Keep Forever

by Alexa Kingaard

  “No, they probably don’t understand where Elizabeth and I will be. Aunt Deborah and Uncle Bill think a move two weeks from today would be best for everyone. School will start for the girls the following week, and it will get them settled before I have to leave for boot camp and Elizabeth comes to live with you.” Sam was not comfortable with this discussion and wanted to get it out of the way quickly.

  He lowered his voice almost to a whisper and Elizabeth strained to hear. “I feel like a traitor, Nana . . . a traitor to my family.”

  Elizabeth overheard his confession and she nodded in agreement. She craned her neck to make out more of the conversation over the distracting laughter from Tina and Laura. “I know you don’t blame me for . . . but now I wish I hadn’t reacted so quickly. At the time, I thought it was a good idea. I didn’t want to be responsible for taking care of my little sisters.”

  Sam paused again. “I had such big plans. Finish school, get my masters in history, become a college professor. It’s all gone—wasted. Feels like everyone is talking behind my back, calling me a coward for joining the Marines and running away to a foreign war instead of facing this struggle at home.”

  There was a long silence as Sam took in whatever his grandmother was imparting. Elizabeth felt left out, unable to hear the entire conversation, but she couldn’t disagree with Sam’s opinion of himself. At least he was having doubts and second thoughts about his dreadful decision. Sam hung up the phone and rushed past his sisters, head down, hands in the deep pockets of his navy-blue Bermuda shorts. “’Night you guys. I’m going to bed.”

  Chapter 5

  Paul, now a tanned, chiseled Marine, strolled confidently past the neat rows of bunk beds, all indistinguishable from each other with identical bedding, skillfully groomed by the recruits. Two lockers sat perpendicular on the floor at the foot of each, and two matching camouflage backpacks hung on the bunk posts. Personal items were stacked neatly in the middle of each bed, tucked, folded, and organized in a matching display of uniformity and order. The space was not meant to imitate their grandmothers’ aroma-filled kitchen or comfortable family home. Quite the opposite, for as soon as one troop moved out, another moved in. The housing was created for one purpose—to keep the rotation of Marines moving fluidly through the base every ten weeks, just enough time to rush them through basic training and send them off to combat as taut, killing machines to replace the beleaguered survivors returning home from their turn at jungle warfare.

  Beach-ready in swim trunks, flip flops, and sunglasses that hid the intensity of his piercing blue eyes, he approached Sam as he moved closer to the exit, anticipating the ocean breezes that Camp Pendleton Marine Base was known for. He had wrapped his AM/FM radio in his beach towel and rolled it into a neat package that fit under one arm. The young men, some barely out of high school, were taking advantage of the rising temperatures and big waves, two days off for most, and a long-awaited opportunity to surf and mingle with the locals. It was an unexpected bonus that was far removed from the long days in the hot summer sun enduring hundreds of push-ups, miles of running, and hours of physical drills.

  Paul extended his hand. A trio of fellow Marines hung back, allowing him to take the lead. “Paul O’Brien.” The two young men shook firmly.

  “Sam Sutton. Looks like you’re headin’ to the beach.”

  “Get your trunks and a towel. We’ll wait. Then I’m gonna teach these guys to surf.” He cocked his head in their direction and motioned for them to join. “None of these guys are from around here.” Paul turned to each one of his comrades, “Right, Texas? Right, Montana? Right, Oklahoma?” They nodded in unison.

  “You sure? I’ve never been in the ocean before.” Sam didn’t want to admit that the idea of sharing a large body of water with man-eating sharks and jellyfish was not compatible with his levelheaded Boston upbringing.

  “Well, that’s where I learned to swim and I’ve been surfing since I was thirteen. To be stationed less than a mile from the beach is the only thing I’m grateful for since enlisting . . . come on . . . let’s go.”

  “Okay. Why not? Give me a sec.” Sam dashed back to his bunk and grabbed his swim trunks and towel. Although he felt woefully out of place, he was ready to take on the next physical challenge. Can’t be as tough as boot camp, and I might as well get used to risking my life.

  Though barely ten a.m. when they arrived, the beach already teemed with families, surfers, and the ever-present beautiful young women, who giggled and flirted with the Marines stretched out on the sand. The unseasonable heat had driven most from their houses, and the easy access to the water along a ribbon of small beach towns up and down the coast made it a popular destination when temperatures soared. The Oceanside Pier, with some of the best waves on the California Coast, beckoned seasoned surfers as well as beginners, and Paul was only too happy to help his buddies master the art in a day. At least, he thought, they’ll know how to dive under a wave by the end of the weekend.

  The five men spread their towels and Paul propped the radio so everyone could hear it. Youngsters dashed by, kicking sand onto the once-pristine towels, covering them in soft granules of beach gravel and saltwater. Paul laughed as he readied his friends to enter the water with their rented surfboards. “You’ll get used to it. And I promise—you’ll never be the same once you catch your first wave.” Like schoolboys, not the tough Marines they had been molded to be, the foursome followed Paul, mimicking his entrance into the churning surf, shuddering as they felt the first cold rush of waves crash down upon them.

  )

  Elizabeth was excited to have received her first letter from her brother. It had been almost a month since he started boot camp, but he had warned her he might be too busy to write.

  She curled up on the well-worn and familiar Adirondack chair on her Nana’s front porch, the perfect vantage point to view the leaves on the oaks and sycamores beginning to turn red, gold, and orange. The crisp winds scattering falling leaves across the lawns and driveways up and down the street prompted the memory of an autumn afternoon spent in carefree play with her sisters, jumping into the piles of just-raked leaves and then being reprimanded by her father’s booming voice. “I told you girls, if you’re not going to help with the yard work, then go inside and help your mother with dinner.” That and one stern look were all that was needed to keep everyone on task.

  Daddy, I’m so sorry for all the times I argued with you and thinking you were too strict—I miss you! Elizabeth wiped away the tears blurring her vision and began to read.

  October 5, 1966

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I’m glad we had a chance to patch things up before I left home. I meant it when I told you how sorry I am about making such a sudden decision and leaving you and the twins right after Mom and Dad died, but there’s no way I can get out of this now. How are you doing, Sophomore?

  So I finally made it through boot camp. Our platoon will be shipping out to Vietnam next month. I try not to think about it, about what’s waiting for us on the other side of the Pacific.

  Southern California is bitchin’. (That’s not a bad word, honest. It means super cool. I’m picking up on the local slang.) The only place I’ve been outside base is the beach, and it’s really different from Boston. It’s dry and hot, and we’re in the middle of something they call a Santa Ana. That’s what the locals call this blistering, dry wind blowing in from the deserts and mountain passes. It makes our eyes itch and our hairs stand on end. Everyone is damned uncomfortable and cranky. I hear that the weather in Vietnam will be much worse. At least the Santa Anas blow through in about a week, but they say the jungle is hot and sticky all year round. Sounds like hell.

  There are guys here from all parts of the country, and I hang out with them on our days off. Usually, we get weekends to ourselves, and I have to admit, being stationed in Oceanside is not bad duty. It could have been so much worse, ending up somewhere in the Carolinas or Arizona. Yeah . . . Southern California . . .
pretty lucky!

  One guy named Paul is a surfer, raised in Southern California. He’s from Reseda, right outside Los Angeles. He’s probably about my age and he also enlisted, but I’m not sure why. At least he’s not fresh out of high school as far as I can tell. Maybe about 19 or 20. So many of the draftees don’t look more than 17 or 18, just babies. I know I’m not too much older, but at least I have a couple years of college under my belt.

  A bunch of us went surfing the other day. We rented boards from a little shack on the sand for a dollar an hour, and that was plenty for me. Paul mentioned his parents bought a little beach house somewhere around here when he was in high school, and they’d come down every once in a while. Sounds like a great life!

  Well, dinner around here is early so I should go. Give my love to Nana and the twins, and remember, don’t believe everything you see on the news, read in the newspaper, or hear on the radio. Be good, Sophomore!

  Always Your Older Brother,

  Sam

  )

  Every afternoon Elizabeth dragged herself home from school. She missed her old friends, she thought would soon forget her, and tried not to think about her sixteenth birthday, just weeks away.

  Before the car accident changed everything, her mother had said it would be her day to shine. Elizabeth had looked forward, if only for a day, to pushing Sam out of the limelight and basking in the attention. If her parents doted on her older brother because he was the first one in the Sutton family to go to college, surely they must have been proud of Elizabeth for her sense of responsibility and supportive, caring nature. In her mind, that had to count for something, but it no longer mattered what they might have thought. There would be no family celebration this year and she told herself that she didn’t care.

  Elizabeth shoved her thoughts aside when Nana appeared from the kitchen, carrying a plate of warm cookies and a tall glass of milk. “I don’t need cookies every day after school. You know that, Nana.”

  “I know, Dear. It makes me feel useful, though, and it passes the time. Besides, you’re getting too thin.”

  Nana’s grief was evident in those few words and her smile faded. Elizabeth was caught off-guard. She never thought of her Nana needing comfort or help. She was the rock, she was the tower of strength that held the family together.

  “Just one then, thank you. I have to do my homework, then I’ll write Sam.” She stared at the growing fire as the flames consumed the last log, and she felt the heat spread throughout the room. “Thanks for the fire, Nana. It’s getting colder like it always does in October. I think I’ll just curl up on the couch and do my homework in the living room. And thank you for the snack.” Elizabeth took a cookie from Nana’s outstretched hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  “You’re welcome, Dear. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, getting dinner started, We’ll be eating at six.”

  “Sharp?”

  Smiling in response, Nana nodded, “Sharp.”

  Elizabeth drew a few blank pieces of paper and a fountain pen with a fresh cartridge from her school bag. The hardback cover of her bulky history book, cradled atop her crossed legs, created the perfect impromptu table, an infinitely better use of the textbook than the assignment she was putting off.

  Whatever did Sam see in history? Just a bunch of useless information about dead people and the old days. Why would anyone want to read this stuff, let alone teach it? She lifted the folded afghan from the back of the couch, lovingly crocheted by Nana for her mother’s sixteenth birthday, and wrapped herself in the sweet memories of her parents, wishing it were ten years into the future—the only way she could think of to lessen the pain of the present.

  Comfortable and snug, she wrote:

  October 13, 1966

  Dear Sam,

  I’m also glad we had a chance to sit and talk before you left. I’m sorry I was so mean to you.

  I’m glad you’re finding time to relax and have a little fun. Oceanside sounds fantastic! And I can’t believe how warm it is! It’s only the beginning of October and we’ve already had one early snow here. Nana built a fire for me and made cookies. I’m sitting in the living room, wrapped up in Mom’s old afghan. It’s a comfortable spot to write, but the sunshine in Southern California sounds even better.

  I’m so glad you’re making friends. Paul seems like a good guy. How cool that he knows how to surf and that you’re only a mile away from the waves! Maybe he can teach you a thing or two. I’m sure you still have a few things to learn, even though you think you know everything already—ha, ha. Maybe one day I’ll get a chance to see and experience places outside of Boston. I sure hope so!

  I’m working hard in school to keep my grades up and I call Laura and Tina on the phone every night before bed. I try to keep it short, it’s so expensive, but Nana keeps telling me not to worry about that part. It still makes me nervous, so much money for a long-distance phone call! I’ll be glad when I can see them in person at Thanksgiving next month. I haven’t made any friends yet. I’m sure I will soon, but not in time for my birthday. Boo-hoo for me. I guess I shouldn’t complain.

  I know your situation is much worse than mine, and it’s practically all I think about. You’re a real hero, Sam. You all are. And even though so many people are against the war and act like they don’t understand, I do. Nana and I watch the news together every night and it all looks awful. Sometimes we just have to turn it off so we can finish our dinner without looking at all those terrible images flashing across the screen. I know you’ll be home soon and I’m sure Nana will make your favorite cookies. What were they again? Peanut butter? Snickerdoodle? Gingersnaps? Chocolate chip? Oh yeah, that’s right, you love them all, especially Nana’s! Please . . . I wish you were here to help me eat these cookies—she’s going to make me fat! I miss you and can’t wait for you to come home!

  I have a few more pictures to take on my last roll of film before I can get them developed. I wish I hadn’t bought the 36-exposure roll. There’s not much to photograph around here with everyone gone, but I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll have Nana take a snapshot of me under one of the sycamore trees. The leaves are turning, and I’m sure you remember how beautiful fall can be. I’ll send a picture in my next letter. Maybe you could send me one of you and Paul.

  Well, I have to get back to my homework. Stupid history assignment! Remind me why you wanted to teach it? Stay safe!

  Love, Your Little Sister,

  Elizabeth

  “Nana, do you have a stamp?” Elizabeth called out and then jumped when she noticed Nana standing behind the couch, watching her while she was engrossed in her letter to Sam. Nana held a package in her hands, carefully wrapped in pink tissue paper and a white satin bow. “I didn’t see you standing there—sorry.”

  “I haven’t been here long. I noticed you wrapped in your mother’s afghan, and even though it is a little early for your birthday present, I thought this would be the perfect time to give it to you.” Nana sat beside her granddaughter and continued, “You’re so young, it shouldn’t have been this way, but I think your mother would approve.”

  Elizabeth choked as she saw a small tear fall from her Nana’s cheek. It seemed like both of them were enveloped in a cloak of grief ever since the tragedy, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was inside the beautifully wrapped gift Nana placed in her hands. “Nana? Are you okay? Should I open it now or wait till later?”

  “No, this is a perfect time.” Handing the present to Elizabeth, Nana struggled to get the words out, “Your mother and I planned this last year, for your sixteenth birthday. We finished it together right before your parents left on vacation last summer. I know this is the right time.”

  Accepting her grandmother’s offering, she couldn’t help but notice her clear, animated eyes and her soft, delicate skin, hardly a wrinkle even though she was almost eighty. My Nana. I used to think you were just so old . . . Now I think you’re just so beautiful.

  Elizabeth
trembled and blinked back tears as she undid the bow and set the bundle down on the cushion beside her. She deftly removed the tape so as not to damage the delicate paper and unfolded the tissue to reveal an afghan quilt so exquisite, it took her breath away. Hues of pink, cream, and white and a scalloped edge of gold metallic thread weaved through the delicate pattern. It must have taken her mother and grandmother months to make. It was not only a work of art, but a labor of love so complete, it made up for any party she would never have.

  “Oh, Nana!” gasped Elizabeth, trying not to cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, for making my sixteenth birthday better than anything I could have ever wished for.” Elizabeth gently folded and set aside her mother’s old blanket and silently thought how well her mama—and Nana—knew her. They couldn’t have given her a better gift.

  “I’m glad you like it, Elizabeth. You’re going to be just fine. Now, let me get you that stamp.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t wait to tell Sam. Thankful she had not yet licked the envelope closed, she unfolded the letter and laid it flat on her makeshift lap table and wrote:

  P.S. You should see the present Nana just gave me for my birthday! It’s so gorgeous! A pink afghan she and Mama made for me last summer. My 16th birthday. I’ll never forget it! xoxoxo

  )

  The last letter Sam wrote from the States was short and to the point.

  November 1, 1966

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I hope everyone is well and you’re starting to enjoy your new school. I know you feel robbed of a normal childhood, but it’s important you still make friends, go to school dances, learn to drive, and be a teenager. I’m glad you got a special gift for your 16th birthday. That’s a big one and I don’t think you’ll ever forget it.