Carly

by Lyn Cote

  Chagrined, she flushed. She had indeed convinced Dorcas to send her. It was expensive for the magazine and difficult to get accommodations in Saudi Arabia, especially for a woman reporter alone.

  “And what are Michael and I,” his voice sharpened, “supposed to do while you and Carly are in Saudi Arabia, getting bombed with Scuds and perhaps engulfed in chemical warfare?”

  “I’ll get a nanny to come and stay with Michael. Or maybe Grandma Chloe will come up—”

  “Chloe is ninety years old,” Nate snapped. “She can’t take care of Michael. He’s high energy.”

  “Well, what about your mother?”

  Nate stared at her. “What if I tell you I don’t want you to go? Why do you think that you can just make life-altering decisions and never check with me? Are we married or not? More and more you act as if I am a nuisance, not the man who should be at the center of your life.” He leaned forward, pinning her with his intense gaze. “What is going on, Leigh?”

  She buried her face in her hands. His words stabbed her right in the soft spot of her hurt. “Why is everything so out of control?” she whimpered.

  “What are you talking about—the Iraqi invasion?”

  “Why can’t life ever be easy?” Leigh felt her panic rising. “Why couldn’t Carly just go to college? Why did she have to put herself into harm’s way?” She began rocking on her straight chair.

  Nate took over and began asking questions. “And why didn’t your fiancé live, and why did you have a one-night stand with Carly’s father, and why couldn’t Kitty live forever?” He reached out and snatched her hands with his and gripped them. “Life is never going to follow your orders.”

  The strength in his hands didn’t frighten her. He’d never do anything to hurt her. And everything he’d said was true, but she couldn’t stop herself from keeping her assignment to the Gulf. “I have to go.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Do you think that your presence in the Gulf will protect your daughter?” He squeezed her hands as if wringing a confession out of her.

  “Of course not.” Still, she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  He leaned close as if to kiss her. “What would you say”—his warm breath wafted against her face—“if I said I will divorce you if you go?”

  The Saudi policemen yelled more Arabic at Carly and her friends. Then the proprietor of the shop they’d just left pushed his way forward. He began speaking rapid-fire to the policemen, gesturing toward Carly, her companions, and the man who’d accosted her, who also contributed a few sullen words to the exchange.

  In a lull, Lorelle spoke up in her MP voice, “I’m a police officer. Does anyone here speak English? Please?”

  A woman draped in black moved forward. “I speak English.”

  “Great,” Lorelle replied with relief. “Will you tell us what’s being said about us?”

  “The policemen want to know why you have attacked this Saudi citizen. And the shop owner is explaining that this young woman was attacked first.”

  “Thanks,” Lorelle said. “We don’t want any trouble. We just want to shop, and then we’ll head back to our base at five today.”

  The police asked the Saudi woman a few questions, which she answered. Then she turned to them. “The police say, ‘Don’t cause trouble. Go on with your business.’”

  “Well, duh,” Sam said. “That’s what we were doing.”

  Bowie took Carly’s elbow.

  “Don’t do that,” the Saudi woman said sharply, “people will get the wrong idea about her.”

  Though he dropped his hand, Bowie looked as if he was about to say something rude.

  “He’s just trying to protect me,” Carly said. She gave Bowie a pleading glance. He looked stubborn but nodded.

  “Let’s get our packages from the shop and go find someplace to eat,” Sam suggested.

  “There is a good café just around the corner,” the Saudi woman said. “I’ll take you there if you like. It’s on my way home.”

  “Thanks,” Lorelle said. They all accepted their brown paper and twine packages from the bowing shop owner and then followed the Saudi woman down the narrow lane. Other Saudi bystanders gawked as if the circus had come to town. Or that’s how it felt to Carly.

  “I know it’s hard to understand our ways,” the Saudi woman said as they followed her down the lane. “But I remember how exposed I felt the first time when I was at school in London and I went out on the street without my abayah and veil.”

  “Why would you come back here?” Carly couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  The woman shrugged. “This is my home. This is where my family is. I liked London, but I didn’t like everything there either. Here is the café. The men and women have separate entrances”—she pointed these out—“but after you go inside, the men can come over to the family side and join you women there.”

  “So we have to walk in separate doors but we can sit down together?” Joe asked, sounding as if he had plenty to say about this.

  “Thank you so much,” Carly said and offered her hand to the woman.

  They shook hands and then with a quick farewell, the woman left them. “See you guys inside,” Carly said and walked into the café. “Boy, do I need a cup of coffee.”

  Lorelle chuckled as she trailed in after Carly. “Remember, they make their coffee strong and sweet here.”

  “Fine.” Carly drew a deep breath and, at the motion of the waiter who met them inside, made her way toward a table.

  Soon she saw Bowie’s blond head towering over everyone. Then he was beside her. “You okay?”

  She grinned at him. “I’m fine,” she said with sincerity. As long as Bowie and Lorelle were with her, she was fine. “Let’s order.”

  Virginia, December 15, 1990

  Feeling like a teenager again, Bette stood at the phone in her kitchen, speaking to Chloe. “Mother, I’m thinking of bringing a friend for Christmas dinner.”

  “Wonderful. There’s always room for more at my table.”

  Bette smiled. Yes, there had always been room for more around the table at Ivy Manor. For a moment, she was transported back to 1936, and Gretel and her great-uncle Ira were sitting around the dining table at Ivy Manor. Rory and Thompson were just little boys again, champing at the bit to be excused to listen to Jack Armstrong, All-American Boy. Her stepfather was sitting at the head of the table, laughing. Telling herself not to be maudlin, Bette pulled herself back to the present. “Do you think Leigh will mind? Will think it’s an intrusion on our family day?”

  “Bette, I’m the hostess. Bring your friend. I want to meet him.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ivy Manor, Christmas Day 1990

  In the kitchen fragrant with sage and butter, Bette hovered uneasily, ready to help Leigh who was in charge of the day’s feast. Rose had the day off, though for the past two days she’d done the Christmas baking. Bette was uneasy because she needed an opening to prepare her daughter for her Christmas surprise, one that had nothing to do with food or gifts. But she sensed that her daughter was troubled already. And why not? It’s Christmas and Carly’s in a war zone. And Leigh is still trying to cope with Kitty’s death. Just like the rest of us. But Bette detected an underlying current of deeper stress in Leigh.

  “Mom, I think I’m just going to put potatoes in to bake instead of making mashed potatoes. Baked potatoes are less work and fewer calories.” Leigh sounded distracted.

  Bette nodded. “Fine.” How many times had she longed to take Leigh aside and help her find a way to peace? Look who’s talking. I’m stressed out as well. Maybe I shouldn’t have . . .

  Bette pushed away her own uncertainty. One thing didn’t have anything to do with the other. She didn’t have to depend on imagination to know what her daughter was going through that day. Hadn’t she spent the Christmases of 1942 through 1945 worrying about Leigh’s father, who’d been fighting in World War II? Curt, our little girl grew up beautiful, accomplished, and . . . unhappy. But Leig
h seemed more tightly wound today than usual. Was she still at odds with Nate? How Bette wished Ted were there. He’d always known how to make Leigh laugh.

  “Leigh, I know this holiday is hard for you—”

  “Mom,” Leigh answered, “we’ve got the turkey and stuffing well on their way. And I’ll just get the potatoes ready to pop into the oven. Why don’t you just go and sit with Grandmother?”

  Bette looked into Leigh’s eyes and saw that her daughter didn’t want her comfort. That hurt. Made mute, Bette tried to smile, failed, and left the room. Well, the chips would have to fall where they would.

  Saudi Arabia, Christmas Day 1990

  In the long evening shadows cast by an empty tent, Carly sat with her arms wrapped around her knees beside Bowie on the cool desert sand. Because of the holiday, they’d had light duty and a big Christmas dinner in the mess tent. In the distance, someone was playing a CD of country Christmas music. Some guy was singing “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays” to a weeping electric guitar.

  “I wish they’d turn that stuff off,” Bowie said, looking over his shoulder toward the source of the music.

  Though in full agreement, Carly didn’t answer. She just closed the distance between them and rested her head on his shoulder. Fortunately Bowie didn’t seem to mind that she’d barely said a word all day. Homesickness had a choke hold on her throat. Her first letter from her birth father since her deployment was tucked into her pocket. The note had been brief but had promised that if she wanted to see him, he would arrange it in the new year. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

  “It’s time.” Bowie helped her up.

  She again said nothing but let him lead her to the USO tent and the line of people waiting for their turns at the telephones to call home. She and Bowie had signed up and been given an hour time frame in which to report. So they waited patiently, silently.

  She appreciated that Bowie was never uneasy over her silences. She took his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back. The line moved slowly, and the heart-wrenching Christmas song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” floated over them. Finally, Carly arrived at the head of the line. She dialed Ivy Manor’s phone number from memory. Her pulse quickened as the phone rang and rang.

  “Hello.” Nate’s rushed voice came over the line.

  “Dad, it’s me, Carly.” And her throat closed up again as tears trickled down her cheeks. She kept her back to the soldiers behind her. Only Bowie stood at her side, a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  “Carly!” Nate exclaimed and then called, “It’s Carly! Pick up the extensions!” Then he spoke to her again. “Sweetheart, we’ve missed you so today. How are you? We saw some footage of the army’s Christmas meal. Have you eaten—”

  “Carly,” Chloe and Bette said simultaneously, “how are you?”

  Carly sucked in her tears and tried to speak normally. “I’m fine. Just miss all of you.”

  “We miss you,” her mother said, coming on the line. “What are you doing today?”

  “The usual stuff.” Carly forced the words over the lump in her throat. “Ate turkey and dressing, pumpkin pie. There’s lots of Christmas music, and thanks for the care package. I really needed everything you sent.”

  “I thought you needed the chocolates the most,” Nate said.

  Carly laughed in spite of her tears. “Yes, and tell Rose her sugar cookies vanished in record time.”

  “What do they have you doing?” Chloe asked.

  “Oh, the usual. We’re fixing vehicles. Windblown sand here is constant and we have to keep cleaning and double-filtering fuel and oil lines.”

  “Do you need anything more?” Bette asked in an anxious voice.

  “I could use some more foot powder. I really use it up fast. Since the Saudi water supply is being strained by the sheer number of all the troops, we have to use water sparingly. The foot powder and talc really help keep me comfortable.”

  “I’ll send you a case,” Nate said.

  “I have a surprise for you, Carly,” Leigh said. “I’ll be seeing you soon. I’m going to be on assignment in Saudi in January.”

  Carly stood frozen in place—part of her happy, part of her shocked and suddenly very angry. Couldn’t her mother stick to her own life? “I want you to meet someone,” Carly retaliated instantly, her voice becoming stronger. “This is my very good friend, Bowie Jenkin.”

  Bowie’s eyes widened, but he accepted the phone. “Uh, Merry Christmas, everybody.” He pulled Carly close to his ear so they could listen together.

  “Merry Christmas,” the voices from Ivy Manor chorused in return and then there was a pregnant silence.

  “Where are you from, Bowie?” Bette asked. “Did I get your name right?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m Bowie from Red Bay, Alabama.”

  “I bet you’re missing your family, too,” Bette said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I got to call them right before Carly called you. Well, here’s your girl.” He handed her the phone.

  The USO volunteer waved her wristwatch at Carly, the signal that Carly was to finish up her call. “My time’s almost up. Where’s Michael?”

  “I’m here, sis,” her little brother spoke loudly into the phone. “I’m with Dad in the front hall. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too, munchkin.” How Carly wanted to hold her little brother on her lap again. “Was Santa good to you?”

  “Yeah.” Michael sounded sad. “When can you come home?”

  “I don’t know, kid.” Suddenly the bond of family, the ties of blood, hit Carly like a Scud. And in that moment, she forgave her mother for butting into her life once more. The letter in her pocket tugged at her, too. Why were family ties never easy for her?

  The USO volunteer tapped her watch.

  “My time’s up. I love you all.” Carly’s love was echoed back at her and then with a final “Merry Christmas,” she hung up. She turned to Bowie, who took her hand and led her away. Tears blurred her vision, and his arm came around her shoulders again. “Let’s go somewhere where we can be alone,” she whispered.

  Bette had been on the den phone while Chloe, Nate, and Michael had been in the front hall. Leigh had come from the kitchen and they all met in the parlor where Nate bent to light a fire.

  Still reeling from Leigh’s unexpected announcement about going to Saudi Arabia, Bette crossed to the sofa. Opposite her, Leigh setttled on the love seat and Michael knelt on the floor, playing with his newest Matchbox cars.

  “Carly sounded well,” Chloe said. She wavered a little on her feet, and Nate sprung up from putting the fire screen in place and helped her into the wing chair.

  “Thank you, Nate. I feel a little shaky today. Maybe I should get out my cane again.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get it for you before you get up again,” Nate said.

  “I wonder if Bowie is just a friend or if Carly’s dating him,” Chloe said, obviously steering the conversation away from Leigh’s bombshell.

  Bette studied Nate, who stood by the hearth, not moving to his wife’s side. He looked stiff and unhappy. What did he think of Leigh going to a war?

  “But this Bowie’s from Alabama,” Leigh blurted out.

  Nate chuckled. “Alabama notwithstanding, I would guess she’s at least interested in him. Otherwise I doubt she’d have put him on the phone.”

  The doorbell rang and everyone looked up. Bette leaped to her feet, her heart suddenly hammering. “I’ll get it.” She hurried to the front door and there he stood—silver-haired, fit-looking, handsome in a gray trench coat and carrying a beribboned box of candy.

  “Merry Christmas, Bette.” Dan leaned over and kissed her lips. “You look lovely.”

  She wanted to warn him that she’d been a coward and hadn’t told anybody but her mother about inviting him to Christmas dinner. But his kiss muddled her mind. And she couldn’t hold back a smile. “And you look very dashing.”

  Hanging his coat on the hall tree, he chuckled and then to
ok her elbow. “Let me guess. I’m your Christmas surprise?”

  She blushed and opened her mouth.

  But with a finger pressed against her lips, he prevented her from speaking. “Let’s go in then.”

  Stomach fluttering, she led him to the parlor door. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my friend Dan Greenfield.”

  Chloe stood and held out her hand. “Dan, Merry Christmas.”

  Dan hurried forward and clasped her hand while urging her to sit back down. He set the box of chocolates on Chloe’s lap.

  Bette made the introductions, not once meeting her daughter’s eyes. Bette and Dan sat down on the sofa side by side.

  “Dan,” Chloe said, “we’re trying to decide something. We just spoke with Carly—”

  “Bette’s granddaughter who’s in the Gulf?”

  Chloe nodded. “Carly surprised us by introducing a young man. I’m thinking that must mean he’s important to her. What do you think?”

  “I agree. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have put him on the line. Inviting someone to a family holiday is a statement.” Dan’s audacious words hung over the parlor.

  Blushing, Bette hazarded a glance at her daughter. Leigh’s face was flushed, and she’d crossed her arms tightly. Bette’s heart sank. There was no peace on earth this Christmas, not even at Ivy Manor.

  Troubled, Bowie led Carly away from the lights of the USO center back to where they’d been before. Quiet corners were hard to come by in a camp of over four hundred thousand soldiers. The tent she shared with the other women of the company was still quiet, so Bowie led her behind its shelter. He eased down and then pulled her so she was sitting between his thighs. He nudged her head onto his chest; she curled up like a kitten against him. He liked that image. He took off her hat and stroked her hair. He couldn’t keep silent. “Why’d you introduce me to your parents? You know they wouldn’t want you involved with someone like me.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” She lifted her eyes to his and the moonlight illuminated her face.

  “I’m a redneck from Nowhere, Alabama.”