Fatal Incident

by Jim Proebstle

  They strolled quietly, not so much with a purpose, but more with a sense of controlling time and events. A gentle snow was falling, adding a glisten to the town. The sounds of their boots on the boardwalk broke the muffled quiet. People were inside for the most part. The few they passed seemed to be preoccupied with not being late for an arrival of some importance. Anne was stung with the fear that she would never make such a walk with Tom, regardless of how badly she wanted it. She had always held her duty as a nurse, helping others, as a source of hope. “I never thought it would happen to me,” she said.

  Nick put his arm around her, sensing a new wave of desperation. “C’mon! Hang in there. We don’t know anything for sure. You’re just going to worry yourself sick.” What a stupid thing to say, he thought. Of course she’s worried sick. “What I mean to say is that I understand that you’re worried, and I hope you get good news about Tom soon.”

  She interlocked her arm around Nick’s waist and gave a gentle squeeze of thanks. “There’s a little Catholic church around the corner. Do you mind if we stop in for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all.” He wasn’t Catholic, but he knew that that had little relevance.

  St. Matthew’s was empty. The inside reflected the sparse economic conditions of the last twenty years of war and depression. It was a basic sanctuary with a simple wooden pulpit off to the left and worn pews for about two hundred parishioners. On the right, next to the statue of St. Matthew, was a bank of candles. Most were lit in the hope of a divine intercession for a loved one or for forgiveness for some unbearable transgression. Anne walked directly to the candles to add her prayer for Tom’s safety.

  All she had was a quarter to put in the donation box. She cried softly, realizing the futility of saving a man’s life in exchange for a quarter and some well-intentioned words. Whatever was done is already over, she thought. If he’s gone, I pray that he went without pain. If he’s injured, I hope that he’s being cared for and will come home soon, and if he’s okay, I give You thanks for looking over him. Dear God, please end this war soon, she prayed.

  She remained kneeling at the altar for several minutes, generating whatever strength possible from the visit.

  “It’s hard to make sense of things,” she said while walking away from the church with Nick.

  There wasn’t anything he could say. She seemed to respond better to a gentle hug from his arm around her and his hand on her shoulder. The collapse of her head on the side of his chest said everything. His instinct to try and fix things seemed useless. Nick wanted desperately to help Anne, but couldn’t. It was her need for his comfort that triggered an emotional intimacy—a new level of closeness.

  Supper provided a brief diversion as they talked of their holidays and lighter experiences over the last six months. The food gave Anne a feeling of contentment, reminding her of the frequent, similar connections she had with other nurses over the past few months in their time of grief. She looked at Nick with genuine warmth as she recalled significant moments filling their friendship and his compassion for her plight. Martha is very lucky, she thought.

  “Thanks for rescuing me tonight.” An uncontrollable desire emerged within Anne along with the comment. She knew instinctively that it surfaced from her respect for Nick and the closeness of the situation. “Let’s go back, Nick,” she said, feeling immediate guilt and attempting to establish a roadblock.

  Outside the restaurant in the cold air, Anne slid her hand into Nick’s coat pocket as they walked with the same lack of purpose back to the hotel. The line between the love she felt for Tom and the security and affection she was experiencing with Nick was starting to blur. They arrived at the MacDonald in twenty minutes, but Anne was reluctant to part ways. “Do you mind if we walk some more?”

  “Of course not.” The role of a supporting friend was beginning to change in Nick’s mind, as well, as the tingle of their hands nestled together in his pocket played on his imagination. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I just don’t want to be alone, I guess. Anywhere’s fine.” She turned to face Nick and the urge to embrace him was overwhelming. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop. Her mouth reached up to his, expecting him to interpret the move as a friendly gesture. It was not to be, as the intimacy of emotions shared sparked a kiss well beyond one of mere friendship. The rule of twenty seconds stimulated a desire surprising both of them.

  “I’m sorry, Anne. I shouldn’t have,” Nick said in an automatic, but unconvincing apology.

  “It’s my fault,” Anne pleaded. “I just don’t know if I can be alone. You’ve been just perfect tonight, and I think my feelings for Tom are coming out on you. Is that wrong?”

  “I’m flattered, but are you sure you want to?” He remembered the excitement in making love with Martha before she was pregnant. The intensity, the passion. He knew that this would be the same—still wrong, but somehow justified, however, by what Anne was experiencing.

  “Let’s only do what we feel right about tonight,” she said, gesturing with a step toward the front door of the hotel.

  Nick was conflicted, overcome by the moment, which overshadowed an obligation so many miles away.

  The room was small with only a chair and a single bed. Inside the door each had barely removed their parkas before Anne initiated an embrace of such intensity that she could clearly feel Nick’s immediate erection. She imagined its warmth and stiffness underneath his trousers and underwear. Her thoughts of Tom were relegated to a protective corner of her brain, allowing her the freedom to substitute Nick for Tom in a moment of passion that would never be. It has to be right, she thought as she unbuckled his pants and reached in.

  Their satisfaction was reached quickly in a desperate frenzy that could only be described as a train wreck of emotions between two people locked in circumstances way beyond their control. Neither could have possibly imagined the passion that took place, which left them somewhat bewildered lying next to each other on the sweaty sheets.

  Anne started to cry. “This is all my fault.” She sobbed and curled up in denial, her back to Nick and still naked under the sheets. “Please don’t think less of me. I’ve never been unfaithful to Tom. I just miss him so much, and I’m afraid I’ll never see him again.”

  “I’m as much a part of this as you,” Nick said, lighting a cigarette. “We obviously have some deep need for each other—different reasons maybe, but powerful. Maybe we’re trying to fill a void that we aren’t strong enough to handle on our own.” He put his arms around her reassuringly. His eyes had long adjusted to the night shadows of the room as he stared up at the opaque milk-glass ceiling lamp.

  “Are you happy with Martha?”

  “Yes, definitely. But maybe I’m not handling the time away and the pregnancy as well as I should. I don’t know.”

  “Have there been others?”

  “No, none.” Even if there had, the answer would have been the same. There’s no way that Nick would have cheapened this experience in Anne’s fragile state by answering yes. “I can say that you have been a very good friend and maybe we’re using that friendship to hang on while the war takes its course through our lives.”

  “Can you stay with me for a while? The room is so empty, and I just don’t think I can handle being alone.”

  “For a while, but not the night. Someone may see me in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Anne could feel his body curled around hers and knew the night wasn’t over. This can’t be wrong, and I hope to God that Tom will understand, she thought. Nick’s arms were wrapped around her, brushing the underside of her breasts. She could feel her nipples hardening and an electric feeling deep inside as she rolled over, stroked the hair on Nick’s chest, kissed his forehead, and pulled him on top of her.

  CHAPTER 32

  Billings, Montana

  January 25, 1944

  My Dear Martha,

  Just got in from two periods in the Link. Had a swell session in celestial night—identificatio
n of the stars. Liked it a lot, and really feel I know my way around the heavenly bodies now.

  Bad news for Anne Walsh. Her fiancée, Tom, was in the battle at Cassino, Italy. No word yet, but it doesn’t look good. She’s been a real friend to others in the same position—not sure she’s going to handle the news well herself, though, if it’s bad. You would like her a lot—great gal.

  Yours,

  Nick

  Nick struggled with his disassociation from the night before and his postcard to Martha. He knew he was forcing a routine that no longer fit. Fortunately, he was paired back up with Red in his routing through Billings and had been scheduled for an early departure for Edmonton the next day to deliver some troups and bring back some wounded men for extended recovery. He hoped the flight would provide the distraction to get his head back on right. Still, Nick was hoping to see Anne to say good-bye and get an update before departing. He wanted to be there for support if the news was bad. They also needed to talk, but the assignment to Edmonton prevented that from happening.

  “Where are you right now?” Red said after stepping Nick through the takeoff procedures.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you sure as hell aren’t here. Seems like you’re a million miles away. I remember once you told me to always be on top of the moods of the crew as it might affect their ability to fly. Seems like that advice applies double to the captain, since we do have twenty enlisted men in the back that are sorta hoping the guy in charge is paying attention.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get this ship off the ground, and I’ll fill you in.” Nick knew Red was right, and with 475 miles of clear air in front of them the time would be perfect to talk. Maybe it was better this way. Having a chance to say things out loud with Red before getting into a discussion with Anne that he wasn’t prepared to handle was a good idea, he thought.

  They leveled out at eight thousand feet. “You take the stick today; I’ll talk,” Nick said. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deep, as if steadying himself for some unknown encounter. And, in many respects, it would be just that. Twin smoke trails joined the men in the cockpit from the exhale. He’d never felt the way he felt about Anne with anyone other than Martha. What happened had knocked him off his feet—not just the intensity of the sex, but the deep emotions that were conjured up between the two of them. The line between friend and lover proved to be extremely short. In truth, he was shocked at Anne’s willingness to share herself so completely. He’d always considered her a good friend. And, while he recognized a certain appeal to her good looks and close comfort in the openness of their connection, it never occurred to him that any circumstance would bring them together like the other night. In minutes, he found himself stubbing out the butt of the cigarette he’d just lit and lighting a second as he continued to replay events.

  “If I didn’t know better, pard, whatever’s got you all tangled up might just have a female name attached to it,” Red said, realizing that he’d never seen Nick chain-smoke before. “When you said ‘talk’ did that mean out loud?”

  Nick sighed before beginning. “Okay. I think I’m ready. You learn a thing or two about people along the way; that’s exactly what’s got me vexed.” Nick went on to explain what happened with Anne. It felt right to discuss the relevant details without betraying her, since Red knew of their friendship more than anyone. Other than for a few weather-related radio communications with Edmonton flight ops, Red listened and Nick talked for almost an hour.

  “I must admit that I’m a little jealous. I kinda had my eye on Anne ever since we met,” Red said. “She’s the kind you take home to meet the parents.”

  “That’s what I’m struggling with.”

  “What do you mean? You’re already married with a little one on the way!” Red’s negative judgment was not concealed. He had never met Martha, but he knew she was the one for Nick.

  “I don’t know what I mean. But this is different … a real connection. It makes you think that if she were there first, there wouldn’t be a Martha.”

  “I don’t know if you’re lookin’ for my opinion or not, but a dose of cold water may be in order. Can’t you see that Anne needed you, someone she trusted. Being with you was like being with Tom. Sorry to break the news, but more ’an likely her feelings for you were really her feelings for Tom. I’m not saying they weren’t real that night, but it might have been her way to hide from the reality of losing Tom.”

  “Really. Well it sure ripped a hole in the side of my ship,” Nick said with a true feeling of loss. He was quiet for several minutes while processing Red’s comments. One side of him didn’t want Red’s assessment to be true as he considered the excitement shared between he and Anne. He regretted what happened with Anne, yet he couldn’t deny the startling feeling that something significant happened. However things turned out, he knew he and Anne would have to sort things out together when he returned to base. Images of their encounter raced through his mind, stirring the very emotions of desire he was fighting. The sooner the better, he thought.

  Their return flight to Billings that day was delayed until the next morning by the addition of three severely wounded men being sent to Anne’s hospital for more extended care. All were missing a limb of one sort, compliments of the Japanese, and required the physical therapy available in Billings.

  The flight was uneventful except for the barrier Nick had created to block the door for any conversation about him and Anne. Red didn’t pursue it either, knowing that Nick held the only key.

  “Good luck, pard,” Red said as they left flight ops in Billings. He gave his captain a gentle pat of reinforcement on the back. “Let me know what an Okie friend can do to help.”

  “Thanks,” was all Nick said as he walked away in the direction of the hospital.

  “She left this morning for Cleveland,” the nurse on duty told Nick. “Tom’s parents wired yesterday with the bad news.”

  He walked aimlessly from the hospital back to his quarters not knowing what to do. The emotions inside were like the contents of a shaken pop bottle ready to explode. He realized that he was only thinking about Anne and that any thoughts of Martha had been blotted out. Not knowing what to do, Nick went to the officer’s club for a few beers and a sandwich. He tried to figure out what his next step should be, but his emotions for Anne were on a perfect collision course with his commitment to Martha. He was living a dream without an exit. Even his own normally good common sense abandoned him. Somehow he needed to find a way to talk with Anne. It is the only way, he thought.

  He swung by the MacDonald Hotel, if for nothing else but to find a way to be as close as possible to her. He thought he might find some direction as to what he should do next. Standing on the wooden boardwalk at the front door of the hotel, he could feel the experience of that first embrace. He went into the lobby as if actually expecting she would be there.

  “Are you Captain Morgan?” a voice intruded as if from a different reality.

  Nick turned to see it was the desk clerk from across the room trying to get his attention. He approached the man, circling the large hand-carved wooden table and cushioned leather chairs in the center of the hotel’s lobby. “Yes, I’m Captain Morgan.”

  “I have a letter for you. Anne Walsh thought you might show up looking for her, and she wanted me to make sure you got it.”

  “Thanks.” Nick took the letter eager with anticipation. “Was there anything else?”

  “No. She was in a rush to make a flight—back home, I guess. Someone close to her was killed in Italy is all that I know.”

  Nick walked toward town in the gray shadows of the winter afternoon while trying to envision the feelings he thought Anne would express in the letter and wondering how he might react. He knew that whatever it said would impact his future. He wasn’t sure he was ready. He pictured Anne with a look of closure, as if the letter were being delivered personally to tell him how she felt. He could feel Anne’s hand slip inside his as she talked of their fut
ure. Nick was reinforced by the image and held onto it as he walked. After some time, he found himself in front of St. Matthew’s, the little Catholic church they had visited a few nights earlier. The serendipity made sense. He entered and found the same pew from before and opened the letter with anticipation and care.

  January 26, 1944

  Dear Nick,

  As you have no doubt heard, I just received news from Tom’s parents that he was killed in action at Cassino. It’s hard to put into words how empty and sad I feel knowing that all of our dreams of being together are just that—dreams. You remember that we once talked about whether it was better to stay single during the war or to be married. I believe now that the answer is that I would have preferred to be married. Being single hasn’t lessened the pain I feel, nor the anger in me that this war has taken the one I love. Being married would have afforded Tom and me at least some time together and a few nights like the one you and I experienced. We would have been able to lock each other’s memory into our souls as we shared whatever life, however short, we had. As it is, only the anticipation of that memory was real. You helped me find the fleeting experience Tom and I had foregone in an effort to protect each other, for what reason I now do not know. I will hold on to my feelings for you, Nick, as a remembrance of something that could have been—something that in other circumstances could actually become real. For now, I will just close my eyes and forever remember our time together and the closeness we enjoyed. I think Tom would have understood.

  Before leaving Billings I filled out my transfer request for the army hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. I understand that it is a first-rate hospital and, unfortunately, growing quickly. I can be useful there and fulfill my hopes of helping out men who have been broken by this terrible war. For you and me, it means an end. I could see something in your eyes that night that made me feel bad, and in truth, guilty. If I caused you in any way to waver in your love for Martha, I will forever be sorry. I would never forgive myself. Accept what we had as special and beautiful, but, nonetheless, as a substitute for what we both dearly missed. Embrace Martha and be joyful in the prospect of your life together with your family. If you think of me occasionally, as I will you, do so as two friends caught in circumstances beyond their control, willing to share their need for someone else with each other.