The Bungalow (16 page)

Shortly after the candles were lit and the choir began “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing,” I heard some commotion and turned toward the back of the chapel. A door slammed. People shuffled in their seats. A nurse in the pew behind us let out a loud gasp.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Stella, unable to get a good view of the scene through the crowd.

“That’s what’s going on,” she said smugly, pointing at the center aisle.

There, walking toward us, was Atea—bare-breasted, beautiful Atea, with tears rolling down her face. She looked just as striking as she had the day at the market, though now her face was clouded in distress.

“Where is he?” she screamed, looking from left to right, scanning the pews. “Why he not here?”

One of the men stood up and took her arm. “Don’t you see that you’re disturbing this Christmas Eve service, miss?”

She wrenched her arm away from him. “Don’t touch me! Where is he? He lie. I find him. I tell everyone.”

The soldier regained his grip, this time tighter, and attempted to pull her toward the door. Atea screamed.

“Stop!” I shouted, waving my arms. I felt the blood rush from my head, but I steadied myself on the side of the pew. “I know this woman. Let me speak to her.”

No one seemed to object, so I walked over to Atea and smiled warmly. Her big brown eyes, red from crying, searched my face for understanding, for trustworthiness.

“Would you like to talk outside?” I asked as if we were the only two people in the building.

She nodded and followed me through the double doors outside. We walked in silence along the gravel pathway that led to the beach. The wind was brisk, but neither of us minded.

Atea led me to a log on the beach, and we both sat down.

“I am fear,” she said.

“You mean, you’re
afraid
?”

She nodded.

“What, dear? What are you afraid of?”

“Him,” she said simply.

Lance.
My cheeks burned with anger. Stella had been right.

I nodded. “What did he do to you, Atea?”

“He hurt me,” she said, pointing to a bruise on her wrist and another on her upper arm, purple and black.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “But why did you come here, to the chapel, tonight?”

Her eyes swelled with tears. “I tell everyone what he did,” she said, “then he no hurt me again.”

“Atea,” I said, “you must leave this base. If he wants to harm you, he’ll find a way. You must leave and stay far away.”

She looked confused. “Where can I go?”

“Do you have someone you can stay with? Your mother? A grandmother? An aunt?”

Atea shook her head. “No,” she said. “I have no one, except Tita.”

“Who is Tita?”

“The oldest woman on Bora-Bora. She take care of all of us.”

I nodded. Suddenly my own problems seemed unimportant. “Well,” I said, “you can’t stay here.”

She looked unsettled about something. “But what will I do when he comes?”

“What do you mean, ‘when he comes’?”

“He will come.”

I patted her arm. “See that white building in the distance, and the window on the corner of the second floor, just near the palm?”

“Yes,” she said meekly.

“That’s my room. You call up to me when you need something, when you’re afraid. We always leave the window open. I’ll hear you.”

She searched my face with her big, trusting eyes. “What if you not there?”

“Then run down this beach,” I said, pointing my finger toward the shore. “About a half mile up there’s a bungalow, a little hut a few steps into the thicket. The door is locked, but you’ll find the key under a book beneath the steps. No one knows about it here. You’ll be safe there.”

Atea’s eyes grew big. “The artist’s home?”

I shook my head, confused. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Yes, the painter. No one goes there. Tita say it’s haunting.”

“
Haunted?”

“Yes.”

“And do you believe it’s haunted?” I asked.

Atea shrugged. “Maybe, but I go there if I must.”

“Good girl.”

Atea smiled.

“You’re going to be fine,” I said. “Everything will be fine. I’ll see to that.”

“Really?” Her eyes searched mine. She looked so beautiful, yet so innocent and afraid. I vowed to protect her. I’d speak to Westry about Lance. I’d make sure he never hurt her again.

“Really,” I assured her.

She exhaled deeply and stood up to leave.

“Atea, there’s something else,” I said. “If you see Lance, you mustn’t tell him about your visiting the base, or your chat with me. It will only anger him.”

She looked confused, but nodded.

“Good night,” I said.

“
Taoto maitai
,” she said before disappearing into the moonlight.

T
he morning sun was bright, streaming through the window with such force that two aggressive beams of light pushed through the curtains and danced unabashedly on the closet door. Kitty and I watched the rays from our beds.

“Can you imagine having a bright morning like this in Seattle—in January?” I said, turning to Kitty.

“No,” she answered in a flat voice. “I miss the cold. I’m tired of all this sun.”

“I don’t know that I could ever tire of it,” I said, sitting up and reaching for my robe draped over the foot of the bed. “Kitty? Can I confide in you?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“I’m worried.”

“Worried about what?” Her eyes looked tired, but not just because it was early. Deep exhaustion punctuated her face. We hadn’t spoken of Lance since Christmas Day, when I’d told Kitty about what Atea had said. I’d warned her about Lance and yet the news hardly fazed her. Things were over between the two of them, or so it seemed. As each day passed, she grew quieter and more introspective, and I grew more concerned. Had Lance hurt her in the same way he’d hurt Atea?

“I’m worried that this island has changed us,” I said.

Instead of looking at me, Kitty looked
through
me, right on to the wall behind my back. “It
has
changed us,” she said simply.

“Kitty, it’s just that I—” I stopped when I heard a sudden knock at the door.

“Who is it?” I called out.

“It’s me, Mary.”

I cinched the tie on my robe and opened the door to find Mary rosy cheeked and beaming. “Morning, lovelies,” she said, poking her head into the room to catch Kitty’s eye, with little success.

Mary had regained her strength after her bout with malaria, and she now hummed in the infirmary while the rest of us grumbled. Stella said Mary had been seeing a man named Lou, though Mary hadn’t let on yet. I hoped it was true. She deserved happiness.

I felt a pang in my heart just then.
The letter. Mary’s letter, from her ex-fiancé.
I looked at the shoe box under my bedside table, remembering that I’d hidden it there, promising myself I’d give it to her when I felt she was ready. I lifted the lid and reached inside the box and Gerard’s most recent letter fell out onto the floor. My cheeks flushed and I hurriedly stowed it away.
How could Mary face her past if I couldn’t even face mine?

“I wanted to invite you to a little soiree tonight,” Mary continued. Her eyes sparkled the way eyes do when one is in love, or rather, in
new
love. “A group of us are getting together tonight for a cookout on the beach. Stella, Liz, a few of the other nurses, and some of the men too. We’re all piling into a truck at seven thirty for Leatra Beach. I think Westry’s coming too, Anne.”

She gave me a knowing look that I did not return. I hadn’t spoken to Westry in three weeks, and I feared there was a silence growing between us. Sure, his commanding officer had kept him busy. Very busy. But I hardly found him in the bungalow anymore, even when I knew he was off duty.

Leatra Beach. It was just a stone’s throw from the bungalow. Our bungalow. I felt my chest tighten.
What am I worried about?
Of course, no one would find it. No one knew it was there, except Westry and me. In fact, it sometimes felt that the little hut was visible only to us. And we spoke of that very thing the last time we were together there, when we’d spotted a soldier passing by on the normally quiet beach. The sound of his whistling sent shivers down my spine. Would he see the bungalow? Would he see us? I realized then how very much I loved this private little world of ours, and how much I hoped to keep it that way.

“Someone’s coming,” I had whispered in a panic to Westry.

We watched from the window that looked out upon the beach as the man stumbled along the white sand. Probably drunk. The soldiers drank too much, and the island heat only amplified their intoxication.

“The coast is clear,” Westry said a few moments later. “He didn’t see us.”

But why didn’t he see us?
The bungalow wasn’t too far off the beach, only loosely hidden by palm fronds. Anyone with an ounce of curiosity would see it on second glance. So why hadn’t others found it? How had it gone unnoticed after all these years and with an army base populated by a couple thousand men just down the shore? These were the questions that made me wonder if the bungalow was merely a figment. Our figment, a mirage in the French Polynesian sun custom made for Westry and me.

“So,” Mary said expectantly, “will you come?”

I glanced back at Kitty. She looked disinterested, distant. “I’ll go,” I said hesitantly, “but only if Kitty joins me.”

Kitty looked startled. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Kitty provided no explanation, just silence.

I folded my arms and forced a grin. “See? You don’t even have a good excuse,” I said, before turning back to Mary. “We’re going.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Meet us down in the parking lot at seven thirty.”

Kitty joined me, reluctantly. I took a good, long look at her before we left the room. What had changed about her? True, the color had left her cheeks, and her hair, always wild, was even wilder now, untamable. She didn’t even stop to catch her reflection in the little oval mirror in our bedroom. And if she had, I wasn’t certain that she’d even be able to see the change. It wasn’t only her hair, but her figure. Last week, I’d heard Stella whispering to Liz in the mess hall about Kitty taking a second helping of mashed potatoes. “She’s going to go home fifteen pounds heavier,” she had said. Kitty did look plumper now, but her beauty still shone through the mussy hair, pale cheeks, and rounder appearance. Kitty would be beautiful no matter what.

“You look pretty,” I said as we walked out of the barracks that evening.

“No I don’t,” she said. I didn’t like the defeat in her voice.

“Stop it,” I chided her. “I wish you would snap out of this mood you’re in.” I turned to face her. “I miss my old friend.”

Kitty stopped suddenly on the trail, and when I looked up, I could see why. Colonel Donahue was approaching. He tipped his cap at us, but didn’t say a word. A sick feeling came over me as I remembered the incident with Westry. That incident had made me despise the colonel, but seeing the way he dismissed Kitty, without so much as a “Hello, how are you, Kitty?”—especially after the interest he’d taken in her when we’d arrived months ago—well, it made me fume. He was rumored to be seeing one of the other nurses—quiet, with dark hair and a figure that rivaled a pinup girl’s.
He ought to be ashamed of himself.

When the colonel was a safe distance away, I turned to Kitty. “I’ve never liked that man.”

Kitty looked sad, which made me wonder if I’d said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean to—”

She reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. “It’s all right, Anne. You don’t need to apologize. It’s just that . . .” She paused, as if to collect her thoughts, or maybe to consider if anyone was listening from an open window in the distance. The men’s barracks were nearing. “It’s nothing.”

“I wish you’d tell me,” I said. “Are you sad about the colonel’s new girlfriend? Stella says she’s a real dimwit. Or is it Lance? Kitty, did something happen? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Anne, please don’t.”

“All right,” I said, “but will you tell me when you’re ready?”

Kitty nodded, but I feared it was an empty promise.

Just ahead, I spotted some of the men and women piling into a truck. Stella was there, with Will by her side, as was Liz, and Mary, with her new beau, Lou.

Kitty and I climbed in. “Hi,” I said, taking a seat next to Mary.

She beamed. “I’m so glad you two could come. Liz sweet-talked a mess hall cook into joining, and look at the loot!”

Mary pointed to a chest of ice with chicken and potato salad and corn for roasting. Another cooler held an enormous quantity of beer. I looked around the vehicle shyly, trying not to make eye contact with the men. There were many faces I didn’t recognize, eager faces. And Lance was there, seated next to a blond nurse.
What’s her name? Lela, yes.
I shuddered when I thought of Atea, poor Atea. Lance had used her, and hurt her. Perhaps in the same way he’d used Kitty. I hoped Kitty didn’t see the way he was talking to the woman, flirting with her.