A Girl Divided

by Ellen Lindseth

  “So you’re serious about this flying business?” Ted asked, rolling his neck.

  “I am. Though I think I’d rather be a ferry pilot than an instructor.”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really? Flying untested planes is dangerous work. You have to be prepared for anything.”

  “And an instructor doesn’t?” She picked up her cocktail glass, hoping to hide her sudden nervousness. “Besides, I’d like to do something for my country. Something besides typing forms and volunteering to collect scrap metal. And getting airplanes to the boys who need them fits that bill.”

  “‘Your country’?” His eyebrows slid up a bit higher. “Is the United States home now?”

  She swirled the contents of her drink, the ice tinkling as she considered the question and the reason behind it. No doubt he was thinking back to when they had first met, when she’d considered herself Chinese through and through. “Yes and no. As my father would say, Panta rei. One has no choice but to accept change.”

  His beautiful dark eyes held her captive for a long moment. The empathy she saw there silently acknowledged all she didn’t say. She felt some of her tension dissipate. As an unwilling immigrant to the States like herself, he had to understand the division in her soul.

  “Ferrying might be fun,” Flo said thoughtfully while Genie took a sip of her drink. “I hear they’re letting gals do it over in Britain.”

  “That’s because Britain’s running out of pilots, male or female,” Ted said drily. “Where do you think most of my students are heading?”

  The possibility that Ted might be asked to join them made her blood run cold. She didn’t like the idea of him being shipped so far away. He was the closest thing she had to family in the States, other than Lavinia and her still-missing aunt.

  Which reminded her, now that she had a break before pursuing her commercial license, she could finally travel up to Bakersfield, where her aunt had last lived. Having already quizzed the neighbors by post, to no avail, she had decided it was time to try her luck in person. Maybe she would have better success.

  Aware that the conversation had continued on without her, she tuned back in only to find her friends debating whether American engines were better than British ones. Having no opinion on the matter, she took another sip of her drink. The taste was a rather pleasant mix of sweet and sour, and as she drank, a welcome warmth began to suffuse her tired muscles.

  Slowly, all the day’s trials slid away. Skip was relegated to being nothing more than an annoyance. She had passed her flight exam, so she no longer had to obsess over her studies. She would still need to watch her pennies so as to build hours for her commercial license, but she could now take her time.

  She tilted the glass up and finished the drink, marveling at how wonderful she felt. Perhaps if she sipped that last little bit . . .

  Without pausing in his discussion, Ted reached over and gently guided her hand with the glass back to the table.

  “Too much booze on an empty stomach is never a good idea,” he said in response to her confused frown. “Trust me on this.”

  “Are you saying I can’t take care of myself?” she asked, fighting a ridiculous urge to pout.

  “No. I’m just looking out for you. Something tells me you don’t have a lot of experience with the stuff.”

  She lifted her chin. “Why would you think that?”

  He cocked his head, skepticism clear in his dark eyes. “Has the little missionary gal I met in China taken up drinking, then?”

  Her bravado evaporated at the reminder of who she was, or at least had been. “No.”

  His laugh held no humor. “Didn’t think so.”

  Dinner arrived, and Genie found she was much hungrier than she had imagined. Ted slid the bread basket to her without comment as he and Flo continued to swap flying stories. Amused by the one-upmanship, she sipped the water in her glass, her worries ebbing away again.

  She wished the evening would never end. It had been a long time since she had felt this content—maybe not since she had left home six . . . no, seven months ago. And while she missed her father terribly, and Zhenzhu, and Li Ming, she was also aware that this kind of evening—sitting here with Ted and Flo, talking about what she loved, being listened to as if what she had to say was important—would never have happened if she hadn’t left home. In China, she had been relegated to being a silent ornament at her father’s dinner table, seen but not heard, like the other women, no matter how much she wished to speak.

  It was such a queer feeling to both wish she were home and yet be glad that she wasn’t.

  Ted began to use his hands to illustrate a new fighter technique to a rapt Flo, and Genie fell back in time to that first night on the trail. Wu Fang and Nathan had hung on his every word then, too. The spicy, clean scent of his aftershave—the same one she had noticed when they had danced together at the 300 Club—tickled her senses. His hair was the same glossy black she remembered. Her fingers itched to glide through the short waves to see if the strands were as soft as they looked.

  He glanced at her, his dark tiger gaze holding for a second as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts. A question lurked in the chocolaty depths: What are you doing, Genie?

  What was she doing?

  A stab of guilt made her tear her gaze from his. Dick was the one who had always been there for her, helping her after Nathan’s death and her aunt’s disappearance, finding her work, giving her a place to stay. He deserved better than to have her moon over another man in his absence. Yet that was just it—Dick was always absent. She had seen Ted as many times as she had seen Dick these last few months. And despite his passionate kisses, Dick was notoriously bad at staying in contact when on assignment. She could count on one hand the number of phone messages he had left, and not even a single letter or postcard.

  She would never admit it to Lavinia, but recently she had started to wonder if her friend had been right about Dick not loving her. In which case, why shouldn’t she admire the way Ted’s khaki shirt stretched over his strong shoulders or the intriguing muscles of his forearms bared by his rolled-up sleeves, or be distracted by the subtle emotions playing across the angles of his exotic face or by how good he smelled?

  Flo stretched her back and yawned. “Hey, you two—do you mind if we get the check and run? I’ve got a flight first thing in the morning.”

  “Not a problem,” Ted said as he signaled for the waiter again. “I can drive Genie home. I’m off rotation tomorrow, so I’m in no real hurry.”

  Flo shook her head, even as Genie tensed with alarm. It was one thing to let her fantasies about Ted run wild in the relative safety of the restaurant. It was quite another to actually go anywhere alone with him. Not that she didn’t trust him. She knew without a doubt he would behave as a gentleman. No, it was her own restraint she worried about. The old-fashioned had left her feeling decidedly fuzzy.

  “I don’t want to put Genie in an awkward spot,” Flo said. “I’ll take her.”

  “I don’t mind,” Genie heard herself say. “It’ll give Ted and me more time to catch up.”

  Flo hesitated, but there was relief in her eyes. “If you’re sure you’re okay with it.”

  “Absolutely.” Genie smiled as much to convince herself as her instructor. Ted made no comment either way as he settled the bill.

  Before she knew it, the evening was over, and Genie found herself alone on the sidewalk with Ted. A whiff of his aftershave teased her again, and she fought the urge to lean closer to get a better smell.

  “You all right?” he drawled softly.

  The question shook her out of her thoughts and back into the present.

  “Yes.” She was glad the darkness would hide her furious blush.

  Thankfully, he didn’t say anything else as they set off down the sidewalk into the mild night. Ted had his hands in his pockets. She clutched the strap on her satchel like a lifeline to keep from touching him. Part of her still couldn’t believe they were both here
in LA, walking side by side beneath the stars.

  “I went flying at night not too long ago,” she said to break the silence. “The city lights were so lovely. Like a quilt of stars. I remembered how you said nothing beat the view from an airplane, and you were right.”

  “Did I say that?” He stopped by a dusty Ford pickup truck that wouldn’t have looked out of place on one of the numerous farms in the area. “Well, I was wrong. There’s one thing that does beat it.”

  “Like what?” she asked curiously.

  He opened the passenger door and gazed down at her. “Seeing you again.”

  Heart fluttering, she let his comment slide and gestured at the truck. “Is this yours?”

  “Airport’s. I didn’t have time to go home after my last lesson, so I borrowed it.” He leaned in and grabbed a towel from behind the seat back and spread it over the cushions.

  “Never know who was in here last,” he said at her inquisitive glance. “And I don’t want to be responsible for ruining your skirt. Which looks very nice, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” His offhand compliment pleased her probably more than it should have.

  He helped her in, and she straightened the light cotton fabric across her lap as he shut the door. Seconds later he jumped in on the driver’s side and started the engine.

  “Where to?”

  She gave him her address and then admitted she had no idea how to get there.

  “No problem.” He shifted the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb. “I grew up here.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “We moved here when I was thirteen, when my father was offered a position at Caltech. Have to say California winters beat the East Coast ones hands down. Don’t know if I could ever move back.”

  The storefronts of Glendale slid by as they headed south out of town. “If the war were over, would your father return to Turkey?”

  “Doubt it. His work is here. I’m here.”

  “If he did go, would you follow?”

  “No.” He gave her a sideways look. “Are you thinking of not going home after the war?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I miss my father and Zhenzhu and my friends. And yet . . . my life there seems so far away. I’m not sure I would still fit in.”

  “I can see where it might be kind of hard to keep flying. Those mountains didn’t leave much room for a decent runway.”

  “There is that,” she said with a small laugh, but her mood slipped again. “I was thinking more that I’ve changed so much, my father might no longer recognize me.”

  “I sincerely doubt that. You don’t look that much different.”

  “No, but I act differently. I’m more independent: I have my own income; I go where I want, when I want; I speak my mind.”

  “All good things, in my book.”

  “But that isn’t at all how I was raised.”

  They had stopped at a traffic signal, the lights dimmed by hoods so as not to attract attention from the air and possible enemy bombers. On the corner a couple waited for the light to change as well, a sailor and his girl. While Genie watched, the sailor pulled his date in close and stole a kiss. Unexpected pain wound its way through her chest.

  “Why did you reject me after we kissed in Calcutta?” she asked before she could stop herself, and then wanted to sink into the dusty seat cushion. A million apologies raced across her tongue, unspoken, as the light turned green.

  He sighed as he put the truck into gear. “I didn’t reject you, Genie. You were affianced to another, as you will recall.”

  “But I told you I wasn’t. Is it because I’m ugly?” Her heart stopped the instant the words were out, horrified that she had actually asked that question aloud. She certainly hadn’t meant to.

  He shot her a disappointed look. “You should know better than that.”

  “Then why did you push me away and tell me not to write you?”

  “You want me to be straight with you? Because the lifespan of a fighter pilot isn’t all that great. It’s why I don’t date much. I don’t want any gal getting too attached to me. I saw what my mother’s death did to my dad, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  She glared at him. “Speaking as a gal, I would prefer making up my own mind on the subject.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure you would, Miss Speak-My-Mind Baker.” Then his amusement faded and his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Genie, there’s something I want . . . no, need to ask you. It’s been nagging at me ever since I ran into you last month.”

  “Yes?” she prompted when he didn’t continue right away.

  He drew a deep breath. “I hope you won’t be mad, but I asked around about that Pelton fellow . . . he’s not pressuring you or anything, is he? I know it’s none of my business, but I feel somewhat responsible. I mean, I’m the reason you’re here in the States, and—well—I don’t like the thought of someone taking advantage of you. If I had known that Sterling had died, or that your aunt wouldn’t be here to greet you . . .”

  “You would have done what, exactly?” she asked drily. “You were still in China.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just when I found out my little Genie Baker was running around with a married man, I felt I should at least ask if you were all right.”

  Her heart had no sooner warmed from the words “my little Genie Baker” when the second part of his sentence detonated.

  “I’m doing what?” Surely she had heard him wrong.

  He slid her a sideways glance. “Dick Pelton is married, Genie. You knew that, right?”

  Chapter 37

  “No.” She wanted to say more, but there was no air. Her fingers clutched the door handle.

  “Genie, I’m—” He glanced at her, his jaw tight. “Damn, but I was afraid of this.”

  She swallowed hard, fighting to get her breath back. “I don’t know who you heard that from, but Dick’s not married. He couldn’t be. For heaven’s sake, I’m staying in his apartment. I think I would know if he had a wife.”

  “He’s got a house up in Hollywood Hills. I asked Fred Short about it. Do you remember meeting him? Flew in the Great War and is now a stunt pilot for Warner Brothers?”

  “Well, sure. That’s Charity’s uncle, but . . .”

  “He’s also a good friend of your Mr. Pelton. He wasn’t wild about dropping you and your friend off at the apartment but figured as long as it was the two of you, it was likely on the up-and-up, so he kept his mouth shut.”

  “I don’t believe it.” A queer buzzing had begun in her ears. She shook her head to clear it.

  “Fred has no reason to lie, Genie. But if you still doubt it, ask Pelton himself. Assuming he’s man enough to tell you the truth.”

  “I can’t. He’s out of the country.” She let go of the door and pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. “He has been for almost a month.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyebrows sliding up. “Because I saw a fellow in town not three days ago who looked a lot like him. He had a different, older woman on his arm, but I’d swear it was the same fellow.”

  “People look alike. It might have been someone else.” But the doubts he had planted twisted through her stomach, leaving her light-headed and sweaty. “Why are you doing this? Why are you saying these things to me?”

  His voice turned gentle. “Because you have a right to know. I’m sorry, Genie. Please don’t cry.”

  Startled, she wiped the wetness from her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she was crying. Worse, if what Ted was saying was true, Dick didn’t even deserve her tears. Everything between them had been built on lies: their friendship, her gratitude, her trust, their . . .

  Her breath caught. Oh Lord, forgive me. If Ted’s information was correct, then she had kissed another woman’s husband. Happily, fervently kissed him. Had run her fingers through his hair her while he fondled her breast. Had even considered letting him do much, much more.

  Her dinner surged up her throat
, and she fumbled with the door latch. “Stop. Here.”

  Immediately he pulled the truck over to the curb, and she popped the door open. She was out of the cab before the truck had even stopped rolling. Shame and guilt vomited out of her onto the sidewalk. Every touch, every kiss remembered made her retch again. How could she have been so wrong about someone?

  Ted crouched beside her, and her humiliation increased a thousandfold. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore both him and the stinking contents of her stomach on the concrete. Please, Lord, let this all be a horrible, horrible dream.

  “You deserve better than to be some man’s piece on the side. You know that, right?”

  “Piece on the side”—what a brutal way to describe her shame. But then, this was Ted, who had never shied away from telling her the truth.

  Tears welled up behind her closed eyelids even more furiously than before.

  His hand cupped her elbow, and he began pulling her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  She resisted. “No. I can’t go back to that apartment. Not now. Not ever.”

  “Genie, be reasonable. All your belongings are there. You can’t just not go back. And if no one has said anything to you before, they’re not likely to start now. So take a couple of days, have a plan in mind. You’ve got a roommate to help you.”

  He tugged again, and this time she stood without protest.

  “Who else knows he’s married? Flo? Charity?” her voice squeaked with distress. “How can I ever face them again?”

  “Honey, I’m pretty sure if they had known, they would’ve said something. No one who knows you would ever believe you’d willingly go out with a married man.”

  She huffed in angry despair. “You believed it.”

  “Actually, no, I didn’t. It was too out of character for you. The only way I could see you agreeing to go along was either you didn’t know, or he was coercing you somehow. I debated a long time whether I should get involved because, as you said, a gal has a right to make her own choices.”