Part 11 (1/2)
”That was Joanie on the phone, calling from Coronadoa” Vince stopped short at the door to their bedroom.
Charlie was fast asleep, curled up on their bed, surrounded by a packet of old letters tied up with ribbon and a small pile of cloth-covered books.
Letters from James.
And her journals.
The first time he'd seen that notebook with the roses on the cover was decades ago, as she hurriedly cleared her things from her bedroom to make room for him there.
That was after he'd done a nosedive onto the Persian rug that covered the worn floorboards of Senator Howard's office. It had been day four of waiting for five short minutes of the man's nonexistent time.
Vince had protested as stridently as possible as Charlotte brought him home with her in a taxi, which perhaps wasn't very strident considering he was shaking with fever and unable to stand on his own two feet. Aside from going to a hospital, the last thing he'd wanted to do was to remove her from her own bedroom, in her own home.
”Our spare room is very small,” she informed him as she helped him slowly climb the steps to the front porch of her apartment. It was a two- or three-family housea”he couldn't tell how many apartments it held just by lookinga”and although the entire place needed paint, it was neat as a pin. ”We can't possibly take care of you in therea”not much fits besides the bed.”
The spare room was sized to hold a baby's cradle, he'd later found out. It was a room Charlie and her husband James had never gotten around to using, thinking they had all the time in the world to start a family.
”Mother!” she shouted as she maneuvered him around the screen and pushed open the door to the house. He looked up to see a gold star hanging in the front window. Someone in this house had lost a son in the war. ”Edna! I need help!”
A woman came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. ”Oh, dear Lord!” She rushed toward them.
”I just need to sleep,” Vince said, as Charlotte and her mother-in-law half carried, half pushed him up the stairs of their house. ”I don't want to trouble you any further. Please, you've already been more than kind bringing me here.”
”He flat out refused to go to a hospital,” Charlotte told her mother-in-law. ”I didn't know what else to do.”
”He's barely a child,” Mother Fletcher said. She was a large-boned, gray-haired woman with a booming voice that reminded Vince of the nuns in his grammar school.
”I'm twenty-one,” he felt compelled to say. ”Old enough toa””
”Old enough to go to war and get shot, apparently,” Charlotte finished for him tartly. ”Like most of the young men in America today. In here. In my room, Mother.”
It was two against one, and together they efficiently removed his overcoat and gently pushed him into Charlotte's bed.
G.o.d, the sheets smelled just like her. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep forever, with Charlotte Fletcher's sweet perfume giving him beautiful dreams.
”That uniform's got to come off,” Mother Fletcher told Charlotte in that voice that would have been perfect for the stage. Now, however, it only managed to drill its way deep inside his throbbing head. ”Where are your injuries, young man?”
His right leg and his hip, in places that were private. There was no way he was going to let either of them see the bandages, let alone his wounds. ”Just gotta sleep,” he said, as the room swam. And both Charlotte's and the elder Mrs. Fletcher's facesa”one young and one old, but both lined with worrya”swirled and faded.
Vince came to as naked as the day he was born and only slightly more lucid. Lucid enough, though, to realize that he was partially covered by a sheet, but, G.o.d, only partially.
Mother Fletcher was wiping his forehead with a cool cloth, and Charlottea”oh, s.h.i.+t! She was re-bandaging his thigh. Jesus, it hurt. But the pain was nothing compared to the sheer embarra.s.sment.
”He needs a doctor,” Charlotte said. ”He needs penicillin.”
”I'll call Dr. Barnes.” Mother Fletcher disappeared. Leaving him alone in the bed of the woman of his dreamsa” who literally had to move his b.a.l.l.s aside to bandage his leg.
”No,” he said. ”No doctor.”
Charlotte looked up at him, startled. Her eyes were so blue. ”You're awake.”
”Can't go to the hospital. They'll send me away from Was.h.i.+ngton. I... need my clothes. Where are my clothes?” He tried to pull his legs away from her while still keeping that sheet covering him. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down, pinning his shoulders.
”Your uniform needs a good was.h.i.+ng,” she told him sternly. ”What have you been doing, sleeping in it?”
Yes.
”You're burning with fever.” Her hands were so cool against his face, he just wanted to close his eyes and drift away again. But he couldn't.
”I can't go to the hospital. I need to talk to Senator Howard.” He focused on her very blue eyes. Despite her efficient demeanor and her seeming inability to smile, she'd been the kindest person in the senator's office. In all the days he'd spent in the waiting room, she'd made a point to greet him each day by namea”Private DaCosta, never Vincea”and to talk to him. She'd even brought him lunch. Not that he'd had much of an appet.i.te. He'd been fighting this d.a.m.ned fever even then.
He reached for her hands. ”Promisea”you won't let the doctor send me to the hospital.”
”If I do, will you promise to lie still? And to let Mother and me take care of you properly? Those wounds of yours need re-bandaging every day.”
G.o.d, how mortifying. If he stayed here, then every day she would have to ... He closed his eyes. ”Can't let you ... do that. That's ... more than you counted on when you brought me here.”
”There's very little I count on these days, Private. We're at war. It helps to have no set expectations.” She moved back down to his leg. ”This must hurt you very much. It's mostly healed, but it's definitely infected. I'll try to be quick.”
Pain seared. ”Oh, G.o.d!”
”Where did this happen?” she asked. ”Where were you wounded?”
”Tarawa,” he ground out. She was trying to distract him, and he answered her. Let her think that it helped. ”Gilbert Islands. South Pacific.”
”I know all about Tarawa,” she said darkly. ”The j.a.panese fortifications were so much stronger than anyone expected. The casualty lists were beyond heartbreaking. It must've been awful.”
Vince made a noise that he hoped sounded like agreement.
”Thank G.o.d you made it back home. Your mother must be so relieved. Which reminds me. You must let me ring your family. I'm sure they're worried about you.”
”Mother died... I was nine,” he managed.
”I'm terribly sorry.”
”Pop's with my sistera”I sent a postcard... a couple days ago. No phone. Oh, Jesus, oh, Christ!”
”I'm so, so sorry.” Her voice shook, but she quickly regained control. ”Part of the old bandage was stuck. It's off now. The worst is done. I promise.”
He was crying. G.o.d, what a baby. He tried to wipe his eyes, wipe his face, but his G.o.dd.a.m.n eyes just kept on tearing. The intense pain had subsided, but the accompanying waves of nausea continued.
Charlotte pretended not to notice his tears, the same way she pretended not to notice that she was bandaging him mere inches from his family jewels. Every now and then she tugged the sheet back to cover him more completely, but he got the sense that was more for his sake than for hers.
G.o.d, he was completely mortified. And yet things were about to get even worse.
”Sorry.” He tried to sit up again. ”I'm sorry, but I'm going to be sicka””
She was ready for him. She had a basin in front of him in a split second, and a strong arm around him, holding him up as he lost what little food he'd forced at noontime.
”I'm sorry,” he gasped.