Significant Others (17 page)

“You seem fine.”

“On the surface. You have no idea how far I’ve come. If you had seen me a year ago, well, I didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed.”

“Sort of like the night of the dance,” he teased, leaning over to kiss my nose.

“Daniel, I’m serious. I’m sure you remember how you felt right after your wife died.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he recalled. “It was pretty brutal. And damn bleak. I felt like someone had cut off a limb. A part of me died with her. I was completely disconnected and alone. I just sat around the condo staring at the four walls until I found myself talking to the furniture. Talking just to hear my own voice, to make sure I was still alive. I was just existing for the past few months—until you came along.”

I shook my head.

“I can’t be the antidote to your pain,” I said. “I’ve learned you can’t depend on others to get through the difficult times. Friends and family are a godsend, yes, but we each have to find our way back alone.”

“I know what you’re saying is true,” Daniel countered. “But meeting you, being with you, the way we were that night at your place, finding that special connection, I can’t help but feel hope that I’ve been given a reprieve from a life sentence of loneliness. I guess what I’m trying to say is you’ve already made a big difference in my world.”

“Daniel, we just met,” I said, turning away, uncomfortable with the lie. Then I faced him. “We don’t know a thing about each other.”

Daniel looked startled.

“What is it?”

“Well, that’s the same sentiment, almost the same words I used, when I wrote to my sweetheart during the war. We’d only known each other for a few months, and that’s how I started my first letter to her.”

“Right, the woman you told me about last night. And you said you still have the letters you wrote to her?”

“Yes.”

“R-right here in the condo?” I faltered, trying hard to hide my excitement. “After all these years?”

“Yes.”

I steadied myself as I leaned back against the wing chair.

“I took them out of the safe deposit box and brought them here after my wife died. The day she died, she asked me to forgive her. I couldn’t imagine what she’d ever need forgiveness for. It turns out, all those years ago when she was helping me find my girl, she had located Dorothy after all, but she never told me because she was pregnant. She was frantic. She needed me. She knew it was wrong. She said she’d lived with the guilt a lifetime. I knew she was dying, so what could I say? How could I be mad at her? Right before she died, she took out a crumpled piece of paper with a name and an address on it and pressed it into my hand.

“ ‘Go find her.’ That was the last thing she said to me. Of course I couldn’t bring myself to look at that piece of paper. What kind of a husband would I be if I went looking for an old girlfriend so soon after my wife died? So I take out the letters every now and then and look at them and wonder what might have been. I wrestle with what to do. Sometimes I wonder if I should look her up again. I’m sure she’s married. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. If she’s not, I don’t want to know. If she’s with another man, I don’t want to know that either. But that’s selfish. Of course I hope she’s happy. But I find myself fantasizing about finding her again. Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“Why don’t I start on the dishes,” I offered, afraid my face would betray the anguish I felt. He
had
looked for me. Still wanted to find me. If only he hadn’t given up all those years ago. If only I had had faith in our love and gone to him before I married Stan, dared to defy my mother. All the “if onlys” in the world weren’t going to change the outcome of lives that had veered off in two distinct directions.

“No, leave the dishes. Spending time with you is more important.”

I had to get my hands on those letters.

“I’m in the mood for something sweet,” I said. “Do you have any doughnuts?”

“No, but I can run out and get you some. There’s a Krispy Kreme in the shopping center right around the corner from the complex. I won’t be gone more than fifteen minutes. You’ll be here when I get back, won’t you? No vanishing, promise? No retreating? I’m an ex-cop and I’ll just track you down.”

“Are you a stalker?”

“Whatever it takes,” he replied.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised. He embraced me and gave me a long, slow kiss which I felt down to my toes. Then he gave me a naughty, speculative look.

“You sure you still want me to go all the way out to Krispy Kreme to get donuts? You taste pretty sweet. Delicious, in fact. I don’t think we need anything else.”

“Daniel, please,” I said, my heart pounding as I placed my hand on his chest.

“Okay, your wish is my command. One dozen donuts coming up. Any special requests?”

“Surprise me.”

The minute Daniel closed the door, I walked into his bedroom on unsteady legs. My hands were shaking. The letters had to be in this room somewhere. The closet was the most likely place. His unit was a two-bedroom, the same floor plan as mine. The master had a big walk-in closet. His wife’s clothes and shoes were still hanging there, neat and untouched. I felt like an interloper. My sympathies went out to Daniel. I can relate to that, I thought, my heart constricting. All of Stan’s things were still in our house in Atlanta. Even his glasses were still in their case on the nightstand where he’d left them. And his shoes, his wallet, all the dear little things that were constant reminders of the man I spent my life with. That’s why I couldn’t go back to that house. I didn’t want to give the clothes away because that would be too final, but I couldn’t bear to see them again, either.

Daniel’s brown leather flight bomber jacket was still encased in plastic in the back of his closet, where it had probably been since he’d taken it to be dry cleaned right after the war. I smelled it and hugged it. The leather was still in amazing shape, just stiff and somewhat cracked with age, as I expected it would be after all these years.

The jacket was adorned with medals and insignia. I could imagine a younger Daniel, dressed in his uniform—looking big and powerful. That’s how I’d remembered him, the way he looked when I last saw him. A tear slipped out of my eye and slid down my cheek.

What business did I have snooping around in the man’s closet like an intruder? But I had to find those letters. See them for myself. They were not in the closet. Where could they be, then? I searched drawers and found old tax returns and business papers, and dusty boxes of loose family pictures. And a simple gold wedding band. He told me he’d just taken his off. I hadn’t had the courage to do the same. I was avoiding what I knew would be a gut-wrenching experience.

Finally, in one of Daniel’s drawers, I had my hands around a thick stack of letters, wrapped in a frayed blue ribbon. Could this be what I’d been searching for?

The pages were so yellowed and delicate, I was afraid they might dissolve right in front of my eyes, like a newly discovered Holy Scripture in an archaeological dig. My heart beat erratically. I felt a little like a common thief, except the letters were addressed to me in Daniel’s familiar handwriting. So, by rights, they
were
my property.

He’d printed everything with small, perfectly formed, precise letters that looked as though they were written on lined paper. And there were some tags, documenting each of Daniel’s bombing raids over towns whose names I’d never heard of—Ludwigshaven, Germany; Florennes, Belgium; and Nancy-Essey, Villacoublay, Tailleville, Melun, Lille, Toulouse, Rely, St. Omer, and Fismes in France. Then there were the well-known cities in Germany—Munich, Berlin, Frankfurt, Hamburg, Leipzig.

There was no time to read them all before Daniel got back from his donut run, but I was determined to take them with me. I did take time to sneak a peek at the first one. I slipped the top letter out from under the ribbon and started reading.

“My Dearest Dorothy,

As much in love as we are, we’ve only had a short time together. It suddenly occurs to me that we don’t even know each other very well. So let me start by telling you a little something about myself, my darling.”

As I read the first few lines, money slipped out of the envelope and a stream of tears slipped down my face. He hadn’t lied. He
had
written, and more than one letter. He hadn’t forgotten me. And he’d sent me money, like he’d promised. How wonderful it would have been to have received these letters during that long separation and to know that the man I loved, the father of my child, was still alive and that he still loved me. Why hadn’t I received these letters back then?

“I make $21 a month and I’m sending $15 home in this letter. This is just a down payment on our future together.”

Before I could finish reading the first letter, I heard Daniel’s key in the door, so I stuffed the letters into my handbag and ran back into the living room. How was I going to explain away those damn tears?

“One dozen glazed, coming up,” he said and placed one each on a dessert plate. “Minus one. I couldn’t resist eating one in the car.”

I wiped my eyes and bit into my doughnut. My tears were as hot and fresh as the glazed pastries. The doughnut was sinfully delicious and sweet, even mixed with my salty tears.

“It tastes wonderful.” I smiled. “Thank you for going out and getting them for me.”

“You haven’t been crying, have you?” Daniel asked, frowning as he examined my face like it was a fresh crime scene.

“No,” I lied. “Just got a little sentimental, I guess.” He squeezed my hand.

I wasn’t ready to talk, so when I finished, I asked for another doughnut.

“I feel like a pig,” I muttered.

“I like a woman with healthy appetites,” he said, looking at me mischievously. “In the kitchen and in the bedroom.”

Okay, now I was blushing again.

I ate the doughnut so fast that some leftover glaze remained on my lips. He came around and licked it off and inserted his tongue into my mouth. I responded. He caressed my cheek in his powerful hand.

“Oh, Dee Dee, come to bed with me. I want you so much. I need to be with you. I need to feel alive.” He pressed up against me so I could feel just how much he wanted me, and I felt his breath, hot and heavy, on my face. I was tempted to stay.

“I’ve got to go,” I protested weakly.

“But you just got here. I thought we were going Christmas shopping.”

“I’ve hardly seen my daughter,” I said, making excuses. “We haven’t finished packing.” Grabbing my bulging handbag, I broke away from him and walked toward the door. He was a former law enforcement officer. Surely he could tell I had stolen his letters. When he tracked me down, what would I tell him?

“At least let me drive you,” he offered.

“I can walk. It’s not that far.”

“When can I see you again?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Dee Dee, what’s happened? If you think we’re rushing things, we can slow it down. I know we got carried away the other night, but you have nothing to feel guilty about. I know you think it’s too soon. But I won’t apologize for the way I feel about you. You can’t believe this doesn’t mean anything to me. This is anything but a one-night stand. Dee Dee, I care for you a great deal.”

“Please, Daniel, let me go. Just let me go.”

I had to get out of there. Away from the confusion and disappointment I saw reflected in his eyes. I pushed past him and left him there without an explanation. It was unfair, but I just couldn’t stay. I had to finish reading those letters. I ran all the way home. Winded, I got out my key and let myself into the condo.

I looked around. Then I heard Honey on the phone, her voice animated. She must be talking to a client. She was in her room with the door closed. Right now I had to find a quiet place to read. I needed to read those letters before Daniel started missing them. I’d read them and then find a way to apologize for running out and somehow put them back in his drawer before he knew they were gone. I ran past Honey’s bedroom and locked the door to my room behind me. I picked up the letter I had been reading and resumed my foray into the past, to the strains of the music of the ’40s—“Love Letters Straight from Your Heart.”

Chapter Eleven: Flyboys

When we flew our plane over the Atlantic and reached England, we dipped down to 50 feet above the ocean, where we saw whales and sharks. I thought, My God, this plane could drop into the ocean and they’d never find us in this bottomless place. We’re a daredevil bunch. We think we’re going to live forever, that we’re invincible. It’s hard to explain. Some of the boys take life for granted. But my life means a lot more to me since you’ve come into it. I have one goal and that is to stay alive and come back home to you. But the Germans aren’t going to make it easy for any of us.

I leaned against a pillow, settled under the covers, and, with the music of the past washing over me, continued reading about Daniel’s missions—hardly believing they had happened a lifetime ago. Pausing, I pored over the letters, my hands touching each precious word as my eyes skipped over the reports about the missions themselves and focused on the personal words Daniel had written to me. I was almost glad to be reading these letters now, all these years later, now that I knew Daniel was safe.

IInd MISSION

BERLIN, GERMANY

MAY 7, 1944

We were not attacked by fighters on our first mission to Cherbourg, France, last night, but this time,
the Germans knew we were coming. Anytime you go to Berlin, Frank Sinatra’s voice is broadcast over a loudspeaker, singing, “There’ll be a hot time in the town of Berlin.” The Germans’ idea of a joke, I guess.

Berlin is the worst target that ever existed. Ships around me blew up and went down. This time, we were attacked by fighters and my turret stopped as I was tracking them. I couldn’t sleep that night thinking of how lucky I am and thinking of you.

**

VIth MISSION

LUDWIGSHAVEN, GERMANY

MAY 27, 1944

I saw about 10 German fighters shot down before they could get through to our formation. We ran low on gas coming back, but made it O.K. When I get back, and I have to believe that I will come back, I want to introduce you to all the guys. They feel like they already know you, the way I go on and on about how beautiful you are. None of them believe me. We call our ship the Honey, but the pin-up girl has nothing on you in the looks department. I’ve shown them a picture of you and they probably think I cut it out of a magazine. That I don’t really know you. You’re so glamorous and as lovely as any movie star. Sometimes I think I’ve dreamed you up, that all those months you existed only in my imagination. But I know you’re real. I still feel the way we fit together on the dance floor and that last night with the rain coming down in sheets against the window. The desperate way you held me as if you knew it might be the very last time, the way you looked at me, the sweet way you loved me. Sometimes at night when I’m alone, I think I can still smell you, taste you. That’s when I know it was no dream. And someday, soon I
hope, I’ll be coming home to my very own pin-up girl.