She wrinkled her nose with, “You want to go in, or should we stay out here all night.”
“Would Fred approve?”
“I don’t think so.” Then her face darkened. “What’s with Todd?”
“Helen inside?”
“She’s probably watching.”
Once more he kissed her, knowing that would have to tide him over for a while. Worse, they’d been necking in the street with all the world looking on, and he felt sick with guilt. Most likely, Helen was watching from the house, desperately wondering where Todd is. God, give me strength.
“We better get going.” He gathered her under an arm, picked up his duffle and headed for the door. He walked in, finding Helen standing before the Gulbrandsen upright piano, her hands clasped before her. She wore a white sleeveless maternity smock over a black skirt, all eight and a half months of her condition in full array. In spite of it, she looked radiant, perhaps enhanced by the mask of pregnancy. Dropping his duffle he walked up and took her in his arms. “Helen.”
Helen clutched his biceps tightly, her intense, dark eyes raking his face. Perfume wafted around his head, Chanel Number 5, he thought. Helen had made-up for her husband’s homecoming and now, her world was falling apart. Todd, I hope you know what’s waiting for you. “Helen...I--”
She stepped back and fixed him with a look. “Tell me he’s okay, Jerry.”
The question devastated Landa and he bit his lower lip. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, but now he felt as if he were going to. The hell with Mitscher, and Arleigh ‘Thirty-One Knot’ Burke and super-spy Oliver Toliver. The hell with non-disclosure agreements and...firing squads. Helen deserved to know. His mind raged, Tell her the truth! Damnit!
Her eyes darted about his face until he said, “He...he’s not going to make it, hon.”
Laura caught her breath.
“...I’m sorry.”
“Jerry.” Helen reached up and pulled him to her.
“Jeepers.” He stepped back. “Something jumped.” He felt her belly and it moved again. “I’m sorry kid.” He looked up to her. “And to you, too, Helen, I’m sorry.” Laura stepped close, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. His arm went around her; all three loosely collected in the same embrace. “I’m not handling this well,” he said.
“It comes with practice,” said Laura, staring at the floor.
“No. What I meant was--” The baby jumped again. “Holy cow.”
“He’s been doing that a lot.. Ahhh...” Helen pat her belly. She reached back and steadied herself on the piano. “Are you sure?” Her eyes glistened eyes and her voice was up a notch.
“I’m sorry.”
“His ship, too?”
“The ship got sort of mauled and they lost twelve guys. But repairs are underway and the ‘Mighty Max’ will be back in action in two to three months.”
“Something’s not right. I don’t believe it.” She bit her fist and stumbled.
Laura and Landa each grabbed an elbow to steady her, but she shrugged them off and asked, “What happened? Were you there?”
“No, I was back with--”
“Why weren’t you there?”
“Hon, I was back on the Thomas, quite a distance away.”
“You should have been there.” Helen nearly shouted.
“I would have given my left arm to have been there--”
Helen yelled, “If you had been there, maybe, he would have...” She raised her fists to beat Landa’s chest.
He caught them, “Honey, I’m sorry.”
Laura ran an arm around her, “It’s okay, Hon.”
Helen looked up at Landa and screamed. “Damnit! Don’t you see? You let him down. He shouldn’t have been out there all alone. Don’t you think he’s done enough already? You’re all alike you bunch of...oh.” She slumped.
Landa caught her. “God, I’m so sorry. He was...I mean Todd was like...my best friend.” A lump grew in his throat. “Like a brother...he was...aw damnit.” He pulled her close.
The three hugged and swayed for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Jerry,” Helens’ voice was muffled against his chest.
“Shhhh,” said Landa.
Helen raised her chin. “What happened?”
“Later.”
“I’d like it now, please.” She wiped tears from her eyes.
Landa handed over a handkerchief. “You sure?”
She nodded, dabbing with the handkerchief. “I’m sure.”
With a sigh, Landa pitched his hat on top of the piano and shrugged out of his coat. “The Max was on picket duty far ahead of the formation. A bunch of Jap planes jumped them and did their best to sink her. But the Max shot down three, at least, before she took two bomb hits. They figure one bomb sent Todd over the side. Same thing happened to Dexter. They found him the next day. They looked all over the place for Todd, but they...never...”
Helen asked, “Hank Kelly?”
“He’s fine. Rallied the crew and saved the ship.”
“I’m glad.”
“Whose Dexter?” asked Laura.
“Ship’s monkey.” What a hell of a homecoming.
“Oh.”
Squeezing his eyes closed he said, “This is bullshit.” Tell her you dope! Just Helen, not Laura. That’s it!
He turned to Laura and cupped her chin in his hand. “Can you excuse us for a moment hon? Classified stuff, and Captain Helen Duran Ingram here is cleared.”
Laura drew away. “Of course.” She turned and walked into the kitchen.
When the door closed, Landa said, “Helen, I want you to know that...” An image of the Lexington swam into his mind, her wake roiling as the destroyer Thomas zipped into station, Endicott standing high and proud. “Awww, damnit.”
“What, Jerry?”
Arleigh Burke and Mitscher, too.
Landa rubbed he eyes and finally ran his sleeve across his face. “He’s...he was the best man I’ve ever known.” He slapped both hands over his face and gave a long, anguished sob.
Throwing her arms around him, Helen said, “It’s okay, Jerry.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish it was me.”
“It’s okay.” She pushed back. “Look. You have a fiancé in there. It’s time you two spent some time together.”
Landa drew a deep breath. “All I’m trying to say is--”
She placed a hand over his mouth. “I know what you’re trying to say. Now go. Go to your fiancé. She needs you right now. I’ll be all right.” She actually smiled.
“Helen, damnit.”
Helen stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m going to bed.” She pat her belly. “Take care of you know who.” With another smile, she reached down, picked up Fred and cradled him in her arms.
“Honey, I’m so sorry,” said Landa.
“Go to your fiancée’ Jerry.” Helen walked into the bedroom, the door clicking softly behind her.
A hell of a homecoming.
Landa stepped toward her door and listened for a moment. Had Helen cried out, he would have been there beside her in an instant. But she didn’t and at length, he turned and walked into the kitchen.
Laura leaned against the sink, a half-full glass of dark amber liquid in her hand. “I image you’re ready for a shot.” A statement.
With a quick glance, he took in the scotch bottle on the sink: the half-full glass held loosely in her hand. “Want a shot?” She reached in the cupboard and brought out a glass.
He took it. “Think I better. Ice?”
“If you must.” She nodded over her shoulder to the refrigerator.
She tossed off the rest of her drink while Landa fixed his. He took a sip, the scotch burning its way down. “Ahhh.”
“Is there any hope at all, Hon?” She handed over her glass, wiggling it.
Landa reached for the refrigerator door.
“Skip the ice, Hon’.”
Unaccountably, Landa shivered. He recalled the first met Laura. She’d been drunk.
Her husband, Luther Dutton had been Landa’s gunnery officer aboard the Howell. He’d died when temporarily assigned to another destroyer that suffered a direct Japanese bomb hit to her boiler, vaporizing the ship. Landa helped straighten her out, and they’d fallen in love.
He took a deep breath and poured two fingers in the glass. “Water?”
“Uh, uh.” She took a sip then leveled a gaze on him. “You hungry?”
He pointed to a bowl of wax fruit on the small kitchen table. “Like I could eat the whole damned thing.”
“Sit. I’m gonna fix you the meal of the century. He took a chair and she tossed off the drink and reached for the bottle.
“God. Please don’t,” he blurted.
“Why not? We live in a temporal world. Why not temporize just a little bit?”
“Because I feel like crap, and I just had to do one of the toughest things of my life, damnit!”
Her face softened. “You’re right.” She put the glass aside. “I’m not doing this well. You know, it sort of takes me back to...to...
“...Luther...”
“Yes. Good old Luther,” she said absently. Then she smiled. “Guess what we have for you?”
“I’m all ears.”
“Lasagna, salad, garlic bread, even a bottle of...” she turned and fiddled at the cupboard, pulling open the door... “Dago red wine, San Pedro’s finest.” She pulled out a large glass dish, the lasagna done to perfection. “Plenty for four -- I mean plenty to go around.”
In spite of his plight, it smelled wonderful. It had been days since he’d had solid food. “Ummmm.”
“You bet. Now just relax. Won’t take a second.”
Landa sat back, watching Laura move swiftly about the kitchen, setting their places, pouring wine. At length she set green salads and plates of lasagna. “Dig in.”
Raising a fork, he asked, “How ‘bout you?”
“Cheers.” She held up her glass. Landa lifted his and they clinked, with Laura tossing off the Dago red in one gulp. Nodding toward his food, she said, “Go on. I’m dying to see if you like it.” She screwed a fresh candle in an old wax-laden Chianti bottle.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I had tons before you showed up. Had to test it, you know.” She lit the candle and said, “Be right back. Must freshen up.” Flicking off the light, she walked out.
It was the first time in months Landa had been left alone without an exhaust blower howling, the wind shrieking at his face, steam turbines whining, or an aircraft engine rumbling close by. Gone were the voices of men laughing or shouting or snoring. It seemed even more pronounced because of the near darkness. He was alone with just a candle, its solitary glow golden and compelling, making the lasagna glisten and beckon. Captain Jerome T. Landa had always known where he was going in life. He’d grown up by himself and had raised a little brother to boot. He’d had no trouble leading men and asking them to do the impossible. And much of the time, they got away with doing the impossible. But now, he felt so alone and so incompetent. And this little house, where they’d all known so much happiness, was now so silent. All on a beautiful June evening.
The lasagna was wonderful. He thought he should feel guilty eating it, especially alone. But he didn’t. It had been too long since he’d eaten so well and he ate it all -- including seconds -- all washed down with Dago red.
Silence. Blessed silence. By candle light, he drank another glass of dago red. After tossing it off, he rose, scraped his plate, and then kicked off his shoes. Padding softly toward the guest room, he found Laura waiting there. Softly he muttered, “A hell of a homecoming.”
“Never mind.” She raised her arms to him.
He pulled her close and kissed her deeply.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
17, June 1944
San Pedro, California
“Oooff!” Landa’s eyes blinked open, finding the living room flooded with sunshine. Sitting on his chest was Fred, looking down at him, blinking. He pet the cat who started purring.
“Mmmmm.” The smell of coffee filled the air, and there was something else. Bacon. He heard it sizzling and lay back, luxuriating; he hadn’t slept in for months. Checking his watch, he saw it was, “...Good, God...” ten after ten in the morning.
“Hello?” Laura peeked around the corner, a wide smile across her face. “Good Morning.”
Dressed in a pink chenille bathrobe, she looked delicious. “Come here.” Landa sat up, unseating Fred. He searched her face as she ran to him but saw no remnants from the night before. She kneeled at the couch and he pulled her in. Forget it. They kissed long and intently, until Landa said, “Uh, where’s Helen?”
Her hair tumbled as she laid her head on his chest. It smelled wonderful. “Off for a walk with Mrs. Peabody. She’ll be back soon.” Emma Peabody, a widow in her late sixties, was Helen’s next door neighbor.
“How soon?” He held her tighter.
“Take it easy.”
“You don’t expect me to give up that easy.”
“They’ll be back any minute, you dope.”
Landa forced himself to relax. “How is Helen doing this morning?”
“Looks like she’s been pulled through a knothole, but I think she’s holding up.”
“I’d say she needs someone to be with her for a while.”
“Well, there’s Mrs. Peabody.”
He ran his hands over her back. “How is Mrs. Peabody?”
“The same. Gained a little weight, maybe.”
“She still brew her own beer?”
“You can smell it a mile away.”
Landa sighed and said, “You know, we need time together. Last night was not one of my better homecomings.” He kissed the top of her head.
She turned up and gave him a long lingering kiss. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t take things like that well. It’s like when Luther--”
“Shhh, don’t.” He put a finger on her lips.
“And I’m afraid I didn’t help you either. I know you have to do things like this a lot.”
It’s not easy.” He breathed deeply, running his fingers through her hair. She felt wonderful and he began to pull her closer.
She melted in his arms. “Jerry, I--”
--papers rattled to the floor and they jumped. Fred, who had found a perch on the top of the piano, stretched and blinked down at them as more sheet music spilled over.
Landa chuckled, “You’d think someone fired cannon.”
Laura laid her head back on his chest. “I don’t see how you do it, writing letters and visiting war widows. It has to be rough. I remember with Luther that--”
“--I said, stow it, beautiful.” He sniffed at the air. “What is it that?”
“Coffee. Oh, breakfast. It’s burning.” She rose quickly and dashed into the kitchen.
Stepping in the bathroom, Landa did quick ablutions and pulled on a set of working khakis. After shaving, he walked in the kitchen and encircled his arms around Laura, pulling her close.
“Jerry, don’t.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
She turned to kiss him just as the front door opened. Helen walked in with Mrs. Peabody behind, closing the door.
“Er, excuse us,” said Helen, taking off a light windbreaker. Her eyes were moist and red with dark splotches beneath.
Landa walked over and gave her a hug. “How you doing?”
She tried a smile. “I’ve done better.”
“Cold out there?” asked Laura, flipping eggs on the griddle.
“Not bad out there, but hot enough in here,” said Mrs. Peabody, her hands jammed on her hips.
Landa opened his arms, “Emma, how the hell are you?”
Mrs. Peabody walked up and they hugged. With a peck to his cheek, she said. “Welcome home, Boom Boom.”
“Damnit, don’t start that again.”
Mrs. Peabody stepped back and said, “Will you look at that? A captain’s eagles on your collar. Nobody asked me for references.”<
br />
Landa sighed. “That’s why I didn’t recommend you.”
Laura said, “Okay. It’s ready. Everybody please sit.”
Looking at the frying pan, Mrs. Peabody sniffed. “Bacon looks kind of overdone, hon. What’s been going on?”
“Sit!” Laura flushed, Landa noticed, something rare for her.
Chairs scraped and they sat, with Landa at the table’s head. Reluctant to speak, they concentrated on their food, all aware that the loudest voice was Ingram’s screaming absence
It didn’t take long for Landa to wolf down three eggs and four slices of toast. Then he sat back and asked Helen, “How far along are you?”
“Two more weeks. Then he should be ready," said Helen.
“He?”
Mrs. Peabody offered, “She’s football shaped.”
Landa’s eyebrows went up.
“That means a boy.”
Landa sipped coffee. “What means a girl?”
“Basketball.”
He leaned around the table to look at Helen’s belly. “Can’t tell the difference.”
Crunching a piece of bacon, Mrs. Peabody said, “Well, you wouldn’t, you fool, unless you could see her in a more, ahhh, natural condition.”
“Ooops. Sorry.”
The corners of Helen’s mouth turned up for a moment.
Just then the phone rang. Helen rose, “I’ll get it.”
Landa waited until Helen went in the other room to answer the phone. Then he said to Laura, “Maybe we should get her out to her folks. Especially for the delivery.”
Mrs. Peabody said, “Actually, Kate said she would come up here. Plus, Helen’s OB is here in Pedro and she really doesn’t want to leave.”
Helen walked in. “Roberta Thatcher for you, Laura.” Roberta Thatcher was the business manager of the NBC Symphony Orchestra.
Laura finished off her coffee and stood. “Duty calls.” She walked in the other room.
Helen laid a hand on Landa’s arm and said, “Jerry, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Landa said, “I had no doubt that you wouldn’t. But I was just wondering if you shouldn’t be with your folks. You know, go out to the ranch and let your folks dote on you at delivery time.”
THE NEPTUNE STRATEGY: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 4) Page 10