A Memory Between Us (12 page)

His eyes rounded, his smile rose, and he came and took her hands.

Ruth swung their clasped hands overhead. She knew her smile was coy, but she didn’t care. “‘London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down.’”

“‘My fair lady.’” With a great laugh, Jack scooped her into his arms.

Ruth joined his laughter, overcome by his nearness, his breath on her face,
him
. And more than anything she wanted his kiss, his love,
him
.

“I don’t date,” she blurted out.

Jack looked as shocked by her words as she was. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s why I never asked you out, my little macaroon.” He waggled an eyebrow like Groucho Marx.

“Macaroon?” Her arms relaxed around his neck.

His face grew serious. “Ever had a macaroon?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Funny things. They melt in your mouth, but if you’re not careful, they crumble in your hand.”

Ruth tried to analyze his analogy, but all she could concentrate on was how his lips moved. Eight years had passed since her last kiss, but she knew Jack would be a good kisser, like Eddie Reynolds. He wouldn’t pucker or slobber or peck.

“I don’t want to push too hard, Ruth. I don’t. I care about you. And I know, if I make the wrong move, you’ll crumble. But if I’m careful …”

She’d melt in his mouth. That’s what she wanted. No more pretending she didn’t care for him. No more denying her blessings. She let her face rise toward him.

“Ruth.” He gathered her close until their foreheads touched. “My darling Ruth.”

“Oh, Jack.” Her mind flooded with a liquid haze, as dark and warm and delicious as cocoa, until everything in her yearned for his kiss.

Then his lips molded against hers.

Trapped in the alley, three burly men, the crunch of her wristwatch on the brick wall, the sickening trickle of blood down her arm. “You’re nothing but a whore.”

Ruth gasped and flinched.

“Huh?” Jack stared at her. “What’s the matter?”

“No. No. No.” She squirmed out of his embrace. “Oh no.”

He reached for her hand. “Oh, darling. That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”

Hysterical laughter burst out. She yanked away her hand and clapped it over her mouth. “No. Oh, you have no idea.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

His breath stank of beer and sausage. He ground the broken watch glass into her wrist, ground the truth into her head: “You’ll never get rid of me. You’ll always see my face.”

Ruth backed away and turned around. Which way—which way should she go? She spotted the Gate Tower and headed for it.

“Ruth! What’s going on?”

“Oh no. I can’t believe I let this happen. I knew better. I knew this was a mistake.”

Jack’s footsteps thumped up beside her. “Mistake? I don’t—”

“Yes, a mistake.” She didn’t look at him, only at the Gate, her escape. “I can’t believe I let myself—oh, you’re good, Jack. Really good. I can’t believe—”

“What are you talking about?” He grabbed at her arm.

She shook him off. “No! I told you I don’t date, but you didn’t listen. Why didn’t you listen?” Tears stung her eyes and her raw, exposed heart.

Jack swung in front of her and gripped her arms. “I’m trying to listen, but you’re not making sense.”

“Don’t you understand?” Ruth’s voice quivered. Her plans for life didn’t include love or marriage, and now she knew why, with a crushing finality. She could never kiss a man again, not without remembering that day and her sin that caused it. “I hate kissing.”

Jack’s face scrunched up. “What?”

“Can’t stand it.” She broke away and strode for the Gate. “Hate it, hate it, hate it. Now do you see? Now do you understand why I don’t date?”

“I’ve never known anyone …” Jack’s voice diminished. He wouldn’t follow her.

“Yeah, well, now you do. Now you can leave me alone. Do you understand? Leave me alone.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Where—where was that iron shell now that she needed it most?

12

Jack threaded through the crowd in the Officers’ Club, eyes averted.

“Last call for drinks, men. Mission tomorrow. Bar closes at eight.”

Times like this, Jack almost wished he drank. With scotch in hand, the men seemed to forget the deaths of so many friends, the strong possibility they’d die the next day, and women. Nevertheless, alcohol didn’t erase pain. It only postponed it.

Good thing no one was at the piano. Music was a better remedy than booze. Jack sat at the flimsy upright and thumbed through the sheet music: “Jersey Bounce,” “I’ve Heard That Song Before,” “Pistol Packin’ Mama.” Too cheerful, too likely to attract a crowd.

“Serenade in Blue.” Yeah, appropriate. He played softly and let the tune lick his wounds. Just when he’d figured out Ruth’s problem—grief for her parents and the strain of responsibility—everything blew up in his face. What on earth? Women always said he was a good kisser. What on earth was wrong with Ruth?

“You look like a man who needs a drink.” Charlie plunked two Coke bottles on top of the piano.

Jack mustered a smile. “Thanks, pal.”

Charlie popped the lids off the bottles. “‘Serenade in Blue’? You usually pound out crowd pleasers. The doc will ground you for combat fatigue if you play ‘As Time Goes By.’”

Jack released a wry chuckle. With Ruth Doherty a kiss was not just a kiss.

“What’s up, Skipper?”

“See this?” He held up an open palm. “Macaroon crumbs.”

“Huh?”

“Macaroon crumbs, and I don’t even know why.” Jack wiped his hand on his trousers and turned back to the sheet music. “You know, in all my life I’ve never failed to meet a goal. Not once.”

“Wow. Proud of that, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. But what if you set the wrong goal?”

Ruth’s hands shook in the wash basin, rippling the water’s surface. Ma always told her to wash her face after she cried, but tonight it didn’t do any good. She hadn’t shed a tear since she was fifteen. After that horrid day in the alley, she had cried, thrown up, cried some more, washed and washed and washed, and she’d never—ever—spoken of it, not even when her sister Ellen found her in the washtub behind the sheet hung in the corner of the apartment. Ellen figured out what happened. Ellen said she deserved it. Ellen was right.

Ruth buried her face in her towel and took deep breaths until the shakiness subsided. Then she wrapped her soap and toothbrush and toothpaste in her towel and strapped on her watch.

Should she even wear it anymore? A film passed over her eyes. Jack’s friendship had come to mean so much, and now she’d lost it.

“That sure is a nice watch.” Pretty blonde Marian Willis smoothed cold cream into her cheeks. “Flo, did you see Ruth’s watch?”

Ruth picked up her towel bundle. Oh no. She couldn’t deal with Flo Oswald tonight.

Flo popped a toothbrush from her mouth and took Ruth’s wrist. “Oh, nice. It’s new?”

“Yes,” Marian said. “She’s never worn a watch. I always wondered why, because if I had a scar like that, I’d want to cover it. Oh, it doesn’t cover the scar, does it?”

“Thanks for noticing.” Ruth pulled her hand free and stepped toward the door, but Marian and Flo blocked her path.

“Who’s it from?” Flo asked with bright, beady eyes.

Ruth looked at her watch, but she could only see Jack’s tender smile as he buckled the strap. “It’s a birthday present.”

Marian chuckled. “Yeah, but from whom? Please tell me it’s from a man.”

“Oh, but she doesn’t date,” Flo said, eyes wide. “What do you think this is? The USO?”

Ruth shouldered past them. She couldn’t possibly come up with a sharp-witted retort.

“Maybe it’s from a former patient.” Flo’s voice followed her down the hallway. “Louise saw Ruth in town with a certain Major Novak.”

Ruth whipped to face them. “I’m not dating him.”

Marian smiled and crossed her arms over her nightgown. “You know what they say about protesting too much. Come on, tell us. Is it from that gorgeous major?”

Ruth made for her room. Her cheek twitched and her arms shook.

Marian squealed. “Oh, it is. How romantic.”

No, no, no. Ruth dropped her towel on her cot and squeezed her burning eyes shut. Not tonight. She couldn’t handle this tonight.

Two sets of footsteps drew up to her cot. “We’re going about this the wrong way, Marian. You and I go out with any man who asks, and we never get gifts like that. Ruth plays hard to get, and lovesick fools shower her with gifts.”

“Leave me alone,” Ruth said, her voice quiet and trembling.

“Ooh, Ruth,” Marian said. “If you actually dated, you’d get all sorts of presents.”

Shakes spread through Ruth’s whole body. This had to stop, had to stop.

“And for a kiss,” Flo said. “I bet you could get cold, hard cash.”

“No!” Ruth spun around, fists shaking at her sides. “Leave me alone!”

Marian stepped back.

Flo covered her mouth. “Goodness. We’re just having a little fun.”

“Leave me alone.” Before Ruth’s eyes, the nurses’ faces darkened and stars flickered. She edged toward the door. So what if she wore her nightgown? She had to get out.

“What’s the matter?” A touch to her arm. When had May come in?

May looked back and forth between the ladies. “What’s going on?”

Flo blinked. “We just asked about her watch.”

“I think you’d better go,” May said with quiet power, and Marian and Flo left the room.

Ruth’s breath came quick and shallow, and the white stars formed a swirling galaxy. She had to get out. The door—where was the door?

“Ruth?” May’s face was almost black. “You’re hyperventilating. You have to sit down.”

“Gotta leave.” She took a step and banged her shin on the cot.

“Sit.” May grasped Ruth’s shoulders and pressed her down to the thin mattress. “You know what to do. Put your head between your knees.”

Ruth let her head drop. The floor swung up, and the boards spun and danced between her feet. She moaned.

May stroked her hair. “Deep breaths, honey. Deep breaths.”

Ruth forced down her respiratory rate. In a few minutes, the white sparks fizzled out, and the floor righted itself.

“Kate, would you please get that glass of water on the table?”

Ruth ventured a glance. Four knees faced her. Oh no, she’d created a scene.

“How are you doing?” May asked, her hand gentle on Ruth’s hair.

“Better. Thank you.”

“Oh, thanks, Kate. Ruth, would you like some water?”

She had to face the world sometime. She straightened up, pushed the hair off her face, and took the glass. Kate Fletcher and Rosa Lomeli, two of her roommates, sat on May’s cot across from her. Ruth offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Kate said. “I can’t believe those two.”

Rosa flapped her hand toward the door. “There’s a word for gals like that, but I’m too much of a lady to say it.”

“Ignore them,” Kate said. “Marian feasts on gossip, and Flo’s jealous you snagged such a handsome officer.”

Ruth groaned and rubbed her eyes. Yeah, she snagged him and tore him to pieces.

May patted Ruth’s shoulder. “Would you like some privacy?”

“Yes, please.”

“We understand,” Rosa said. “If you need anything—water, hankies, a posse to string up those wretched excuses for nurses—you let us know.”

Ruth stared at Kate and Rosa as they left. Since she joined the 12th Evac, she’d had rare, businesslike conversations with the two women, yet they were being so kind.

“Would you like me to leave too?” May asked.

The word
yes
perched on her tongue, but May’s expression was so sympathetic, Ruth didn’t want to weld those chunks of iron back around her heart yet. “Please stay.”

“All right.” May locked her gaze on Ruth—eyes of the palest shade of blue, shot through with silver. “Now, remember, Flo and Marian don’t really know you, and they don’t know Jack. He gave you the watch because he cares about you, not because he expects anything from you.”

Ruth’s vision swam. Not again.

“So, did you have a nice day in town?” May said in a cheery voice, as if the change in topic would raise Ruth’s spirits.

It didn’t. Her face crumpled.

“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?”

Ruth covered her eyes with her hand. Could she tell May about crying on Jack’s shoulder? About flirting with him? About flinching from his kiss? About her hysterical flight? No, she’d already lost one friendship today.

She drew a breath, dropped her hand to her lap, and lifted her chin high. “Let’s just say Jack knows I don’t date, and he’ll no longer try to change my mind.”

13

Tuesday, August 17, 1943

“Say good-bye to the Thunderbolts,” Harv Owens said from the top turret behind the pilots.

Jack had hoped they’d have escort for more than half an hour over enemy territory, but due to delays on takeoff and assembly, the P-47s had to turn back with low fuel. The Forts were on their own, an hour and a half from the target at Regensburg, deep within Germany.

“Left waist to pilot.” Manny Souza’s voice crackled on the interphone. “Enemy aircraft forming up at eight o’clock low. Looks like Me 109s.”