by Sarah Monzon
Dominick in the middle began to squirm, and reluctantly they loosened their grips. “Mommy”—his serious face looked at Amara—“Daddy needs to see sissy.”
With a clenched fist held to his lips, Eli choked on a sob.
Amara kissed his cheek and held out her hand. “Come meet your daughter.”
Jack watched them disappear into the house. As much as she wanted to follow them, someone needed to watch the other kids at the party. Her feet managed to carry her back to where Michael dished up the last piece of cake. He held out a square plate, which she took.
No words. Nothing could describe the filled-up feeling of satisfaction, the contented sigh of her heart.
Chapter Seventeen
England, 1944
Alice huddled next to Rose, two bodies in a long line of people. Another example that marked her life from then to now. At White Oak she spent her time at her leisure…well, as long as her leisure fell under the parameters of her father’s expectations. She never stood in lines, however. Instead she raced her horse across the foothills or snuck off the plantation’s property to fly in Jimmy’s biplane. That was then. She scanned the row of people pressed against the stone building, the overhang keeping the afternoon rain from soaking them to the bone. This was now. Lines to collect ration cards. Lines to buy groceries. Lines to post letters, like the one she currently stood in.
A niggle of annoyance prickled her skin. Did her father even read the letters she posted to him? His face, mottled with anger, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth as he proclaimed he’d no longer have a daughter if she followed through with her plan, entered her mind. She pushed it away, attempted to replace the memory with the man she remembered as a girl. The one who sat her upon his lap in his big leather office chair and read aloud to her from the newspaper. That man still had to be there somewhere. That tender heart. No matter how much his words had stung, she wouldn’t give up on him.
“Any big plans with Thomas since you have the whole day off?” she asked Rose as the line moved forward a few steps before stopping again.
Rose pulled up the collar of her dress as a breeze blew a spray of rain to dampen them. “He’s planned a picnic along the Thames river.”
“A picnic in this weather?” Not exactly ideal. Picnics should be enjoyed in full sunshine on a grassy slope with wildflowers scenting the air and songbirds serenading.
Rose shrugged. “You take the opportunities given to you. If we always waited for perfection, we’d miss out on so much. Don’t you think?”
Alice opened her mouth to respond but was drowned out by the honking of cars on the street. A man raced in front of traffic, one hand holding his hat atop his head, the other keeping his jacket closed at his breast.
“Isn’t that Henry?” Rose asked, her voice incredulous.
Why was Henry Caldwell dashing across the busy street toward them?
He bounded to a stop, chest heaving from exertion but his smile wide and eyes bright.
“Good heavens, Henry. You could have been killed.” Alice didn’t know if she should check to make sure he was all right or shake some sense into him.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He grabbed their arms and pulled them toward the road, mindless of the approaching electric streetcar.
“Henry, what are you—”
“Where are we—”
Alice and Rose spoke at the same time, their sentences cut off by the blast of the trolley horn. Their feet picked up pace and matched Henry’s urgency. They didn’t stop on the other side but were escorted under the shadow of the grotesque gargoyles and into the brick building.
“Do you mind explaining what all this is about?” Alice had a mind to plant her feet along the wood-planked floor until Henry accounted for his bizarre actions. She may have too, if she hadn’t been pulled along yet again.
They turned a corner, and a wall of backs stopped their progress. Everyone stood unmoving, as if frozen in a collective gasp. The low hum and static buzzing was familiar—a radio.
The war.
Had the Germans won another strategic victory? Maybe the Allies were finally gaining ground?
Henry pushed her forward, and she squeezed between the bodies until she saw the rounded lacquered top of the three-foot floor radio case. The cultured voice of a war correspondent carried over the sound waves and out the speakers.
“Here are the last-minute details of the invasion of northern France. Reconnaissance flyers have returned from the scene of a battle that occurred along the French coastline early this morning and have reported that several beachheads have now been established. Allied forces are striking their way inland, while live paratroop forces have dropped behind enemy lines, disrupting enemy defense systems and waiting to meet up with troops pouring onto shores along the beaches.
“American battleships are supporting the Allied landing while thirteen-hundred of the heaviest bombers were dispatched across the channel last night in a saturation attack on the invasion area. In total, five army divisions, seven thousand ships, and eleven thousand aircraft have been dispatched to fight in this great battle. Casualties among Allied airborne troops has been light. All in all, the invasion seems to be a success. D-Day has come.
“President Roosevelt addressed the United States last night in a prayer in which he said, and I quote, ‘Lead them straight and true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in their faith.’
“It seems God has heard and answered Roosevelt’s prayer. The fight may just be beginning, but it is the start that will bring forth the end.”
Alice’s gaze connected with Rose’s, her friends shimmering eyes mirroring the happy tears that distorted Alice’s own vision. Rose held a palm in front of her mouth, but her smile spread beyond its borders.
Alice felt it too. A laugh started deep within her, in an area that had lain dormant for much too long. Five years too long, from when the war began. Twisting and turning like a country brook babbling as it flowed across rocks and over small falls. Not of hilarity, but of relief. The sound escaped her lips, and it uncorked a wellspring of joy that filled her head to toe.
Men thumped each other on the back, voices crashing against one another as everyone jumped to speak when the announcer signed off. This was it. Allied troops were back on French soil for the first time since Dunkirk four years ago. Normandy’s sandy beaches filled with British, Canadian, and American soldiers. The war correspondent had called the amphibious attack the beginning of the end. Soon the heinousness of war would be over.
Alice turned to Rose, ready to fling her arms around her friend in a hug to celebrate the best news she’d ever heard, but the small woman had been lifted off her feet by a wiry man who spun her around in tight circles.
Energy ran through Alice’s limbs with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. She wanted to squeal, fling out her arms and twirl, dash about the city shouting the good news. Her body demanded movement, release of the buildup of excitement.
Hands found her along the small of her back, tugging till her stomach pressed against hips, her head cradled in the crook of an elbow, a mouth pressed firmly against hers. Her eyes widened, surprised but not angered to find it was Henry’s lips molding to her own. She felt it from him too. That energy that couldn’t be contained. That joy that transcended inhibitions. In this moment, they were all the same. All mothers who mourned the death of their sons oversees. All wives struggling to maintain the home front while their husbands fought for freedom. All soldiers bone weary of picking up a gun and facing another battle day after day. The time for mourning was nearly over. Celebration had begun.
Chapter Eighteen
Present Day, Maryland
“How does it feel?”
Michael pushed on the socket covering his right thigh. “Weird.”
Mr. Montgomery smiled his reassurance. “That’s pretty normal. You ready to try some weight on it?” He grabbed Michael’s right upper arm, just above his shrinker-wrapped stump, to lend
support.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Michael tightened his grip on the parallel bars and rotated his hips in a step. Slowly he eased weight onto the prosthetic. Weird all right. Felt like walking right after his foot had fallen asleep. When he’d had a foot.
“Sometimes it’s hard to trust that the prosthetic will hold you, and that’s okay. It’ll take some time and effort, but before long you’ll be walking around on your own steam.”
His palm grew sweaty, so he readjusted his grip. “It’s not that I don’t trust it. I feel unbalanced. Like I’m going to fall.”
“Again, pretty normal with above-the-knee amputations. It’s going to take longer to learn how to maneuver the knee joint, but eventually you’ll be sitting, standing, and walking without any aids.”
Michael continued taking small steps with the aid of the bars and the prosthetist. The sensation of walking, his mind tricking him into thinking he still had a leg that was longer than the one strapped to him, was hard to press through.
“For now I want you to continue using the prosthetic for short amounts of time with a walker until you can bear your full weight without any discomfort. Also, use it when you need to sit or stand up. It will help you with your balance issues. Gradually you can work up to longer periods, and eventually you won’t need the walker at all.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, I think that’s good for today.” Mr. Montgomery rolled the wheelchair over, and Michael sat, careful of his leg. “Now, how’d you do with the homework we talked about?”
“If amputees can fly?”
“That’s it.”
Michael smiled. “Turns out they can. I’ll have to look into it more, but I’m excited about the prospects.”
Mr. Montgomery squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “What’d I tell ya? Nothing is going to stop you.”
A few things could. Money for a plane and its modifications if needed, for instance. More importantly though, God. If flying wasn’t in The Big Guy’s cards for him…
Well, that wasn’t something he was ready to think about yet.
“I’ve called in your prescription to the pharmacy. You can swing by and pick it up at the hospital on your way out, and then you should be good to go until our next appointment.”
Michael held out his left hand and gave the prosthetist a firm handshake. “Thanks for everything.”
“I’ll be seeing you soon.”
***
“It’ll be just another minute, Lieutenant Carrington.” The pharmacist behind the counter smiled at him.
Michael hobbled back to the waiting area chairs, his muscles screaming abuse at him and his pride licking at the use of the walker. If he hadn’t wanted to avoid a lecture, he would have snuck the crutch he’d been using all this time anyway.
“IED?” A man in a hospital gown with a rolling IV stand sat next to Michael and looked pointedly at his lost limbs.
“Excuse me?”
The man stuck out his hand. “Joel Arlington, private first class. Cancer. And you? Most bodies I see like yours are caused by stepping on an improvised explosive device.”
Michael shook his hand. “Lieutenant Michael Carrington. Exception to the rule. Lost my arm and leg due to a freak accident.”
“Oh?” The man’s gray eyes were dull but fully expressive, his hairless brows rising with expectancy.
“Arresting wire snapped.”
“Skittle?”
“Pilot.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Could be worse.”
Some days he really didn’t think it could be, but thankfully, those days were becoming less frequent.
Joel turned and coughed into his sleeve. His dry hacks made Michael feel like he should do something. Maybe call for a doctor? But as soon as he was about to do just that, Joel caught his breath.
“You okay? Need me to get a nurse?”
Joel waved away the suggestion. “So what comes after?”
“After?”
“Yeah. After Uncle Sam?”
Ah. The million-dollar question.
A loud crash came from the back of the pharmacy, followed by the sound of pills tumbling in roll-away bottles. Michael lifted his head at the commotion, eyes narrowing at the profile of Jackie’s ex in front of a supply shelf.
Anger burned his gut, the Old Testament law of eye for an eye causing his hand to fist, and visions of pummeling the guy embedded in his head.
“Woah, dude, you look like a bull that’s seen red.”
The younger lady who had only minutes before helped Michael turned toward Mitch. Michael ignored Joel and strained to hear the words beyond him. Pointless. He couldn’t hear the exchange between them, but he didn’t miss the way the woman flushed and touched her cheek, ducking her head. The cocksure grin on Mitch’s face told all that was needed.
The pharmacist turned away and grabbed a white bag from off the counter. “Lieutenant Carrington? Your prescription is ready now.”
Michael hobbled back up to the counter, gaze never leaving Mitch in the background. The weaselly man bent to collect the spilled bottles, gathering them in his arm. He looked around and then—bupkiss! Did he really just stuff two bottles in his pocket?
“Have a good day, Lieutenant.”
“What?” The smiling woman in front of him pulled back Michael’s focus. “Oh, right, thank you.” He took the small bag in a pinch grip as he leaned heavily on the walker and stepped forward. One last look over his shoulder produced no more answers. Mitch Stavros had vanished.
Scumbag. Yet if his instincts were correct, this could be a way to protect Jackie and put the miscreant behind bars.
He set his sights on Private First Class Arlington, a plan forming. The walker’s legs thumped on the hard floor, followed by the soft new cadence of two footfalls.
Joel Arlington looked up at him. “Sticking around awhile?”
Michael occupied the seat he had recently left, absently massaging his thigh. “You strike me as an observant man.”
Joel shrugged. “Not much else to do around here between treatments and puking my guts out.”
“And you’re talkative, ask a lot of questions.”
He grinned. “Drove my mama nuts as a kid.”
“I’m sure.” Michael gave him an answering smile. “What would you say to a little detective work?”
“I’d say I’m in.”
Michael laid out his plan, hoping that Private Arlington would be able to get enough evidence to put Mitch behind bars for good.
Chapter Nineteen
Present Day, Maryland
From: Jack Rogers
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: 1940s WW II plane in need of restoration
Alice,
Yes! Please just call me Jack. The formality was almost killing me. Lol.
I submitted all the paperwork a few weeks ago and received my passport in the mail this morning. Woo-hoo! Someone pinch me. I can’t believe I am going to England to work on an actual World War II plane. So much is happening in my personal life right now, that I’m really looking forward to this trip…but at the same time…well, I won’t go into all that. Everything will work out. Right? Right.
I’ll get back with you on the dates for the ticket when it gets a little closer.
Jack
Jack wiped her clammy palms on her black dress slacks, her leg bouncing a million miles an hour. Where was Michael? She glanced at her wristwatch for the thousandth time. He said he’d be there, and her court appointment was supposed to start in ten minutes. What if he didn’t make it on time?
Then you’ll go in there with your big-girl panties on and a brave face and not let Mitch see you quiver.
The pep talk didn’t do much to erase the unwanted feelings crushing her insides. The cavernous hall, with its dark-stained wood wainscoting lining the bottom half of the walls and portraits of judges in their occupational robes hanging sym
metrically along the top half, seemed to be closing in on her. She pressed her lips into a thin line, determined not to let her inner turmoil show on her face. Predators always smelled fear, and she didn’t want to see Mitch’s satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her when he showed up.
The door at the end of the hall creaked open. Jack strained to see who walked through, her breath held. But the silhouette against the morning sun had no crutch, and two full-length arms dangling at his sides.
Eli held a coffee in each hand as he came to a stop in front of her.
She stared up at him as he towered over her. “I thought I told you not to come.”
“I didn’t listen.” He held a cup out.
“White chocolate mocha?”
“Would you even drink anything else?”
She took the coffee from him, bringing it to her lips for a small sip so she didn’t scald her tongue. “You don’t have long before you have to head back out. You should be spending that time with your family.”
He leaned his back to rest on the wall and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Last I checked, a sister was considered family.”
“You know what I mean. Amara, Dominick, and Cayden. You should be with them. Not wasting precious time at the courthouse.”
“I wasn’t going to make you do this alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I told you. Michael said he’d be here.” Although sitting in an empty hall wasn’t proving her argument overly much. She fidgeted with the cardboard sleeve hugging her coffee cup. Where are you?
Eli looked pointedly up and down the aisle, then raised a brow at her.
“He’ll be here.”
He used his arm to shove off the wall and brought his feet back under him, resting his elbows on his knees. “Even if Brett’s fighter pilot friend does show up, I still want to be here.”
Jack measured her brother, took in his firmly pressed lips and the way he avoided her eyes. Something more was going on here than he was owning up to. She nudged him with her shoulder. “What gives? What aren’t you telling me?”