said to no one in particular. “We have no operations or trainings in these waters, and neither does the navy.”

  A collective feeling of tension filled the room, so thick you could almost taste it. Daisy ordered herself to stay calm. Which was a silly notion, really. Trying to reason with fear was like wrestling a twelve-foot tiger shark for a manini on your line.

  No matter how many times unidentified planes had turned out to be false alarms, each subsequent one evoked the same dread. It didn’t help that word had been circulating among the male officers that reconnaissance and bombing raids were imminent. No one mentioned their source, but they seemed quite sure. Major Oscar started barking orders. “Someone call Nixon.” He pointed to Daisy. “You, Rascal, go.”

  Daisy shrunk back. “Me?”

/>   “My guys are all tied up.”

  Nixon lived next to Palm Circle, the heart of Fort Shafter, and was known for getting to Little Robert in five minutes flat. Still, Daisy hated to be the one to wake him up. The phone rang only once, and he answered, “Nixon.”

  “Colonel Nixon, sorry to bother you, but we got a call from Koke‘e and we couldn’t understand the message but it looks like we have two bogeys incoming. Oh, this is Wilder, sir, at Command Center.”

  A dial tone buzzed in her ear. Minutes later, Betty started waving her hand madly, nodding and jotting down notes. “Opana’s got their echo. They think there’s two!” she said.

  Fluff placed an X in the standard, and in her neat, block print marked it UNIDENTIFIED. Her hand shook as she wrote. Val picked up a call from the other Oscar at Opana. “Rascal, bogey bearing southwest twenty miles east of Koloa.”

  The women set markers on the board, and Daisy tried to collect herself as they waited for the next coordinates. Nixon strode into the room moments later. Aside from the pouches under his eyes, he looked perfectly put-together and ready for business. He came directly to the table.

  “What are we looking at?” he asked.

  Daisy and Betty alternated filling him in.

  From the balcony, Major Oscar, who held a phone to each ear, called down, “No one’s claiming them, sir. But we’re still waiting for confirmation from air force.”

  Nixon’s jaw hardened. “Any surface craft detected?”

  “Not yet,” Daisy said.

  The creases in his forehead seemed to have deepened since yesterday. Without another word, he left the table and went to consult with the men on the balcony. Fluff came and stood behind Daisy, hands on her shoulders. She spoke quietly, “Do you think this is the real McCoy?”

  It certainly felt like something was coming. Animals were designed to detect danger. Their heightened senses picked up vibrations and subtle changes in the air. Horses became uncontrollable, bees swarmed and deep-sea fish washed ashore. A Japanese attack was not a natural disaster by any means, but the atmosphere felt charged.