“Wow. I’m sure you’ll do very well, Leo.”
“I hope so.”
Gradually, they dropped to two thousand feet until they reached Allen Field, its runway outlined in white lights. Just over the middle, the TBFs did what carrier pilots do; they peeled off every five seconds, each doing a 180-degree turn to line up for their downwind leg, engines at low rpm. The lights of Terminal Island looked like jewels mounted in ebony.
Ingram thought he should ask. “It’s late, Leo. You have a place to stay tonight?”
“I share . . .” another pause and whirring noise as the flaps came down “. . . a pad with a buddy in Belmont Shore, another zoomie. Trouble is, it’s kind of crowded.”
“Oh?”
“Three WAVES from the Long Beach Naval Shipyard live there too, so space is tight.”
“I’m so sorry. Life is hard.”
“Yes, sir, it is, but we all have to sacrifice. You know, the war effort.”
“Ah, yes, the war effort. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Hitchcock asked, “How ’bout you Todd, you okay for tonight?” He eased the TBF into a gentle left turn and onto their final approach. Tower and terminal were off to the left, a green “permission granted to land” light flashing from the tower.
Welcome home, sailor.
“Todd?”
“Pardon?” Suddenly, Ingram felt very tired. He hadn’t slept well on the PB2Y even though they let him stretch across two seats. The occasional bouncing and anticipation of home had kept him awake. Now a sudden urge to sleep overwhelmed him as if he were enclosed in a warm blanket. “Say again?”
“You good for tonight, or would you like to bunk with us at the snake pit?” The runway threshold flashed beneath. Hitchcock chopped the power.
“I’m okay, Leo, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Leo, I believe my wife is getting pregnant tonight, and I’d like to be there.”
“Ahhhh. Sure thing.” Tires squeaked as Leo painted the TBF on the runway.
She wore white, she was warm, she was lovely, she was smooth, she was coy, she was provocative and yet very, very tender. To this she added a touch of Chanel No. 5. He took everything she had, and still she gave more with a laugh and sometimes just a wink. And always, they gave each other a closeness and singularity one could never put into words. It was just there, for them alone, as if it had always existed.
Exhausted from their lovemaking, Ingram rolled over and reached for the alarm clock. His hand brushed against it and it fell to the floor with a crash. “Damn!” He fumbled for his watch and read the radium dial: 2:08.
She ran a hand over his face. “Happens all the time.”
“Think it’ll still work?”
“It’s bulletproof. Like you.”
He pulled her close.
Her arm was still around him when he awoke at 4:25. The night was dark and still and moonless. Fred must have figured things had quieted down, because he slept at the foot of the bed.
He turned toward Helen and found her watching him.
She said, “Good morning. You ready for breakfast?”
“It’s already right here with me.”
She smiled. “So, what do you think?”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
This time she laughed. “You must have noticed.”
He had noticed, but he wasn’t ready to get into it yet. “Noticed what?”
“Come on, hon, it’s what people don’t say that worries me.”
Yes, he had noticed almost instantly, the first time he kissed her: cigarettes. But rationality had gone out the window when he burst through the front door. Only the bedroom light was on, and it drew them like moths to a flame. The light went off almost immediately as passion consumed them.
“Lucky Strikes?”
“How did you guess? All your girls must be smoking Luckies.”
Now he realized why the clock went on the floor. His hand had hit an ashtray, something that hadn’t been there before. That plowed into the alarm clock, and everything went crash.
He sighed. “I hate to think what your mom will say.”
“She already knows. She was here last weekend. Dad too. I was scared at first. But they were pretty level about it. Mom knows how I tick, and so does Dad. By the way, Dad wants to know when you’re getting out. He needs help at the ranch. I didn’t tell him that you’re in for life.” Her voice held the slightest question.
“Going for thirty if they’ll have me.”
“Well, I hope the next twenty-two years are easier than the first eight.”
“Sorry. Is it okay with you? I’ll probably end up with a desk job in East Overshoe, Nebraska.”
“I’m not surprised. Sort of expected it. Yes, it’s okay with me. But rest assured, I’m getting out of the Army. I have kids to take a care of.”
“Kids?”
“We weren’t too careful last night, were we?”
Ingram grinned. Then he tried, “What got you going?”
“Smoking?”
“Ummmm.”
“I saw an Ingrid Bergman movie.”
Ingram nudged her. “You can do better than that.”
“ ’Scuse me.” She reached over, her arm gliding across his chest like an electric current as she fumbled with cigarette package and lighter. The cigarette lit, she lay back and blew smoke in the air. The effect, he admitted, was soothing.
But his chest still tingled where her arm had touched it. After two puffs, Ingram couldn’t stand it. He grabbed the cigarette, stubbed it out, and took her in his arms.
A truck rumbled by at—he checked the clock—6:25 a.m. Outside, a few birds sang in spite of the overcast. He reached for Helen but she was gone. Where was she? Like him, she should be dead tired. “Helen?”
Something stirred. It was a strange noise. Almost a rattle. It was—directly beneath him! “Jesus!” He sat straight up.
Another rattle and he jumped out of bed and looked underneath.
“My God.”
Helen stared back at him, all curled up.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m cold.”
“Come on, baby.” He reached. “Let’s get you warm.”
“Okay.”
He slept until 9:45 this time, waking refreshed, sunlight streaming in the window. Helen handed him a cup and saucer. The coffee aroma wrapped around Ingram well before he raised the cup. “Ahhh, wonderful,” he sighed, then took a luxurious sip.
“I didn’t answer your question.”
“Sorry?” His mind swam. She was under the bed!
“About smoking.”
“Oh.”
He sipped while she lit a cigarette and told him about Eddie Bergen. Five minutes later she was crying in his arms. What do you do with someone crawling under the bed? Oh, God.
She calmed after ten minutes or so, and he left her resting as he rose, pulled on a T-shirt and a tattered pair of gym shorts, and padded to the kitchen to renew their coffees.
A knock at the back door. A face at the window. Mrs. Peabody. He stepped over to yank open the door. She held his one-year-old son. “Welcome back, Commander.”
“Emma! Jerry!” He opened his arms and took the boy in. The child was in his bathrobe and he burbled, his fists thrust straight out. “God he’s grown.”
The boy looked up at Ingram, his gray eyes wide.
Ingram smiled. “I’ll be damned. Kid’s a tank.”
“No Navy talk in front of that child, if you please.”
“He’s really big.”
“Twenty-four pounds.”
Ingram held the boy close. To his surprise, Jerry relaxed his arms and settled his head on Ingram’s chest, smacking his lips.
“He likes his daddy.”
“Ummm. Hey, come on in, Emma. I’m making more coffee. Then breakfast.”
Emma Peabody took a step back. “Maybe later.” Pointedly, she looked over his shoulder. “Everything all right?” she asked
softly.
No doubt she knows about all this. He rolled his eyes and said, “I’m getting my arms around it.”
She exhaled loudly. “Very good. It’s really wonderful that you could get here so soon. With you here and Helen on furlough, maybe we can make some progress.”
“Furlough?” He darted a glance over his shoulder.
“Oh, well, sounds like you two haven’t talked much. In any case, welcome back, Todd.” She stepped up and kissed him on the cheek. “Let me know when I can help.” With a nod to Jerry she said, “Unlike you, he has had breakfast.”
“Now, wait a minute. I just—”
“And he’s in clean diapers. So you should be good for a while.” She handed over a paper bag of baby clothes. “And these are washed.”
“You’re the best, Emma. Thanks for everything.”
“Toodle-loo.” Emma Peabody walked off.
Chapter Thirty-Two
7 September 1945
San Pedro, California
Homecomings are never easy, especially after long absences. Like many newly reunited families the Ingrams discovered that reacclimation to a loved one occurs in at least three phases. Phase one is physical and wonderful, but of course short-lived. The second phase is that uncertain period when lovers examine each other’s psyche to see how much or how little they have changed, and if so, what has changed. In phase three they learn how to adjust to the changes. More often than not, things work out, but sometimes disaster follows.
More practical matters accumulate after long absences: dirty windows, overgrown yards, cars in need of repair; in the Ingrams’ case the car was a faded blue 1939 Plymouth that needed an oil change and had a leaky radiator. But for Ingram this was all good, something he could throw himself into and see immediate results.
The day dawned clear and blue, and after a big breakfast Ingram turned to. He happily sweated and grunted, mowing and trimming the lawn with a diapered Jerry crawling behind, sun glinting off his little body. Later, Ingram attacked the windows while Helen put Jerry down for a nap. After that, Ingram took the luxury of a nap, then dove into a huge stack of bills.
By six that evening the place fairly sparkled, but they were exhausted. Ingram swilled a beer, took a shower, and walked into the kitchen where Helen laid on a savory pork chop dinner. It seemed strange, almost too peaceful, as they sat at dinner with Jerry pulled up in his high chair, stuffing Rice Krispies in his mouth with both hands. No emergency calls from the bridge, no noon reports, no equipment failures between the salad and main course. No small talk among twelve officers at a green baize–covered table. Just pork chops and applesauce and Helen with Jerry happily spilling milk and banging his cup. At 7:30 they settled back and listened to the Lone Ranger with Jerry asleep between them. By 8:30 p.m. they had tumbled into bed and were sleeping like zombies.
The next morning he was up at 6:45 making coffee and breakfast while Helen changed Jerry’s diaper and heated his bottle. “Night feedings,” he said, heading for the front door. “Glad that’s over. Drove me nuts.”
He went out, picked up the paper, and walked back inside looking at the headlines.
Inside, Helen prattled on. “We were lucky. Some babies can’t digest milk. It takes a year, maybe two, to grow out of it, and even—what’s wrong?”
Ingram sat heavily in the kitchen chair and laid the newspaper before her. He pointed to an article on the front page: “Vice Admiral John S. ‘Slew’ McCain Dies at Home.”
Helen sighed and skimmed the article summarizing McCain’s life, from his boyhood on a Mississippi plantation to his attendance at the surrender ceremony on 2 September. “Heart attack. Sad. How did he seem to you?”
Ingram nodded. “He must have known the end was near. You can see it in a man. He wanted to go home the moment the cease-fire was declared on the fifteenth of August. But Admiral Halsey ordered him to stay, insisted that he needed to see the surrender ceremony, the fruit of his labor.”
“Stupid.”
“Maybe. I don’t think Halsey or anyone else other than his doctor realized the severity of his condition. He looked pretty good aboard the Missouri. He lined up with everyone else at stiff attention. But then afterward, coming back on the plane, he didn’t look good. I think he’d had a couple of heart attacks beforehand but just didn’t tell anyone.” He nodded to Helen’s pack of Lucky Strikes lying nearby. “And he was a heavy smoker. That’s probably what tipped him over.”
She finished her scrambled eggs, letting the remark pass. “We’d better hurry. We’re seeing Dr. Raduga at nine o’clock sharp.”
“Funny thing. He knew all about you.”
She rose. “Who?”
“The admiral. He knew all about your adventures on the Jap barge and your love affair with Lieutenant Commander Katsumi Fujimoto.”
“Todd, I didn’t—”
He raised a hand. “Sorry. Bad joke. What he knew about was all the torpedo stuff you turned over to BuOrd. He said it knocked them on their butts.” He patted her arm. “Congratulations. Seriously. Maybe it’s time to take off the wraps. You really should have a medal.”
She growled, “How about you? Isn’t there talk about a third Navy Cross?”
“I need that like a hole in the head.”
“You owe it to them,” she said. “All those people who supported you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Look, Todd. You’ve been skating on the edge of valor for so long. It’s time you stepped up and let people be proud.”
“I still think you should have the medal.”
She checked her watch. “One of these days I may get through to you. But now it’s time to hip-hop.”
“You think we have time for a quickie before we go?”
“Whaaat?” She jumped up.
“Well, can’t blame me for asking.”
“Mrs. Peabody is due here any minute, and we have to be dressed.”
“Just five minutes?” he grinned.
“Is that all you think about?”
“Frankly, yes.”
She threw a slab of toast at him and walked out.
They sipped coffee in a booth at Pete’s Drive-in on Gaffey Street, Ingram and Helen on one side and Dr. Raduga sitting opposite. The Friday morning traffic had unsnarled, and the place was quiet. The welders, riggers, machinists, pipefitters, and white-collar workers from Todd Shipyard were over there completing two destroyers, the last of their war production order.
Raduga wore a leather jacket over tan slacks, a white shirt with a bowtie, and shoes that needed a shine. His goatee was neatly trimmed, and his slicked-back hair was pomaded. He reminded Ingram of a Hollywood matinee star.
Helen clanked her spoon on her coffee cup, stirring constantly. Finally, she pulled a Lucky from its pack, lit it, and inhaled.
Ingram and Raduga traded glances. She’s nervous, and she knows we know. Ingram reached under the table for her hand. She grabbed it and held on. Raduga and Helen had already met twice for psychotherapy after hours at the infirmary before Ingram returned home. She had expected immediate results, but so far she couldn’t see any progress.
Ingram drummed his fingers. I’m nervous too. Why in the hell is that?
Dr. Raduga said, “Helen, you can relax. I’m not going to bite you. The whole idea is to help you get rid of these nightmares and the depression, remember?”
She countered, “Depression? I’m not depressed anymore. Todd’s home. Everything’s fine.”
Raduga nodded. “Oh? If that’s the case, then maybe I should leave.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “I . . . I still dream.”
“Ummm.”
“And . . . under the bed.”
“Okay.” Raduga looked at a shrugging Ingram. He said, “This isn’t going to happen overnight.”
She turned on him, her eyes flashing, “It has to. I have a husband and a son to take care of.”
Raduga asked, “Have you started your medication yet?”
“The phenobarbital?”
“I believe that’s what I prescribed, yes.”
“Well, it’s the dosage.”
“What about it? It’s a light dosage.”
“Only at night, it says.”
“That’s so you can be active during the day.”
She looked aside, “Well, that’s just the thing. I need to be . . . active at night too.” Her face turned pink.
There was a prolonged silence. Raduga blinked twice and then he got it. “Delay it for a week and then resume it. Is that all right?” He pointedly looked at both. “Believe me; this will help you a lot. You’ll sleep like a log.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” grinned Ingram.
She threw an elbow in his ribs.
“Is twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday, still all right with you? Say, six o’clock?” He dropped some change on the table and started to get up.
“Yes.”
“Good. Just for an hour. And I’ve cleared you to come back to work anytime you wish. Not in the psychiatric ward though. You’ll be working in surgery.”
“Sounds good. I’ve had some experience there.”
Raduga thrust a hand across the table. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Commander. Welcome back. Or maybe I should ask how long are you back?”
They shook hands. Ingram said, “Last I heard, my ship is heading back soon to Hawaii, convoying a slow train of troop ships. I’ll meet her there for the rest of the trip.” He looked at Helen. “I have another week or so here.”
“Okay.” She put her hand on top of his.
“Well, then . . .” Raduga started to slide out. “If that’s all, I’ll . . .”
Ingram said, “Dr. Raduga. I may need your services too.”
He stopped. “Oh?”
Edge of Valor Page 26