Men in Uniform
by
Turquoise Morning Press Authors
Jennifer Johnson
Margaret Ethridge
Ruth J. Hartman
Lozi Hart
Julie Anne Lindsey
Jennifer Anderson
Patricia Marie Warren
Men in Uniform
Copyright © 2011, Turquoise Morning Press
Digital ISBN: 9781937389451
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781937389444
Editor, Jennifer Johnson
Cover Art Design by KJ Jacobs
Electronic release, November, 2011
Trade Paperback release, November, 2011
The Imposter © 2011, Jennifer Johnson; String of Pearls © 2011, Margaret Ethridge; Mind over Matter © 2011, Ruth J. Hartman; Dorthea’s War © 2011, Lozi Hart; Faith, Love, & the Coastguard © 2011, Julie Anne Lindsey; Knight in Armor © 2011, Jennifer Anderson; Lightning Always Strikes Twice © 2011, Patricia Marie Warren
Published by Turquoise Morning Press for Smashwords
Turquoise Morning, LLC
Turquoise Morning, LLC
P.O. Box 43958
Louisville, KY 40253-0958
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Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the publisher, Turquoise Morning Press.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC.
We admire a man in uniform, and what better way to celebrate it than a collection of stories inspired by men fighting to defend our country, and the women who love them? This sweet collection of romance spans the generations of men of valor from present day dating back to World War II.
Welcome to our collection of:
Men in Uniform
The Imposter
by Jennifer Johnson
Ding.
Paige wrinkled her nose as she stared at Giana’s cell phone sitting on the crate they used as a coffee table.
It was Liam again. The poor guy was deployed in Afghanistan, and Giana was blowing him off refusing to answer emails or calls when Liam’s number came up.
“Giana?” she called to her roommate who was in the bathroom dolling up to go out. “Liam’s emailing you again.”
“I wish he’d get a clue,” her friend replied.
“I don’t see how you can treat him like that, Gi.”
“It’s easy when he’s half a world away.” She walked through the room wearing four inch heels and a tight dress, grabbed her purse, and walked back into the hallway. “Liam’s a sweet guy, but who knows what is going to happen when he gets back, or even what he’s doing over there.”
“He’s probably sleeping in a sand pit somewhere wondering how come you won’t talk to him.” Paige picked up the phone and pressed the Internet email icon.
G, ur on my mind. L.
Paige bit her lip. The poor sweetie.
Glancing back toward the bathroom, she pushed the keys on the screen.
I’m thinking of you too. Miss you.
She pressed send and set Giana’s phone down quickly. In less than a minute, the phone signaled an incoming email.
Y cold shldr?
Why the cold shoulder indeed? What should she say? Because I’m a heartless bitch?
Paige glanced behind her to be sure Giana was still occupied with her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Are you sure you’re done with Liam?” she asked aloud.
Giana marched out of the bathroom, and Paige hid the phone under her thigh. “Look. I just can’t deal with him fighting a war for a year, and he told me most of the guys are having to turn right around and get redeployed within two years of coming home. That’s not the kind of life I want. He’s a nice guy, but even he’s not worth it.”
“Can’t you wait until he gets home to break up with him?”
“I am waiting until he gets home to break up with him. How mean do you think I am?”
Paige gestured to Giana’s attire with a raised hand.
“Oh, spare me, Miss Goody Two Shoes,” Giana defended. “It’d be easy for you to love him. You don’t have a life anyway.”
“Thanks a lot. I think you do enough socializing for both of us.”
Giana smiled wickedly. “That’s right. You go hit the books while I hit the bars. I had two men fighting over me last night.”
Paige resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was pretty sure they both had won seeing as how Giana had stumbled in about eleven o’clock this morning wearing last night’s prowling clothes.
“Where’s my phone?” Giana’s gaze scanned the room.
Paige’s grip tightened on the phone while she, too, looked around as if searching. “Maybe it’s in your bedroom.”
“I haven’t been in my bedroom except to get my dress.”
Paige didn’t resist the eye roll this time as Giana stalked toward the hallway—probably to the counter in front of the bathroom mirror—her favorite spot in the apartment.
Quickly Paige pulled out the phone and sent another message:
I’m changing emails. Will email you from my new account.
Paige pressed send then tapped on the top of the message and looked at his email address.
Got it.
All she needed to do was set up an email account that didn’t include her name in the URL. Liam could have his adoring girlfriend until he came home, and Giana could break up with him properly.
****
Paige and Giana had been roommates since their first year in college. Paige had been too busy keeping her scholarship GPA to date much while Giana’s parents had footed her college ride satisfied with Giana’s average grades. Liam had been one of Giana’s boyfriends. He’d lasted longer than most—two months before he’d left for Afghanistan. Other than superficial greetings when he came to pick Giana up for a date, Paige had had only one conversation with him. But she remembered him. Blue eyes.
She was a sucker for blue eyes.
She’d invited him in the apartment, and watched that sky blue gaze meander about the room. He’d settled on one of her textbooks.
“Are you a medical student?”
“Nursing.” When he didn’t reply, Paige continued. “I’m in the APRN program.”
“I just graduated med school. The army’s the only way I could afford it. They even gave me a bonus for signing. They’re really short of medics right now.”
“Are you trying to recruit me?”
Liam grinned. “Maybe.”
Giana had come in the room then, and Liam had aimed his smile at her before escorting her out the door.
G, EM me. Need some sunshine. L.
From her laptop, Paige studied Liam’s message he’d sent Tuesday. She’d tempered her responses so that he wouldn’t be too suspicious as to who was emailing him. In the weeks before Paige had taken over, he’d rarely gotten anything from Giana, so Paige thought it wise to wait a few days before she messaged him back.
Aren’t you in the desert? Try going outside, soldier. Replenish your vitamin D.
A chat box opened immediately.
Need vitamin G.
Oh. Was she ready to chat with him? The curser blinked at her, waiting.
Eat an egg, she typed.
Need u, he replied.
Not possible. You’re half a world away.
What r u wearing?
Paige snorted. Chat room sex? I don’t think so.
Her fingers touched the keys.
Chastity belt.
Who is this?
Busted! Of course, Giana wouldn’t say she was wearing a chastity belt. Chastity in any form wasn’t in her repertoire. So, what now? Did Paige stoop to chat room sex so he’d believe she was Giana? How far was Paige willing to go to perform her civic duty?
She sighed. She really sucked at sexy.
It’s low across my
Paige hesitated.
hips
Leather?
Paige racked her brain for a clever Giana reply. Maybe.
Send pict.
Dream on, Liam. She exited out of the chat box, but it opened again immediately.
Skype.
Gulp! Liam wanted to Skype with her!
No.
Y not? U nvr answer Skype calls now
It’s too awkward, Liam
Remember when u stripped 4 me whn I first got here. That was hot Skype.
Paige snorted. Please don’t remind me what a slut I can be.
Giana what is wrong?
Raising her hands up from the keyboard, she paused. Obviously, he knew something was up, and wanted her to level with him. Liam knew Giana wouldn’t say things like that. She’d be glad to take her clothes off in front of a camera for her boyfriend. But Paige wasn’t Giana.
I’m a liar and a fake.
Gotta go, Liam. Late for appointment.
Appt at 5 pm?
No. Giana wouldn’t have an appointment on Saturday night. She’d be going out to have fun. Paige, though, had two chapters in hematology to study.
Time for you to be in bed, soldier. Talk to you soon.
Paige closed the chat box.
She’d wait a few days before making contact again. Maybe even a week or two. Giana was really good at ignoring him. Paige needed to be good at it, too.
****
As winter melted into spring and the phlox burst in full bloom, Paige marked Liam’s twelve month stint as half over. A chat box from him opened one night as she sat in the laundry room waiting on her clothes to dry.
Thnx 4 beef jerky & protein bars.
You are welcome.
What r u doin?
Laundry.
Thought u suckered ur rmmate n2 doin that.
Paige huffed. What?
Paige. Nursing student. Didn’t u tell me she washes ur clothes b/c u told her u didn’t know how.
Suckered, huh? Hmmm. Paige glared at the delicates sitting on the washer waiting to be hung up as they were line dry only.
I really don’t know how to do laundry.
y learn when somebody will do it 4 u. If I remember, those were ur wrds.
Why learn indeed.
Paige marched over to the washer, picked up Giana’s delicates, and stuck them in the other dryer. She hated to sacrifice the pretty things….No, actually she didn’t hate doing it after all.
****
When Paige awoke one morning, Liam had emailed her.
G. Pls em 2day if possible. L
She’d emailed him back saying she’d check her email throughout the day and would wait to hear back from him. She was in class when her phone vibrated that she had another message. She gathered her things, shot an apologetic glance at the professor, and left the classroom. In the hallway, she read his email:
Leaving n 12 hrs on reassignment. Want 2 chat w u
Darn it. Why had she left her laptop at home? She hurried to the computer lab. Logging on, she saw his name and opened a chat box with him.
I’m here, she typed. Are you ok?
Yes. Leaving hospital to be in mobile unit.
Where?
Classified. Sorry.
Dangerous then?
U know I’m on active duty, right?
How can I forget? Every night I pray for your safety.
Thnx. It helps.
Will you be in the mobile unit from now on?
Not sure. Lost some MOs there. Vital presence so I go.
MOs?
Medical Officers=drs.
How lost?
The cursor blinked for a full minute before Liam answered.
KIA
Paige gasped. She knew what that acronym meant: killed in action. How should she respond to that? What would the supportive and loving girlfriend do? She had no clue.
What can I do?
Keep praying, and show me ur breasts
Praying yes. Breasts no.
Something to remember as I go 2 my death.
Not funny.
Who’s laughing?
You are not going to your death. You are going to do your job. Lots more soldiers come back alive than dead. Anyway I’m in the computer lab at school. Want me to get kicked out?
When I get home?
Paige hesitated. How should she answer? Giana barely gave him the time of day. Paige doubted she’d be willing to show him her boobs.
No promises.
Need something, G. Excited about going. But scared. U were always so good to flash me when I had a bad day.
Paige laughed and shook her head. So, Giana had a cure for male depression. Her boobs.
When you get back—and if you truly want to see my boobs—I’ll consider it.
How could I not want to? I lie in my bunk and imagine—
Stop.
Do u ever imagine being with me
Yes
How?
No
Pls.
Too personal.
If I die, what’s it matter?
You’re not going to die there.
Please tell me how you imagine us
Paige grinned. He wanted imagination? She’d give him the white picket fence version.
Married. A little boy with your blue eyes. Or maybe a girl. We’ll be in practice together and have a nursery at the office so we can take the baby to work.
Thought u were majoring n English. Did u change ur major again?
Don’t change the subject. I just proposed marriage and children. That’s supposed to make you scream, run in the other direction, and be thankful the danger is IEDs and not wedding bells.
No running. Get to see ur boobs that way. No boobs with IEDs. Only pain.
HaHa. Be safe, Liam.
****
Forgotten what yr voice sounds like
Paige sat in the student lounge and read Liam’s latest email to her then stared at the picture he’d sent her of himself in fatigues, his blue eyes intense against the sunburnt skin in his face.
She’d made it her screen saver, pathetic woman that she was.
It was mid-afternoon in Cullsbaeir, Kentucky which meant it was after ten at night in Afghanistan. She’d received the email fourteen minutes ago. Would he still be at the computer bank? She clicked the on status for chatting and saw he was still logged in.
My voice sounds the same, Liam
Would like to hear it
Soon enough
As if he actually wanted to hear her voice. It was Giana he wanted, Giana he thought he was emailing and chatting with all this time.
2 months. Cant wait 2 hold u. Touch u. Need u now.
I would have thought by now I’d mean more to you than bodily contact.
Y did u delete me from ur Skype contacts?
Ooof. Giana had done that? She was on her third boyfriend since she’d moved beyond Liam. Obviously she was really beyond Liam.
Seeing each other would only make it worse.
Disagree.
Paige watched the curser blink. She sighed.
What do you want from me, Liam.
Skype
No
No video. Picture n voice
Paige huffed.
I’m not the woman you left ten months ago.
Better.
I’m not, Paige wanted to scream. Instead, she typed: Doubtful
Show me.
Paige shook her head. She typed, Hopeless.
Not hopeless. Hopeful
She pounded her fist on the table next to her laptop. He had no idea what a liar she was.
Don’t put your hope in me.
2 late
Paige jabbed the ‘x’ on the corner of the email tab and closed down her Internet connection. The next day when she arrived at the apartment, Giana was there with a gorgeous arrangement of flowers from Liam.
“Look what Liam sent to me all the way from Afghanistan,” Giana said as she stuck her big fat nose in the red roses.
Paige stood rooted to her spot inside the door.
Mine! Those are my roses!
“Isn’t he sweet?” Giana smiled at her roommate as she caressed one of the blossoms. “Maybe I should email him. You know he’ll be home in three months.”
Paige itched to snatch the cut glass vase up with its long stemmed arrangement. She’d never gotten flowers from a man in her entire twenty-two years. She marched through the living room. “Two.”
“What?”
“Two months, Giana,” Paige remarked as she stalked into the hall. “He’s getting home September seventh.”
“Now, Paige, how could you possibly know that?” Giana chided.
In response, Paige slammed her bedroom door.
She hated Giana at this moment. Hated her.
****
Paige lay in her bed trying to memorize a chart of chemical equations for her Anatomy and Physiology test when Giana knocked on her door.
“Paige?”
Paige looked up from her book but said nothing. She was still ticked about Giana getting her flowers even if it was Paige’s own fault Liam had sent them to the other woman.
“Look. I’ve got to go. Can you come out here for a minute?” Her pretty made up face registered desperation.
“Why are you whispering?” Paige asked as she sat up and slid off the comforter.
Giana gestured for her to follow so Paige grudgingly did. She’d gone to her room so she wouldn’t have to look at her roses which were now sitting on the wooden crate in front of the couch next to Giana’s laptop.
“Sit down,” Giana said indicating the place in front of the open computer.
“Why?”
“Please, Paige.” Giana grabbed her hand, led her around the crate, and sat down pulling her on the cushion with her.
On the screen the video image of a man within a Skpye frame grinned. “So, did you find her?”
“Sure did. Had her face in a book as always,” Giana replied.
His hair was cropped close, and a tan T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. He looked like…a soldier. Geez, wasn’t it enough that she had strung poor Liam along? Now she’d found a new victim? “What is this about? Giana, what did you do?”
“This is Steve,” Giana said as she shimmied to the edge of the couch.
“Steve?” Paige glared at her friend.
“Yeah, Steve,” he affirmed. “Nice to meet you, Paige.”
Giana stood and grabbed her purse. “Okay, you two get acquainted. I’ll see you later.”
“Later!”
Giana hurried to the door. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”
Paige watched in amazement as her roommate opened the door and left without a backward glance.
“So, Paige, what do you do?” From the monitor, Steve leaned back in his chair.
“What do I do?”
“Work? School?”
“Do you realize your girlfriend just handed you off to her nerdy roommate so she could go out barhopping?”
Steve threw his head back and laughed exorbitantly. Paige watched him in annoyance.
It wasn’t that funny. In fact, it wasn’t funny at all.
“I’m just keeping the seat warm,” he said with one last chuckle.
“What’s that mean? Is this some Internet dating thing Giana decided she didn’t want to do? Are you in the military?”
Steve shook his head and grinned at her. “You sure ask a lot of questions. I’m in the army. No, this isn’t a dating-thing. I’m married, thank you very much. I have a two year old son who Skypes me every night before he goes to bed. That’s why I’m up. What else did you ask? Oh, yeah. Keeping the seat warm means I’m sitting here making sure no one takes the computer and keeping Skype going until….oh.” Steve glanced over his shoulder and stood. “Great,” he spoke to another person who walked into the monitor’s view then settled in the chair.
Liam!
Steve bent down and peered into the webcam. “Nice to meet you, Paige. See you later.”
Liam thanked Steve and turned to the monitor. Dressed in scrubs even to the surgical cap, he appeared much different than the fatigues in the picture he’d sent.
“Hi,” he said.
Paige blinked at him. It was him. Really him.
“Liam.”
“So, you remember who I am, huh?”
Had she said his name? She’d thought it, sure.
Oh, my gosh. I’m talking to Liam, and he’s talking to me. Me. Not Giana.
Oh, right. Giana.
“Are you doing okay?”
Dots appeared before her eyes, and Paige realized she’d been holding her breath. She sucked in some air then exhaled.
“Paige?” His mouth crooked up on one side making her heart flutter. She forgot to breathe again.
Stupid! She’s going to pass out in front of the web camera if she didn’t pull it together.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Paige squirmed under his gaze. Shoot! She looked horrible. She wasn’t even sure she’d brushed her hair this morning. Catching her face in the monitor, she decided to hate Giana some more. “You remember my name, too. That’s…surprising.”
“Why?”
“You…just talked to me that one time.”
“Ah.” Liam nodded as if he’d figured out a solution to some problem. Did he know she’d been impersonating his girlfriend? Of course not. She was feeling so guilty, she was seeing things which weren’t there.
“Giana’s…not here.”
Liam cocked his head. “Where is she?”
“She…umm.” Paige studied the water ring on the crate instead of looking at Liam while she tried to think of a convincing lie.
Why should this be hard?
She’d been lying to him for months.
But through a keyboard—not on a video monitor.
“She had to go out.”
Paige braced herself for Liam’s crestfallen expression, but it didn’t appear. He watched her as if waiting for more of an explanation.
“What are you doing up at this hour? I thought they moved you to days.”
Liam shrugged then stretched. Paige watched transfixed as his army issue scrub shirt stretched tight over his shoulders.
“They did, but one of the doctors had to fly out on an emergency so I’m covering. How’re your classes this semester?”
“A and P is about to kill me.”
“Oh, yeah? Which part?”
“We’re on the renal system right now.” Paige grimaced. “I had no idea peeing was so important to one’s health.”
Liam chuckled. “Yeah. A lot of chemistry involved in that which affects the whole body. If there’re problems with the kidneys, it gets serious really quick.” His smile faded. “We can do a lot here, but it’s not like being at home. You run into a problem at home, you call in a specialist. Here we’re having to specialize in everything.”
“Don’t you have consultants?”
“Yeah, sure. But the consultation is only as good as what I can tell them or what they can see on the cam. If one of us doesn’t ask the right question….” Liam dropped his gaze and shook his head.
Paige felt his regret as if he were sitting in the room with her.
“I’m sorry, Liam.”
He sighed then shrugged his shoulders. His face lightened, and the sad continence was gone. “Thanks.”
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“You’re doing it.”
Paige shook her head in denial. “Is there anything you want me to tell Giana?”
“Tell her to email me. I really appreciate her emails.”
Her chest ached with the lie.
Those are my emails to you! Me!
The liar.
The imposter.
“She sent me this…” Liam grinned. “cake in a jar. It was really good.”
“Cake in a jar.” Paige bit her lip. She’d found the recipe online at a military wife blog.
“The packages and notes. Emails. They really help.” Liam’s gaze held Paige’s. “Would you tell her that?”
“I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks, Paige.”
****
Paige sat on her bed and stared at her laptop screen. Liam had sent her an email:
Hi Giana. Sorry you had to leave during Skype. What is Paige’s last name? I wanted to put her on my Skype contact list.
Why would Liam want her on his contact list? How would Giana respond to that?
Paige tapped her fingers over the keyboard as she tried to figure out a good Giana reply.
“Paige?” Giana called from another part of the apartment. “Paige!”
Uh-oh.
Paige jumped off the bed to answer the summons. She found the other woman at the kitchen table with her fake nail kit in front of her and her cell phone in her hand.
“I just got an email from Liam wanting your last name so he can Skype you.”
Paige opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say so she shut it again.
“What did you say to him last night?”
“I said…umm…I was having trouble with anatomy and physiology.”
Giana’s eyes narrowed.
“One of my classes. The renal system.”
She crooked her head and stared at her.
“The kidneys and their effect on the body.”
“Is that it?”
“I don’t know. What’s it matter? You didn’t want to talk to him. That was a terrible trick you pulled. I can’t believe you’d bail on both of us like that.”
Giana unscrewed a small tube and poured glue on her nail. “He hasn’t contacted me for months. Then out of the blue—flowers, a Skype, and an email.”
If Giana emailed him back, he’d know something was wrong. Paige had told him Giana didn’t use that account any more.
“What are you going to do?”
The other woman chose a french tipped artificial nail from a pile of nails in a plastic tray. “Probably nothing. I do find it interesting that he’s asking about you.”
“He is in the medical field, and I am in nursing school.”
“And you were talking about anatomy.” She placed the nail on her finger and held it. Then examined her hand.
Paige blinked at her friend glad that her attention was on her manicure and not on the guilty expression Paige was sure she wore.
“Do you want me to tell him your last name?”
“No. Don’t tell him anything.” Paige turned on her heel and walked back to her room. “And don’t ever hand one of your ex-boyfriends off to me again. If I want to Skype Liam, I’ll do it myself.”
“Fine. I’ll send you his contact information then.”
****
Paige didn’t reply to Liam’s email just in case Giana did. Paige could have asked Giana, but the conversation during her french nail replacement had been uncomfortable enough.
They’d never fought over a guy. Never.
And Paige sure wasn’t going to start now.
Why would he email both of Giana’s accounts? She’d said he hadn’t made any contact at all with her until he’d Skyped her after he’d sent the flowers.
Had he figured out that she wasn’t Giana? If so, did he know she was Paige?
She waited a few days before sending him a general email saying she missed him and she hoped he was doing okay. That night while she was surfing the Internet, a chat box opened.
Miss u
You miss Kentucky, and you’ll be coming home soon.
54 days. What s Paige’s last name?
Why? Why do you want to know, and why do you keep asking?
Want to offer help with Anatomy and Physiology
She has textbooks. She doesn’t need your help.
Jealous?
Impossible.
Y?
Paige huffed. She said she does not want me to give you her last name.
Because?
She doesn’t want cast-offs.
Ouch. R we breaking up?
Well. Here it was. Liam had given her the perfect opening to break up with him.
Ur taking a long time to answer.
You’re asking for my roommate’s last name so you can Skype her.
She seems sweet.
Sweet. Give me a break.
What’s wrong with sweet?
You don’t like sweet. You like me. Sexy. Fun. Party girl.
Evrythng u hve done has been sweet. Care packages. Emails. Chatting.
Paige rolled her eyes and typed. Handing you off to Paige because I wanted to go out. That was really sweet.
Hot date, huh?
Very hot.
Thnx 4 telling me the truth. Appreciate the honesty.
Are you mad?
Not mad. Intrigued.
Why? Because you have competition?
No. Because u do.
Paige’s eyes widened as she read his last line. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Surely he didn’t mean...?
No. He was just messing with Giana—trying to get a rise out of her. There’s no way he could be interested in Paige from their brief talk on Skype. That was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
She decided to be Giana-snippy.
Good luck finding out her last name while I go out on another hot date tonight.
She pressed enter and sat back and grinned. If there was a little icon for giving him the finger, she’d put it on there.
Just don’t forget to send me an email now and then.
Sure enough, soldier. Talk to you soon.
One more thing, G…
What?
Tonight when you go out? No Skyping til at least 3rd date, ok? Otherwise people will call u easy.
Paige laughed.
And what does Liam call me?
Lovely.
If u only knew.
Would like 2 know more.
Gotta go. Sweet dreams.
****
A chat box opened on Paige’s computer.
Be home n 1 week
I know.
Meet me?
Not a good idea.
Need u
No, you don’t.
Want YOU.
The woman you want is NOT me.
I want this woman typing to me in this chat.
Paige sighed, her heart heavy for her deception of this sweet man. She needed to tell him.
Even if she isn’t Giana?
His response was immediate. Even if she is Paige whose last name I do not know.
Paige’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the words. In another minute, another line appeared.
Am I right?
Yes. I’m sorry.
Tell me in person n 1 week. Wear yr chastity belt
****
“How do I look?” Giana struck a pose in the high school gym as they awaited the arrival of Liam’s battalion.
“Pretty in a trampy sort of way.”
Among the many family and friends in the large room, excitement crackled. Paige was so nervous, she paced in a circle.
“Gee, thanks. Since you stole my boyfriend, I need to look pretty in case somebody else needs a welcome home.”
“I didn’t steal him. You dumped him. I just pretended to be you so his heart wouldn’t be broken while he was fighting for our country.” She checked her watch. They should be here in ten minutes. Ten minutes!
“You’re so patriotic and such a liar. I’m impressed. Who knew Paige Anderson could pull it off for so long?”
“Apparently, I didn’t. He said he knew almost immediately.” Her head spun, and she stood next to Giana grabbing onto her shoulder so she wouldn’t fall.
Giana held her friend’s arm. “Yeah, how?”
“When I typed in complete sentences and refused to take my clothes off for him on Skype.”
Giana chortled. “Oh, yeah. Either one of those would be a dead giveaway.”
“They’re here!” someone called.
Paige’s heart kicked into double time. She leaned into Giana. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He loves you, stupid. At least via the Internet. He’ll love you in person, too. He always was a little too tame for me.”
“Too nice for you.”
“That too.” Giana shook her off, stepped in front of her, and gazed in her face. She pinched Paige’s cheeks. “You should have worn blush. You look pale.”
The doors opened, and a stream of men and a few women all in fatigues filed into the room. Delighted shrieks echoed off the walls as they spread out and people approached welcoming and embracing them.
Paige’s eyes searched for Liam. Where was he?
Out of the sea of tan, green, and gray he emerged.
Paige couldn’t move.
“What are you waiting for?” Giana pushed her. “Go to him.”
Her feet were glued to the spot. “Go with me. We’ll see who he hugs first.”
“Oh, please, Paige. Why do you make—”
Whatever else Giana said was lost to Paige, because Liam had spotted her. His face creased in a grin a mile wide and his legs ate up the distance between them.
Then she was in his arms.
Not Giana.
Her.
He surrounded her, solid and warm. She closed her eyes and remembered to breathe.
He was here. Really here!
When she began to pull back, he resisted and hugged her tighter. “Not yet,” his voice poured over her.
In a moment, she laughed in embarrassment. “What are you going to do?” she asked as she lifted her face to gaze into his blue eyes. “Hold me forever?”
“Yep.”
String of Pearls
by Margaret Ethridge
“Hey, hey...Steady, Sailor.” Captain Hal Nelson dropped his duffle just inside the armory door and caught the stumbling seaman who plowed into him around the waist.
He propped the young man against the nearest wall, inadvertently groping the flask tucked into the young man’s pocket. If the fumes wafting off the kid were any indication, even money said it was close to running dry. The doors to the cavernous hall swung shut, muffling the strains of the orchestra. The party sparked by V-E Day exploded on V-J Day and looked like it would continue into the new year. A smirk twitched his lips. “Someone call for battle stations?”
The Navy recruit’s eyes opened wide as he took in the double bars affixed to Hal’s dull brown tunic. He snapped to attention. “Sir. Sorry, sir.”
“At ease.”
His chuckle was smothered by the boisterous laughter of another group leaving the Saturday night USO dance. A lightning bolt of panic speared his chest. He squinted at the giggling girls clinging to the arms of two beaming enlisted men, cutting past the Victory roll hair-dos and harsh cherry red lipstick and praying he wouldn’t find a smattering of pale freckles dusting the brunette’s nose.
The woman turned. Her mildly amused smile widened as her gaze slid to the insignia attached to his uniform. Interest sparked in her eyes and he cringed when her steps slowed. Sighting bigger game than the hapless Corporal with his arm wound around her waist, she moistened blood red lips with the tip of her pink tongue. Heat suffused his cheeks, but a quick shake of his head warned the forward dame off the scent. Turning away, he drew a calming breath.
It wasn’t her. Not his Helen.
Dismissing the drunken sailor with a distracted pat on the shoulder, he mumbled, “Carry on,” before making his way toward the double doors.
Drawing to a halt just outside, he took a moment to gather his scattered nerves. He hadn’t been home in a lifetime, it seemed. The unbridled gaiety he’d encountered since he stepped off the troop transport was sometimes hard to stomach. His mother would have called it ‘unseemly’. That is, if his mother weren’t on the other side of those doors fueling the revelers with coffee and doughnuts.
It was almost as if he’d stepped out of H.G. Wells’ time machine rather than off a train cram-packed with returning GIs. For a moment, it seemed like nothing in Troy had changed. The clock tower still loomed over the town. The same rickety bleachers bracketed the baseball diamond where he once played. The counter at Weston’s Pharmacy was overrun with teenagers slurping sodas and eating greasy hamburgers. The Bijou Theater’s marquee still painted the gunmetal sky with bold splashes of red and gold.
He roamed the streets for ten whole minutes before he realized that no one greeted him. Not one person recognized him. He stopped dead in his tracks, blinking up at his old high school in bewilderment. Yes, he’d been gone for the better part of four years, but surely he hadn’t changed that much. And sure, he’d been off at college before he went to war, but he visited once a month, every month, while he earned his degree. He was hardly a stranger to Troy.
Only strangers passed by, giving his overstuffed duffle wide berth and offering up polite smiles in place of the warm welcome he expected. Turning in a slow circle, he blinked away the wash of nostalgia that clouded his vision from the moment he stepped off the train. He spotted the new Oldsmobile dealership on the corner and his brow furrowed. Glancing to his left, he saw that Grandpa Markley’s General Store had been replaced by something called Livingston’s Ladies’ Shoppe and now sported gleaming plate-glass windows. Across the square a brand-spanking-new grocery store proclaimed its sugar supply replenished.
Unnerved by the changes in his hometown, he ducked his head, buried his hands in his pockets, and hurried toward the Armory in a slouch unbecoming to an officer. By the time he reached the cinderblock building that sat at what was once the edge of town but was now practically downtown, he had to chuckle at his naiveté.
The town had grown while he was gone. Of course it had. With the munitions factory over in Alsort and the clothing mills in nearby Jackson and Perryton, it made perfect sense. Hell, the whole area was crawling with industry. And Troy, with its white picket fences, blue watering holes, and small town charm, was a slice of heaven on earth for weary workers.
He stared at the double doors, his toe tapping in unconscious approval of the orchestra’s selection. Shaking his head, Hal tried to concentrate on his mission. The town wasn’t all that changed.
In a gesture as natural as breathing out and breathing in, he slid a finger under the flap of his breast pocket. The scalloped edge of a photograph scraped against war-roughened whorls. The picture itself was battle scarred. Battered and creased from too many nights gazing at it by the light of a Zippo. All too often it had been crushed into whatever pocket was handy when the enemy tested his intestinal fortitude. The back was smeared with his own blood, a memento from the time a piece of shrapnel sliced into his shoulder. As if the nasty scar the field surgeon’s hasty sewing job left behind wasn’t reminder enough.
He pulled the photo from his pocket and stared intently at the image he had long-since memorized. The picture was taken just on the other side of these doors—an impromptu snapshot of the ladies who volunteered to serve as hostesses to visiting servicemen. Ladies including his mother, Lillian, who enclosed the photograph in a letter she sent just before D-Day. Ladies like their next-door neighbor, Sophie Stimson, and her daughter, Helen.
She would be in there. Helen. The girl next door who was little more than a girl the last time he saw her. Helen, the girl who faithfully wrote to a man she barely knew anymore every single week for nearly four years. He loved those letters. Instead of filling the obligatory page with polite well-wishes, Helen dished up juicy local gossip, amusingly scathing tidbits about their friends and neighbors, and always closed with a personal account of how the fish were biting in the town pond.
He’d taught her to fish many, many years ago, taunting a freckle-faced little girl into baiting a hook when she plopped down next to him at the edge of the pond one quiet summer morning. Though she was six years his junior, Hal never minded having Helen around. She was smart and funny. Well-read but not snooty about it, like some of the girls he met in college. She was adventurous but didn’t carry a tomboy’s chip on her slender shoulder.
Even when she was helping him dig for earthworms in his mother’s flowerbeds, Helen Stimson was never ashamed of being a girl. She had no patience for braids, letting her soft brown hair fall to her shoulders in fly-away waves. Each time she passed her mother’s gardenia bush she plucked one of the fragrant blooms from a branch and tucked it into her hair. She folded her bobby socks and squealed over Frank Sinatra, just like the rest of them. The difference was, even as a girl, Helen carried it off with a wink and a smile, as if life was one big joke but she was happy to let him in on it.
That girl was a woman now. His Helen was all grown up, and he had the picture to prove it.
In the snapshot she stood anchored between his mother and hers and smiled graciously for the camera, but there was no disguising the devilish sparkle in her eyes. Girlish enthusiasm had somehow melted into irresistible feminine allure. Her plaid skirts and bobby socks had evolved to chiffon and high heels, but the sun-kissed freckles gave her away. From the moment he laid eyes on that photo, hers was the face that launched a thousand dreams of home and hearth, apple pie and picket fences. His Helen. From Troy.
Smoothing his palm over his tunic, he wiped away imaginary wrinkles and the all-too real flop-sweat that threatened to soak his collar. He hooked a finger into the four-in-hand knot at his throat, willing to give up a finger’s breadth of military precision for one deep breath.
He pulled open one door just as the other swung outward, and he sidestepped two jaundiced but still jubilant Marines. His gaze sweeping the room. Bodies swayed on the dance floor. Laughter rose to the rafters, buoyed by bourbon and the sheer joy of being alive. A woman brushed past him. She flashed an apologetic smile and dove into the fray, her eyes locked on her prey: a tall blonde man resplendent in Navy whites.
The sweet clean scent of dusting powder tickled his nostrils. He breathed deeply, trying to stifle the memory of cheap perfume that rose like bile in his throat. No amount of rosewater could mask the stench of perspiration and desperation that hung heavy in the seedy French apartment-cum-whorehouse.
His friends laughed when he bolted, but he didn’t care. He knew what he wanted, or who he wanted, and it wasn’t some woman who’d give it up for some nylons and a handful of Hershey’s bars. He wanted Helen, and now that Uncle Sam was done with him, his new mission in life was to make her want him too.
He narrowed his eyes and swept the room again. At last, he spotted Helen’s mother emerging from the tiny kitchen area holding a bakery box. Seconds later, Helen appeared gripping the handles of an enormous coffee urn. A pimply-faced Private hovered near the kitchen door. His jaw tensed when the young man leapt to her aid, but the smile she bestowed on the smitten soldier was polite and gratifyingly distant.
She turned to say something to her mother and Hal cocked his head, stealing one last moment to drink in the sight of her. He’d memorized the curve of her cheek and moved on to the wing of her expressive eyebrow when shout set off a dull alarm in the back of his mind. Her creamy skin glowed, outshining the polished pearls at her throat.
Panic clawed at him. He closed his eyes and suddenly was mired down in a foxhole. She looked too clean. He sweltered beneath the brain bucket he used to dig the shallow trench, fetid streaks of sweat trickling down his neck. Her smile was too sweet. His toes curled in his boots, trying to avoid the ice-cold muddy water that inevitably seeped through the cracks. Helen glanced up, her eyes alight with amusement at something her mother said. He curled his fingers into his palm, desperate to hide the months and years of imaginary dirt trapped under his nails. Lustrous waves of cocoa-colored hair cascaded over creamy smooth shoulders.
She was sweet and pure and he…He’d seen too many things no one should ever see, done too many things to deserve something so perfect. Turning away, he focused his attention on the tattered streamers drooping from the rafters, trying not to hate himself for giving in to the illusion that there was anything just and right in war.
He swallowed the lump of shame in his throat, stifled the regret roiling in his belly, threw back his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes as he sought her out again. To the victors go the spoils, and he was one of the undisputed victors. He wanted Helen. He needed her to remind him of the man he once was, and now that the war was behind them, he would spend the rest of his life trying to be the man she deserved.
Just as he raised a foot to take that first step, something thumped him hard between the shoulder blades. Instinct forced him to whirl on his heel. Initial impact made him stumble into the door frame.
“Nelson! Hal Nelson!”
He barely had time to register his own name before a burly Sergeant wrapped him up in a low tackle that crushed the air from his lungs and lifted him from his toes. His hat tumbled to the floor. A round of guffaws and catcalls ricocheted like bullets. Hal laughed, hugging his boyhood best friend, Tim Markley, and pounding his beefy back.
“You made it,” he whispered. A laugh bubbled from his chest. “Holy crap, Malarkey, you made it.”
The old nickname worked like a charm. The Sergeant released him and pulled back, a grin splitting his wide face as he balled his fist. Hal snorted and scooped his hat from the floor then waved the double bars in front of his buddy’s eyes. “Easy, Sarge, I don’t wanna have to toss you into the stockade.”
“Harold!”
The thin, hoarse gasp sliced through the swirl of people gathered around him. Hal’s teasing smile melted with tenderness as his mother pushed through the crowd. She flung herself at him, rocking him back on his heels on impact. Tears seared his throat as violent sobs wracked her narrow frame. He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her salt and pepper waves.
“Hi, Ma. I’m home.”
****
Helen clasped her hands behind her back, lacing her fingers tightly together to keep from fidgeting with her hair, her dress, or the dime store pearls at her throat. Clamping her bottom lip firmly between her teeth, she gnawed the last of her lipstick as she watched him greet friends and neighbors, keeping his weeping mother close by his side where she needed to be.
If she hadn’t been staring, she would have missed the quick glances he tossed in her direction. She hadn’t, though. He was looking at her. Just as she dreamed he would one day.
So she stood there, frozen. A pillar of salt. A lovesick fool with her heart in her throat, powerless to tear her gaze from the brown wool stretched taut across shoulders twice as wide as they’d been when he left Troy. She barely noticed the poor, lonely Private babbling away to her right or the hungry Marine eying the fresh box of doughnuts clutched in her hand.
“Sweetheart?”
Only her mother’s soft-spoken question managed to break the spell Hal Nelson cast over her. She whirled to find Sophie Stimson wielding a tube of Max Factor and wearing a knowing smile.
“I thought you might want to freshen up a bit.”
She flashed the older woman a grateful smile, snatched the lipstick from her fingertips, and dashed into the safety of the kitchen to collect her wits. The cool metal tube warmed in her palm as she pressed her fist into her stomach and gulped three quick breaths. She let the third go slowly.
“Thank you...” Her fervent prayer seeped from her lips on the last wisp of breath.
The orchestra segued into the opening strains of ‘Indian Summer’. Helen pulled the cap from the tube and swiveled the base, ducking her head to catch her reflection in a stainless steel pot. She dabbed lipstick onto her pursed lips, wincing at the orange-y tinge in the scarlet red, knowing her mother’s shade wouldn’t flatter her complexion but desperate enough to use it anyway. Recapping the tube, she blotted away most of the color with the back of her hand then rushed to the sink to wash away the evidence.
Eschewing the tea towel draped over the lip of the sink, she dried her damp fingers by running them over her hair in a vain attempt to tame the wild waves into some semblance of submission. She tugged the seams of her dress, adjusted the décolletage, and ducked her head to peer at her reflection in the obliging pot again.
The first smile she attempted looked so much like a grimace she groaned. The next was an improvement, if not a bit manic. She managed one that didn’t make her look as if she needed an extended stay in a sanatorium and called it good enough. After all, Hal Nelson didn’t come home just to see her, no matter how many glances he tossed in her direction. The man was probably just surprised to find her sans pigtails and fishing pole.
The orchestra slid into a passable rendition of ‘A String of Pearls’ and the jaunty tune gave Helen the boost she needed. Looping her finger through the string of fake pearls at her throat, she plastered the not-so-crazy smile to her face, pulled back her shoulders, and sauntered toward the door.
Her footsteps faltered the moment she stepped into the hall. He was standing there. At her table. Holding a cup of her coffee. Laughing at something Private Whatshisname said and watching the doorway. For her. He had to be watching for her; she was the only one in there.
He stood with his cap tucked under his crooked arm, the heavy china coffee cup dwarfed in his hand. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the dark wool. His eyes crinkled at the corners. He stared straight into her eyes and Helen felt her own smile slipping, melting in the heat of genuine pleasure warming her cheeks.
“Hello, Captain.”
Her greeting came out husky with ache and emotion, the words deepened by years of yearning. She’d loved him since she was twelve years old. Prayed for him every day, and dreamt of him every night. To have him here, home safe and sound, would be enough. Even if she could never have anything more from him, this would be enough.
Something lit in the dark depths of his eyes. He inclined his head in a courtly little bow. “Miss Stimson.”
The smile she suppressed broke free, racing across her face like wildfire. His name rose in her throat—a sob, a sigh, a soliloquy all on its own. “Hal.”
Placing his cup and cap on the table, he skirted it in three long strides, reaching for her as she reached for him. His fingers closed around hers, enveloping the cool digits in the warmth of his palms. Pressing them together, he held them to his chest as he grinned down at her.
“How’re the fish biting, kid?”
A laugh burbled from her lips as moisture tangled in her eyelashes. “Like crazy, Hal. They’re biting like crazy.”
He shook his head, a rueful smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much every one of your letters meant to me.”
Feeling foolish, she plastered on a brave smile and gazed just past his shoulder as she blinked back the scalding tears. Her gaze riveted on the whirling, twirling dancers, she tossed off a shrug. “I told you I’d write.”
His grip tightened on her hands, jerking her attention back to him. The rough pad of his thumb caressed her knuckles. His breath stirred her hair. “I lived for your letters, Helen.”
She glanced up and tumbled into those bittersweet chocolate eyes. “Hal…”
Her mother bustled past with a tray full of clattering coffee cups and the spell was broken. He released her hands, color tingeing his ears as he took a smart step back. She pressed her hand to her parched throat, tangling her fingers in the pearls as the hive of activity around them buzzed to life once more.
Forcing a polite smile, she dared a glance from under her eyelashes. “When did you get home?”
He chuckled and made a show of glancing at his wristwatch. “About forty minutes ago.”
“Oh!” A laugh bubbled up from her chest. “You didn’t waste any time looking for a good party.”
“I didn’t waste any time looking for the people I wanted to see.” He nodded to their mothers then turned back to her, pinning her to the spot with his direct gaze. “I knew where you would be.”
“Oh.”
The song ended and the smattering of applause was all the encouragement the band needed to lurch into ‘Pennsylvania 6-5000’. The flamboyant bandleader garnered a sprinkling of snickers with his theatric gestures and flourishes, but the couples crowding the dance floor sprang to life.
He hooked a thumb toward the stage. “An aspiring Glenn Miller?”
Helen fiddled with her necklace as she tossed a glance at the stage and shrugged. “Aren’t they all these days?”
A smirk twisted his lips when he turned to inspect the entertainment. Helen took full advantage of his distraction by inspecting him. Dark circles told a tale of too many endless days and a myriad of sleepless nights. Dark stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw, marking the hours since his last shave. His hair was freshly cut but markedly longer than it was when he left. His long, lanky physique had filled out. He turned back, and she quickly averted her eyes.
“Maybe that guy’s plane shoulda gone down instead.”
Her jaw dropped and her fingers tangled in the beads. The string snapped and pearlescent beads scattered at their feet as her shocked gaze flew to his face.