by Sarah Monzon
No sooner had the puck hit the table than he’d sent it across and into her goal. The teasing in his voice matched his eyes. “Never.”
“Hey! I wasn’t ready.”
“Making excuses now, Rogers?” He served her words back to her with a chuckle.
A group of kids entered the arcade, talking and laughing at an obnoxious volume. Jack shook her head and volleyed the puck to Michael. The plastic disk sailed back and forth, thuds from hitting the edge and their pushers interrupting the music coming from the various machines plugged in along the walls.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jack could see the group of kids. They huddled together by the racing game, talking behind their hands and shooting glances at Michael. She strained to hear their words, her jaw tightening at their lack of respect. Hadn’t they been taught not to stare or point? The puck clunked into her goal.
“Tied two, two.”
“I wonder what happened to him.” Without the sound of the game filling her ears, Jack heard the kid’s words.
Michael stiffened and gave her a direct look. Don’t engage, it said. “Your serve.”
“He looks like a freak.”
Jack whirled around, nostrils flaring. “You kids need to learn some respect. That man there”—she pointed behind her—“is a hero. He served to protect this country. To protect you.”
Their eyes widened as she loomed over them.
“You owe him an apology.”
Their gaze darted past her. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, sorry,” another said before they all turned and practically ran from the room.
A deep sigh sounded from behind her. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
She turned, sorry to see the lightness from earlier fleeing in the face of the weight pressing down on his shoulders. “Why? They were out of line.”
He shook his head. “Look. I’m not a hero, all right? I never was and I never will be.”
In her book, everyone who put on a uniform encompassed the title of hero. She strode toward him, put a hand on his arm. “Michael—”
“Jack Rogers.” Her name sounded over the loudspeaker. “Pizza’s ready.”
Her hand fell to her side as he walked away. Why couldn’t he see what she had the very first time they’d met? He was a hero. More and more he was becoming her hero.
***
The sun shone as Jack entered the park three blocks from her house. A red-breasted robin swooped down in front of her along the cemented path, then up again, landing in a low-lying branch of an elm tree. Laughter from the children having fun on the playground across the man-made pond brought a smile to her face. Maybe she’d have to spend a few minutes on the swings before she headed back home.
A grove of maple trees on the outskirts of a small open field looked inviting with their large bright-green leaves offering a bit of shade. Jack meandered over to them and inspected each with an appraising eye. Finding one thick enough to use as a backrest, she lowered to the loamy earth and leaned against the trunk.
Her phone trilled, and she answered the incoming FaceTime call.
“Hey, squirt.” Brett’s face filled her screen, a poster of the world in the background, a few colored thumbtacks dotting land masses. Jack recognized it as the map she’d gotten him the last time he’d been deployed. Kind of a traveling souvenir of all the places he’d been and would go to during his military career. She had a similar one in her own room. Green thumbtacks for Eli, blue for Brett.
“Hey yourself. Just get off work?”
His head was bare of a cover, but he still wore the blue-and-gray camouflage of the navy.
“Lunch break.” He held up a sandwich and took a huge bite.
“Ah.” She looked away as mayonnaise seeped out the side of his mouth. Blame it on not having a mother’s admonishments of manners at the table growing up. Better to watch the butterfly that visited the blossoms of the Queen Anne’s lace growing wild. “So how’s the new pilot you’re working with turning out?”
“He’s not Finch.”
No, he wasn’t. Selfish of her that she was glad of that. Selfish and horrible. Because if it were Michael, then that would mean he would be whole and doing what he loved, not recovering and looking out for her. God forgive her for the gladness she felt that things were the way they were.
Brett took a swig from a Mountain Dew bottle. “How is Finch?”
Warmth climbed up her neck, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her lips from forming a goofy grin. She arranged her face to appear like the topic of Michael didn’t do anything to her insides whatsoever. “I would have thought you’d stay in touch with him. At least make sure he performed his babysitting duties admirably.”
“And I would have thought you’d have gotten over that by now.”
She had, but no need to let Brett know he was off the hook. She shrugged.
“I’m not apologizing, Jack. You’re my baby sister, and I will do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”
Plastic crinkled as he opened up a Nutter Butter. “Seriously though. How’s he doing?”
It was a question she’d been asking herself the last couple of days and still hadn’t been able to come up with an answer. It almost seemed as if he’d taken a few steps back. He wasn’t quite the man who’d looked a bit haunted at the bar that first night she’d met him, but neither was he the man who’d held her and kissed her on the top of her head at the courthouse a few days ago. Now he seemed distant. As if he were keeping her at arm’s length for some reason. She’d racked her brain to think of what she’d done for him to put up that wall, but so far she’d come up with nothing. Kind of made her mad, actually. He was the one who’d insisted they be friends, and now he was the one turning away.
“Whoa. I didn’t realize a simple question would have such a reaction.”
She snapped her gaze off the butterfly and back to her brother on the screen in her hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I watched it all on your face.”
No use arguing with him there. She’d always been too transparent. Which was how he’d found out about Mitch being at Walter Reed in the first place.
“It’s okay by me, just so you know.”
She scrunched her nose. “What is?”
“That you fall in love with him.” He winked at her and grinned wide, his teeth surprisingly food free.
“I’m not in love with him.” Her words came out too loud, and it seemed as if all the park creatures stopped and stared at her.
Brett shrugged. “Maybe you are and don’t realize it.”
“Who doesn’t know when they’re in love?”
He snorted. “You’d be surprised.” The food in his hand went down, and he leaned in close to the screen. “Look. I’m just saying that I think you and Finch might be good together. If you have feelings for him, then go for it.”
She plucked a strand of grass at her side and twirled it between her fingers, embarrassment and aching want warring over having a discussion like this with her brother. There were so many doubts still troubling her. She had thought maybe Michael was beginning to return her feelings as more than a friend, but then his behavior lately confused her and made her think she had imagined and misconstrued his intentions.
A compromise. She stared off into the distance while still giving voice to her jumbled thoughts. “Let’s say hypothetically you’re right and I have developed feelings for him.” She shot her brother a piercing look through the screen. “This is just hypothetical, remember.”
“Of course.” His smirk belied his agreement.
Ignoring him, she continued. “How do I know those feelings will be returned? I mean, I’m not exactly in the running for America’s Next Top Model.”
“First of all, stop that. Those girls don’t hold a candle to you. Not only are you adorably cute, but you have a strength of character about you that shines through. You need to get a new mirro
r or something if you’re not seeing what everyone else is.”
Her lips tilted slightly, but he wasn’t finished.
“Second, there are no guarantees in life or in love. Sometimes you have to stop playing it safe and put yourself out there, or you’ll miss out on the best things in life.”
She opened her mouth but was cut off yet again.
“Third, Finch isn’t dumb. He’ll be able to see a good thing when it’s right in his face.”
She let a moment of silence pass. “Is there a fourth?”
“Nah. I think I’m gonna stick with three bullet points for now.”
“Good to know.” She smiled. “And thanks.”
“I’m sensing a but here.”
Jack laughed. “Don’t most brothers want to stay out of their sister’s love life?”
“Ha! Victory is mine. I got you to admit to a love life.” Triumph on Brett looked a lot like smugness. “And in case you haven’t noticed yet, little sis—I’m not like most brothers. Spill the jelly beans.”
She flicked the blade of grass she’d been toying with and slumped against the tree trunk. “I thought maybe we were headed in a more romantic direction, but now I’m not sure.”
“How come?”
If she knew, she wouldn’t be having this conversation. “He started acting different, distant.”
Brett nodded. “Give him time. He’s had a lot of changes in his life lately, a lot to adjust to.” His mouth pushed to the side like Winnie the Pooh in his thinking place. “Then again, and I’d hate to call any of my brothers at arms cowards, but maybe he’s backpedaling because he’s scared or has a twisted sense of doing the right thing by you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got to think about it from his perspective. Not long ago he was at the top of his game, in the prime of his life. Now instead of breaking sound barriers, he’s the tortoise in the hare’s race. He sees himself as a burden. One he doesn’t want to drag you down with.”
“But that’s stupid.”
He gave her a pointed look. “And so is you thinking you’re not pretty or smart or strong or whatever phooey you tell yourself.” He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “I hate to end this here, but I have to run.” Looking up, he gave her his classic big-brother expression. The one that said he loved her even if he thought she was a knucklehead. That he’d be there for her no matter what. The Rogers against the world.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“You tell me if I need to kick his butt.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
England, 1944
“It’s too dangerous. I’m not going to send my men out there on a suicide mission.”
“But if you don’t, the death toll could skyrocket.”
“Could. The intelligence coming in is sketchy at best. We don’t have enough information to go on to send out a bomber.”
The voices from behind the solid wood door of the general’s office rose in intensity. Alice took slow steps back, hoping her movement wouldn’t draw attention from the men on the other side of the glass partition. From the sound of it, the private discussion would be one labeled Top Secret. She retreated on tiptoes, hoping the heel of her shoe wouldn’t clack on the hard floor. Once safe from discovery, she peered down at the papers clutched to her chest. Vital papers, the commander had said. Even so, she surely didn’t expect Alice to interrupt the general if he were in an important meeting. And even if that was the expectation, she had no plans to do so. Better to stay hidden and out of the way until the general finished—and perhaps obtained a better mood, if the growl of his words indicated his current disposition.
“If the enemy advances on that line, it could result in devastation, even the failure of taking back Paris. You know the mission being organized there as we speak, not to mention the Red Cross doctors and nurses that have set up a temporary hospital. At the very least, we need to evacuate the injured and medical volunteers.”
Alice’s heart beat against her ribs. Red Cross? Was Aunt Sybil in danger? Would the general really put so many people at undue risk?
“Negative. If we make any noise or movement, eyes will shift, and all we’ve worked for will blow up in our faces.”
“Our spies with the Free French Forces have reported that the Germans plan to surprise attack the Allied troops. They’ve spotted a parade of panzers not seen since the invasion four years ago. The plans are to totally wipe out the resistance and drive out the Allied forces as if the invasion of Normandy never happened.”
Her stomach dropped to her toes. The entire world had gasped at Germany’s audacity to march on France, had reeled during the four years of occupation, and had finally rejoiced when Allied boots hit soil during Operation Overlord. Now they were talking about obliterating the hope the country clung to in the form of Charles de Gaulle and generals such as Eisenhower and Montgomery? Why was the general not dispatching pilots this very second?
“If you would look here, General, a plan has already been formulated in which a single bomber could foil the Germans’ entire scheme.”
Papers shuffled, and Alice bit her lip as she leaned across the corner and peered through the window. The men’s backs faced her, blocking her view of whatever they hunched over on the general’s desk.
“If you look closely to the map—”
Map! If only she could see where they were pointing, she could know if the devil himself was about to descend on Aunt Sybil.
“Curse my eyes.” The general slammed a fist on his desk. “I can’t see a thing without my reading glasses.” Papers shuffled again. “Here, pin this thing up over by there so I can see it better.”
The other man collected the map and fashioned it so it hung along the wall where sunlight streamed in.
Right in Alice’s view.
“As I was saying, the contingent of infantry plan a sneak attack through this narrow valley.” He indicated a small ravine between two mountain ridges.
Oh God. This can’t be happening. Not ten miles beyond that point was the small base where she’d reunited with her aunt. If the general didn’t authorize this counterattack, everyone there would either be killed or captured.
Henry. Henry was there as well unless he’d covered his story and caught a ride back to England. But if he had returned, wouldn’t she have heard from him?
Bile burned her stomach as fear and dread danced up and down her spine.
“All it would take is one missile to dislodge the side of the mountain and fill the ravine with enough rubble to stop the panzers in their path.”
A silence filled the space so heavy it weighed Alice until she thought her knees would no longer hold her upright. She strained to hear the general’s response. Willed him to give the command. Send the pilots needed to save her loved ones, the injured, the volunteers, and Her Majesty’s men.
One shake of the general’s head and her breath whooshed out like she’d been sucker punched in the gut.
“Nothing changes.”
“But sir—”
“That’s an order!” The general’s voice boomed so loud the glass shook.
The other man saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Alice whirled around and pressed her back against the cool cement-block wall as the general’s door opened and the other man exited with a shake of his head. He turned the opposite direction, the cadence of his footfalls marching out his obvious displeasure.
She sucked in a breath, her head spinning as she groped with yet another hard reality. How many days? Dear Lord. How many days until that band of resistance, all those men and women she’d seen only days before, her aunt, Henry…how many days until they were wiped out as if they’d never been born? She stuffed her fist into her mouth to strangle the sob tightening her chest. Images she’d seen in the papers for the last few years ran like a motion-picture reel in her mind. The invasion of Poland. The huddled groups, pale face contrasting with dark hair. Eyes haunted. Yellow stars pinned on raggedy clo
thes. Smoke rising from ominous chimneys jutting into gray skies from places with names of death—Auschwitz. Panzers. U-boats. Luftwaffe.
Her eyes burned hot as moisture collected in the corners. She blinked, sending tears along the contours of her nose until she tasted the saltiness on her lips. Weren’t there warning signs early on? Surely Hitler didn’t take the world by surprise. Admittedly, she didn’t follow the news those beginning days, but there had to have been signs, hadn’t there? Something to indicate the monster and reign of terror he had planned? Why didn’t anyone stop it before it started? Before the first swastika and the first hate rally. Or had everyone been like the general, facts at their fingertips but not lifting a hand because of some ambiguous unknown?
Someone should have done something then, and someone should do something now. To save Aunt Sybil and Henry and all the other people the general was willing to sacrifice for some future plan. But who? Who would risk going against a direct order? Whom could she trust with this type of information? Tell the wrong person and she’d either end up in jail or with the first ticket back to America in her hand.
A mental list formed of all the people she knew. Each name got tossed out faster than the previous. Either she didn’t know the person well enough, or she cared about him or her too much. Which left her with only one option—she’d have to do this herself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Present Day, Maryland
Michael’s stomach cramped with hunger as the waitress set down a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of him.
“Can I get you anything else?”
He looked up past a flour-spattered apron into the waiting face of his server. About his age and pretty, he’d tried to ignore her surreptitious glances at his missing arm as she’d taken his order. He got it. People were curious. And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t accustomed to getting second looks from ladies, but those looks used to hold a glint of interest, attraction. Now they held pity and, on occasion, revulsion. Made him want to do something to make them more uncomfortable. Maybe wave his stump or touch them with it, or start a conversation and go into gruesome details about how it was severed. If he treated it as a game, it took the bite out of the unwanted attention and even more unwanted rejection. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.