A Memory Between Us (11 page)

Jack shook his head so hard Ruth thought his hat would fly off. “No shopping. I have two things to celebrate. Number one: I’m flying again, two days in a row.”

“How was it?”

His eyes lit up. “Can’t tell you how good it felt to get off the ground. And both missions were milk runs. What a difference those Thunderbolts make. Chased off the Luftwaffe. Just wish they had the range to escort us to Germany.”

“How did you do sitting so long?”

“Fine, fine. Always the nurse.” His glower faded with a sigh. “All right, I was mighty sore at the end.”

She laughed. “Pun intended?”

“Pun?” His black brows drew together as if conferring on her statement. Then he grumbled. “The end. Swell. Glad my injuries amuse you.”

“Not as much as your embarrassment.” And what an opportunity to dispel any romance.

“You want to keep teasing me, or you want to hear the second reason to celebrate?” He pulled an envelope from inside his jacket and handed Ruth a piece of airmail stationery covered with jagged handwriting. “From my brother Walt. He’s not used to writing with his left hand, but you can make it out.”

Well, Jack, for the first time in my life, I’m going to beat you at something.

The other day at the hospital, I had a visit from Allie—the engaged woman I’d been writing to. After a few mishaps, I told her how I felt. Was I surprised to learn she’d broken her engagement and she’s in love with—get this, Jack—your ugly kid brother! We’re getting married next spring. Who would have thought I’d be the first Novak brother to tie the knot?

Please tell Lieutenant Doherty if you see her. It’s amazing we had the same nurse. But I don’t believe in coincidences, only in God, and now more than ever I’m convinced God is good and merciful and generous beyond measure.

“This is wonderful,” Ruth said.

“Yeah. I can’t believe my baby brother’s getting married. Of all the things to beat me at. I mean, the kid never dated, clammed up whenever he saw a girl.”

Ruth couldn’t decipher the gleam in Jack’s eye. Was it joy? Or competition? He’d better not think he had to beat his brother, and if he did, he’d better not look at her.

Jack looked at her. “Today we celebrate. A movie, dinner, my treat. Not a date. Boy, you’re skittish. Can’t a man and a woman eat together without it being a date?”

“I suppose so.” She frowned. If dinner and a movie weren’t a date, what was?

However, the movie was no more romantic than if she’d gone with May. No whispered rhymes, no accidental brush of lips, no nudges from a solid shoulder, and she couldn’t deny her disappointment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied Jack’s strong profile.

Why not?
This voice had grown louder the last two weeks.

Why couldn’t she?
This unreasonable voice.

She could still provide for her family.
This rebellious voice.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

Jack glanced at her and smiled, as if he’d sensed her thoughts, as if he’d seen her stroking the watch strap and imagining his touch.
Why ever not?

She pressed back in her seat. She knew perfectly well why not.

After the movie concluded, they walked outside and blinked at the sunshine.

“Okay, Lieutenant Skittish,” Jack said. “To prove this isn’t a date, we’ll pick up some fish and chips and go eat at the abbey. Too nice to be cooped up indoors anyway.”

“It is.” A warm breeze wafted over her face. “And I’ve heard the fish and chips are wonderful.”

“You don’t eat out, do you?” His eyes widened. “Do you send every penny home?”

“Almost.” Yet it still wasn’t enough for Aunt Pauline. Ruth shrugged off the fear. “The Army feeds me and shelters me. What more do I need?”

“Everyone needs occasional pampering.”

Ruth watched her uniform shoes tread the flagstones. “Not if you’ve never had it.”

“About time someone pampered you.” Jack’s voice was so thick, Ruth glanced up. The determination in his jaw told her he planned to provide the pampering, and the tenderness in his eyes made her want to receive it.

“I’ll start right here. This is a good place.” He swung open a thick wooden door.

She forced herself to concentrate, to tamp down her emotions, and to adjust to the darkness of the pub. The scent of beer brought on a wash of nausea, but she made herself breathe evenly and followed Jack to the bar. A young woman with frizzy dark hair approached.

“We’d like some fish and chips to go,” Jack said.

She flipped her hand. “You Yanks are always in a hurry.”

Jack leaned on the bar and smiled. “We’re in a hurry to help you win this war.”

Red spots appeared on the girl’s cheeks, and she patted down the frizz. “We have the freshest fish and chips in town, but may I recommend the bangers? They’re lovely.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jack said. “Ruth?”

Her stomach balled up. “Bangers? That’s sausage, right?”

“Yeah. Real good.” He squinted at her in the murky light. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I just—I can’t stand sausage. The smell nauseates me.”

Jack studied her, then turned to the barmaid. “Two orders of fish and chips, please.”

With their dinner wrapped in newspaper, they strolled down the street and through the imposing Norman Gate Tower. Jack pointed out arrow slits in the thick stone walls. Then they passed through a circular garden, where an old man sat playing a violin to a group of children.

“A GI!” The children jumped to their feet and ran over. “Any gum, chum? Any gum?”

Jack laughed and pulled a pack of Wrigley’s from his pocket. He passed a stick to each child and sent them on their way.

Ruth had never seen him chew gum. “You buy that just for the children, don’t you?”

“Sure. Why don’t we sit on that wall over there?”

They padded through the grass to an ancient low wall, part of the ruined abbey. Jack laid his jacket down so Ruth wouldn’t snag her stockings on the black, white, and gray stones protruding from the mortar.

Jack unwrapped his dinner. “The oldest buildings in Antioch aren’t even a hundred years old, and here we are sitting on something over nine hundred years old.”

“And Henry the Eighth tore it down in the Reformation.” Ruth gazed around at the clumps of ruins in the grass, some rising ten, twenty feet to hint at a window or doorway. “The stupid things people do.”

Jack chewed for a moment. “Speaking of stupid, did I ever tell you about the business I set up when I was a kid?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I sold rides in Grandpa Novak’s old biplane. I must have taken up half the kids in Antioch, made a lot of money. Only problem was I didn’t ask Grandpa’s permission. When he found out, he gave me a memorable whipping, made me return every cent, and worst of all, he wouldn’t let me fly for a whole year.”

Ruth smiled at his forlorn expression. “Poor baby.”

“Nah, I deserved it.” He pointed a chip at her. “Okay, your turn.”

She took a bite of fish and tried to think of a story. The crispy batter hit her tongue, and then the fish dissolved in her mouth, moist and flavorful, much better than what she used to fry up on the little coal stove.

The little stove. She swallowed and smiled. “There was the time I wanted to play at the beach. Pa couldn’t afford El tickets for all of us, so Ellen and I made our own beach. We shoveled the ash out of the stove and onto the floor. You should have seen Ma’s face. From then on, cleaning the stove was my job.”

Jack’s eyes shone so much, Ruth remembered another story, and they shared laughter over childhood misadventures while they ate. After they finished, they folded up the newspaper, unsure whether the grease disqualified it as scrap paper.

Jack put one foot up on the wall and draped his arm over his knee. “Your childhood was a lot like mine.”

“Alike?”

“Sure. Kids having fun and getting in trouble. Parents who loved the Lord, loved each other, and loved us. What a blessing.”

“I suppose so.” The ruins glowed golden in the evening sun. Jack and May saw blessings everywhere. All Ruth could see was what God took away from her, not what he gave her. However, the blessings were there—her job, her daily bread, her brothers and sisters fed and clothed and cared for.
Lord, help me see the blessings.

“Does the watch bother you?”

“Excuse me?” Ruth swung her gaze to Jack.

“You keep fiddling with it. Does it bother you?”

She glanced at the watch, a reminder of Jack’s protective, giving friendship. Was it—yes, it was a blessing, and for once she didn’t want to give him a sassy answer. “No, I like it. I like how it feels. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.” She forced herself to look him in the eye, to let him know he had restored a piece of what she had lost.

“Does it keep good time?” He took her hand, stretched out her arm, and checked her watch against his.

Heat streamed up her arm, straight to her heart. She sucked in her breath, and her mouth and eyes flew open. She had to pull back, but his grip was both firm and strangely welcome.

“Does it?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Ruth clamped her mouth shut and nodded.

“Good.” As if his touch weren’t enough, he had to grin. “Your watch says it’s time to dance.”

“Dance?” she gasped.

“Can’t celebrate without dancing. We even have that violin playing over there.” He got to his feet and engulfed her hand in his. “Besides, this rock wall is killing me. Have pity.”

“I—I don’t know how to dance.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time since cotillion, but—”

Ruth shook her head and wished she had the resolve to pull her hand free. “I didn’t go. I had—odd jobs. After school—had to earn money—odd jobs.”

“Then it’s time you learned.” With tender eyes and a tug on her hand, he led her to a level spot in the grass.

She struggled to breathe. “I—I—I don’t—”

“Nothing to it. Put your hand here.” At arm’s length, Jack placed Ruth’s left hand on his shoulder and set his hand on her waist. “Basic position. How’s that?”

“I’m okay.” White sparkles appeared before her eyes. She took a slow breath and concentrated on a button on Jack’s khaki shirt.

“Just follow me. Nothing fancy. But I’ll need to hold you closer.”

The sheltering wall of his chest rose before her, the protective curve of his arm encircled her, and the button bobbed and blurred as through a glass of water. Pa used to hold her like this, so large and powerful and gentle. The button faded in the blur, Ruth’s throat tightened, and a tear burned down her cheek.

She was crying? Oh no. She couldn’t let Jack see, and she couldn’t wipe her eyes without detection. Without thinking, she pressed her face to his shoulder. Oh, why did she do that?

Jack drew her closer with a deep murmur.

She fought for composure, but her tears ran unseparated onto his shirt. When was the last time she’d been held? Pa had been confined to bed. Ma and the children hugged her, but they didn’t hold her like this, like a refuge.

Jack’s muscles twitched under her face. “Say, you’re not crying, are you?”

She shook her head, burrowed in his thick shoulder.

“Look at me and tell me that.” He pulled back slightly and ducked his head to look her in the eye. “I knew it. I stepped on your toes.”

“No.” She released a strange sound, halfway between laugh and sob. With his face so close and accepting and encouraging, she had to tell the truth. She took a ragged breath. “My father—he was paralyzed when I was twelve. It’s been twelve years since anyone held me, really held me.”

Jack sighed, ran his hand up her back, and pressed her head to his chest. “Shirt’s cotton. Washes easily.”

He was giving her permission to cry? How long had it been? She was the strength in the hard times to ease her parents’ burden. She was the support for the children when Pa and Ma died. Never once did she allow herself to cry.

Now the tears flowed in an unrelenting stream. Folded in Jack’s arms, she could be weak, she could grieve, she could be nurtured.

Eventually the stream reduced to a trickle and dried. A sniff, a shaky breath, and peace. Still Jack hummed to the violin music and stroked her back. Ruth turned her face to the side and saw his jaw covered with the faint, dark stubble of evening. She had an urge to press her lips to that masculine roughness, to thank him for what he’d given her, but she couldn’t.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Any time, baboon.”

She lifted her head and blinked, her eyelashes sticky from tears. “Baboon?”

“Moon, June, baboon.” Mischief glinted in his eyes.

Ruth’s laugh came out rough and wet.

“See. It was time to make you laugh again.”

“I’ll say.” She touched the large damp spot on his shirt. “Oh dear.”

“I don’t mind.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now, do you want to dance?”

Ruth’s mind tumbled and spun. “Dance?”

Jack’s lips curved in a casual smile as if they hadn’t just kissed her. “The violin, the celebration, remember?”

Unwilling to break the embrace, Ruth nodded. Dancing, however, didn’t come easily. The beat eluded her and her feet betrayed her, but with Jack’s patient good humor, the awkwardness slipped away, she relaxed in his arms, and her laughter mingled with his. Her chest felt lighter than it had in years, as if the salty tears had corroded the iron shell around her heart. She tried to summon her reservations, but every time he swung her around, another chunk fell off, until her heart lay exposed before him.

“Had enough?” he asked.

“Already?”

“I’ve got to get you home and return to base before eight in case we fly tomorrow.” He released her, returned to the wall, and slipped on his flight jacket.

The sudden emptiness made Ruth catch her breath. “What about London Bridge?”

“Huh?” Jack adjusted his jacket collar.

A surge of warmth made her want to surprise him, to please him, to give to him. She held out both hands. “A movie, dancing, London Bridge. You promised.”