Winter in June (27 page)

“They were both actresses. Irene left the WAACs for Hollywood. She had a contract offer and everything.”

“Same studio as Gilda?”

“I'm not sure.” I'd never bothered to ask. Surely Kay would know.

“Then maybe whatever is going on didn't start here but started there. In Hollywood.”

I rubbed the fabric of his pocket flap. “You make a good point.”

We walked as I pondered who could've been behind Gilda's and
Irene's deaths. Who was in Hollywood with both of them? We'd already eliminated Van Lauer as a suspect. That left Kay and Violet. The only problem was that neither of them had a reason to want
both
Gilda and Irene dead.

We stopped walking. “Welcome back,” said Peaches.

“Huh?”

“I've been talking to you for the past five minutes.”

“Gosh, I'm sorry. What were you saying?”

He turned his profile toward me and looked out at the ocean. “Nothing important.”

At some point, my arm had shifted and rather than being casually looped around his, my paw was snugly clasped in his hand. It was curious how well our two mitts fit together. In the dark of night, it was hard to tell which fingers belonged to which person. “Seriously, what were you saying?” I asked.

“I make it a point never to repeat myself.”

“Since when?”

He bumped me with his hip, sending me to the left.

“Ouch. Okay, but you were talking about me, right?”

“I had no idea your ego was this big.” He looked down at our joined hands. “I was saying it was strange to think that I might not see you again after we ship out.”

“Why?” Was he predicting his death? That was a decidedly un-Peaches thing to do.

“You'll continue your tour and, assuming Blake doesn't arrest you, eventually go home, and I'll do the same.”

My grip on him grew tighter. “It doesn't have to be like that. We could stay in touch.”

“You mean V-mail and phone calls if I'm ever in the States?”

“Sure. Maybe you could even grab a meal the next time you're in New York. And there's always a chance I could end up in Atlanta. I'm in the South Pacific, after all. How much harder would Georgia be to conquer?”

“Spoken like a woman who's never ventured south of the Mason-Dixon line.” He made a thoughtful little humming noise that seemed
to indicate that he'd never considered what I was proposing. “So you might want to see me again?”

I turned away from him, worried that if I didn't, I might start to cry. “If you don't want to see me, I certainly won't force you to.”

“It would be hard,” he said. “You can be awfully difficult to be around.
Trying
is the word for it. And exhausting.”

Who was he to judge me? Granted, we'd had our problems since we'd first met, and I'd somehow dragged him into my drama the way Jayne used to drag Tony to plays he didn't want to see, but I had my merits, didn't I?

I released his hand and crossed my arms over my chest. “Forget it,” I said. “I didn't realize I was so taxing.”

He put his hands on my elbows to prevent me from turning away from him. “I'm kidding,” he said.

The wind whipped my hair into my face, but I refused to lift my arms to push it away. “It wasn't very funny.”

“Do you honestly think I wouldn't want to see you again, Rosie?”

“I don't know.”

He released me and put a finger beneath my chin, lifting my face upward. Before I could register what I was doing, I lunged at him, meeting him with such force that our teeth clicked together.

“Ow!” he said.

We both checked to make sure that our chompers were still intact. “Sorry,” I said.

“I was going to kiss you, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to beat you to it.”

We tried again, this time meeting each other without causing any pain. Maybe it was the booze, or the full moon, or the fresh Pacific breezes that made everything seem more fantastic than it could possibly be, but as he kissed me, all my cares melted away and I found myself holding my breath just to make sure I didn't do anything to make this marvelous moment end. Of course, eventually it had to. After all, if I didn't start breathing, I would pass out.

“That was better than I thought it would be,” he said.

“Gee thanks. By all means let me know how I can improve things.”

“Next time, don't hold your breath. I was worried you might faint on me.”

We kissed again, although this one was interrupted by a laugh that I couldn't seem to suppress.

“What?” he asked, pulling away.

“Have you ever murdered anyone?”

“Is this a philosophical question?”

“I don't mean warfare. I mean murder, murder.”

“Of course not, why?”

“Because the last time I kissed a guy, he ended up being a murderer, and I just want to make sure I'm not repeating that same mistake.”

He kissed me to confirm that his moral record was clean. Eventually, we both sank onto the sand. I sat between his legs with my back to him and we talked, not about Gilda or Jack or any theories I might have about who murdered whom, but about each other. As I answered his many questions about my life before the war, he peppered my forehead with kisses, and I entwined my fingers in each of his hands, marveling that this wasn't all some fabulous dream.

We stayed that way throughout the night until eventually we sat in silent awe watching the sun rise above the water.

Kay and Violet were ready to leave when we arrived at the tent. Neither was facing the other, though their faces told the same tale of a long uncomfortable night.

“Where have you two been?” asked Violet. “Did they give you better digs or something?”

“Something like that,” I said. Jayne had remained out all night as well, and while the glimmer of my romantic evening was starting to wear off in the face of exhaustion, hers had branded a perpetual smile on her face that was starting to irritate even me.

“So what did you do?” she asked the other girls, with a tone that suggested what she really wanted was for them to ask her about her night.

“We slept—or tried to,” said Violet. She shot Kay a look that was so full of venom I was surprised Kay didn't fall over and die.

“Why ‘tried to'?” asked Jayne.

“This is a noisy place,” said Kay. “That's all.”

It was clear there was something else going on, but I wasn't in the mood to unravel it. I just wanted to hit the sack and dream about Peaches.

Instead, we were packed into a plane and taken to our next destination. I tried to nap during the trip, but Jayne seemed determined to keep me awake.

“You and Peaches looked awfully cozy this morning,” she said.

“We had a nice night, that's all.” It was becoming hard to meet her eyes. What happened with Peaches felt too private to share with her. It was silly since I knew she would be happy for me, but I wanted some time to decide how I really felt about things before the two of us started picking it apart and analyzing it. “What about you?” I asked. “I wasn't expecting to see you so cheerful this morning. Billy did tell you he's shipping out soon, right?”

“Oh, he told me all right.” She stretched her left hand in front of her and examined her nails. “I was pretty upset at first, but then we decided to get married.”

If I'd had liquid in my mouth, I would've done a spit take. “You what?”

She nodded, biting her lip in a way that suggested she was trying to suppress a scream. “He proposed to me last night.” She wiggled her hand. On it was a ring hammered out of a silver Australian coin.

“From the looks of things, you said yes?”

She nodded again.

“Wow,” was all I could manage. “It seems so…fast.”

“We're not going to do it right away. I told him I didn't want to be a war bride. But when the war's over or when he gets his discharge…” Her voice trailed off. I wondered if she believed that day would ever come.

I clapped my hands together. “Well, I'm thrilled for you.”

“Really?”

I threw my arms around her. “Absolutely. He seems like he's aces, and I haven't seen you this happy since…well…never.”

She pulled away from me but refused to let go. “Will you stand up for me when the time comes?”

“Try and stop me.”

We hugged again and shared the news with the other girls. I
was
happy for her. Sure it was fast, but there was no telling how long it would be before they could follow through with their plans. The way the war was going, there would be more than enough time for them to get to know each other beyond the superficiality of most wartime romances, and then they could decide if this was what they both really wanted.

We arrived at our next destination, and with the sort of giddiness that can only come from staying up all night doing something forbidden, we put on a hell of a show. Violet was subdued, no longer forcing the men's amusement after bringing their mood down with her tribute to Gilda. I don't know if the men reacted any differently than the day before, and I'm not sure that I cared. I was too caught up in my own head, thinking about everything that had happened the night before.

It was all so weird and wonderful. Who would think that poor Peaches, who was never any more to me than the man who repeatedly delivered bad news, would become someone capable of making my heart go pitter-patter? And who would think that after encountering nothing but tragedies on this trip, I would start to believe that I might actually fall in love again?

“Stop smiling,” whispered Violet as we danced across the stage. “You look loopy. People are going to think you're simple. Or drunk.”

I extinguished my grin, though it was still there, burning across the inside of my chest.

 

After three shows, I was ready to fall down and die. Not even thoughts of the night before could put the kick back in my step. Fortunately, we were due to fly back to camp within the hour, and it appeared unlikely the trip would be delayed by another instance of imaginary fog.

As we packed up our things and dressed again in the clothes we'd been wearing for two days straight, a contingency of men
crowded the dressing area entrance to talk to us about how much they enjoyed the show. Violet glowed at the attention, offering to sign autographs for men who hadn't requested them but were too polite to turn her down. We all engaged in chit-chat, answering their praise with our gratitude for the performances they had given—and would give again—on the land and sea.

“Miss Winter?” A man at the back of the crowd tried to get my attention. I waved him forward while checking the time on my watch. Only twenty minutes until I could sit down on the plane and pass out.

“Hiya sailor, enjoy the show?”

“You don't remember me, do you?”

I looked at a face that could've belonged to any number of men I'd encountered since we'd arrived in the Pacific. It was embarrassing to think that I'd allowed all these unique people to converge into one person, stripping them of their individuality just like the enemy did. “I'm sorry—I've met a lot of men lately. I might need a reminder.”

He removed his Dixie cup cap to give me a better slant. “You visited me in the hospital on Guadalcanal. The boys call me Whitey.”

I studied him again. He was the fellow cheating at solitaire who'd given me the brush-off. “Sure, I remember you. How're you feeling?”

“Better. Much better. In fact, they're sending me to New Georgia next week.”

How could these men be so excited about going back into battle? It didn't make any sense to me.

“I'm glad to hear it.” I turned away, thinking we were done. Now that I knew who he was, I found myself still sore at the way he'd treated me. Although, to be fair, he'd never put a knife to my neck.

“Can I talk to you for a moment alone?”

Seventeen minutes until I could sleep. It certainly wasn't going to go any faster if I stood around waiting for the hands on my watch to move. “Sure.”

We stepped outside, around the throng of fawning fans, and
walked back into the performance area. The space had been vacated except for the soda and beer bottles the men had left behind. I was too tired to stand, so I sat on the piano bench and looked at him expectantly.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the day you came to visit us.”

My fingers played over the piano keys, plucking out a tuneless melody. “That's swell of you, but it's not necessary.”

“No, it is. I was awfully sore that day—my girl had sent me a Dear John.”

“Ouch.” I underscored how uncomfortable that had to be with a base chord.

“And, needless to say, I wasn't one for talking to the opposite sex.”

I stopped fooling around on the keyboard and put my hands in my lap. Fifteen minutes until sleep. “Don't worry about it. You're forgiven. I'm not one to hold a grudge.”

“Thanks. There's something else though. I've been thinking about what you asked me. That name you asked me if I knew.”

My stomach churned with dread. So this was how my perfect day would end: with someone else telling me Jack was dead to remind me that maybe it wasn't right that I'd already found myself in another man's arms. “So you did know him?”

“Well, not as Jack, as you called him. The fellows called him Hamlet on account of his being an actor and his last name.” Castlegate, a last name fit for a moody Danish prince. “Anyhow, once I realized I did know him, I knew I had to talk to you.”

I stood up. “Let me stop you there.” I put my hand out as though it possessed the power to prevent him from confirming the news I already knew. “I heard what happened.”

“It was one of the most amazing things I ever saw. Here he has two bullets in his leg, and he still manages to outrun them. I never paid him much mind before, thought he was a bit of a daisy to tell you the truth, but that night he proved he was more man than the rest of us. When you find him, you tell him Whitey was honored to
serve with him. The whole crew was. And if this thing comes to trial, I'm happy to speak out for him.”

Dear God, this kid didn't know. And now he'd turned Jack into a hero in his head.

“Whitey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Jack's dead.”

“What?”

“He went into the big drink that night. They think the sharks got him. Or he drowned.”

“Who told you that?”

“Someone in the know. Believe me.”

He returned his hat to his head. “Then they fed you a load of horse pucky. One of our men made that story up. Jack never went into the water.”

 

I have no idea what Whitey said after that. The buzzing in my head was making it impossible to hear anything. Surely this guy was misinformed? There was a body after all. Wasn't it possible someone made up a lie to keep the men's morale up, so they wouldn't think their CO had gotten away with murder?

“You okay, Miss Winter?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Look, I didn't mean to rattle you. I'm sure whoever told you he died believed that's what happened. Gris told the CO he saw Jack go under to stop the search. The next day he produced a body and a bloody shirt. Nobody's going to look for a dead man.”

No, he had to be misinformed. And even if he wasn't, there was no way Jack could survive alone in the jungle. “Whose body?”

“A Jap's, I guess. It was hard to tell after the sharks got done with him.”

I swayed. The whole world had tilted off its axis.

“Maybe you should sit back down. You look a little pale.” He tried to take my arm, but I stepped away from him.

“Rosie? We're heading out,” Violet called to me. I snapped to attention, desperate to leave this conversation with my sanity intact.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” I told Whitey. “And good luck.”

Before he could say another word, I dashed back to the dressing area and grabbed my things, chasing after the others to board the plane. The combination of the fast movement, the long day, and the lack of sleep was doing a number on me. I was woozy, weak, and dying for a drink. Whitey had to be wrong. Jack couldn't be alive. Even if he survived that night, he was wounded. There was no guarantee he could keep going for two months on his own.

“Rosie?” Jayne was standing over me. Over me? I had collapsed and didn't realize it. “Rosie? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

I'm not sure if I answered her. All I remember from that point on was being engulfed in darkness.

 

When I awoke, I was in the sickbay on Tulagi, in the same cordoned-off area Jayne had been in after the shooting. I tried to move and found myself pinned by an IV in my arm.

“You're awake,” said the same nurse who'd tended Jayne. Ruth. Her name was Ruth.

“How long was I out?”

“About twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours?!”

“We sedated you. You were quite agitated when you arrived.”

My head pounded, and I quickly probed my noggin to find the source of pain. A goose egg was on the back of my head, so tender to the touch that I moaned when I made contact.

“You have a mild concussion,” said Ruth. “And you seemed to be suffering from acute exhaustion and dehydration. But, otherwise, you'll be as good as new.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I struggled to remember what had happened before I collapsed. Jack. I'd been talking to Whitey about Jack.

“Miss Hamilton has been waiting to see you. She's out in the lobby.”

Jack was alive. That's what Whitey had said.

“Miss Winter? Do you want me to bring Miss Hamilton in?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

Jayne entered the infirmary with wide eyes and arms weighed down by her collection of magazines. She put the stack of slicks on the table beside the bed and took my hand.

“We were so worried about you.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I'm going to give Peaches and Billy a piece of my mind, believe you me. It's a wonder we both didn't collapse from exhaustion.”

“It's not their fault. How are the others?”

She released me and busied herself with pouring water into a cup. “At their wit's end. Kay and Violet aren't speaking to each other, and someone elected me as their go between. I tell you, if we could go home tomorrow, I'd do it in a second.”

I took the glass she offered me. “We can't do that.”

“I know. We need to know what happened to Gilda first.”

“And Jack,” I said.

She tenderly touched my head. “Are you sure you're all right, Rosie? That hit you took was pretty hard.”

“The man I was talking to after the show was in Jack's crew. He said he's still alive.”

Jayne's mouth dropped open. “But Peaches said—”

“I know what Peaches said, but maybe he didn't know the whole story. The rest of the crew wanted to keep Jack safe, so they lied when they said he went into the water. They saw him get away on foot.”

“But there was a body.”

“It wasn't his.” I found myself starting to calmly accept the idea that Jack was still out there. Jayne struggled with the notion. It's not that she wanted him dead, but I think she couldn't stand the idea of my suffering his loss all over again.

Neither could I, for that matter. After six months of fighting to learn information about his whereabouts, I wasn't sure if I could handle another roller coaster of misinformation. As awful as it sounded, hearing Jack was dead had been a relief. Whatever had happened was done, and the only thing left to do was grieve and move forward. Uncertainty was a cruel state to live in.