Until Tomorrow

by Kari Lee Harmon

  She had no tolerance for people like that, which was probably why she didn’t have many friends. Soldiers dying in the war were the real tragedies. Silk was rationed as well as green and brown dyes, leaving women to opt for more red-dyed, simply-cut blouses, shirts, and knee-length skirts. In fact, a lot of the men’s suits were remade into square-shouldered jackets to match the women’s skirts. Sturdy and sensible made sense. How pretty she looked had always been an afterthought for her.

  It only took fifteen minutes to arrive at The General Store. She came in through the back door and made her way to the front. The store had all sorts of goods, from food supplies to clothing to hardware goods to hunting paraphernalia. It had been a staple and success in Beacon Bay both before and now during the war. She heard her husband talking to a few older men up front. His vision wasn’t the best, preventing him from joining the army or navy, but she gathered from his conversation he wasn’t all that heartbroken over not being able to go fight for his country.

  “We never should have joined the war in the first place, if you ask me,” William said from behind the checkout counter, looking larger than life with his tall height and stature. “It was none of our business.” The war had put restrictions on men’s clothing as well. He wore more narrow black trousers and a simple white shirt with the cuffs turned up. His only accessory was a fedora he’d placed on the hook by the front door next to his short jacket. His clothes were suddenly forgotten as his negative words drew Kathleen to his side.

  “Oh, you can’t believe that, can you?” she said without hesitation, coming up behind him and setting his dinner on the counter. She pulled off her matching red hat and gloves as she talked. “Hitler’s a monster, and the whole world recognizes that. I say it was about time the United States got involved. I don’t know how anyone could stand idly by and not retaliate after a tragedy like Pearl Harbor.”

  “I agree, young lady,” one of the old timers said, looking at her with surprise yet he seemed impressed.

  “You sound like my son,” another old man responded with a sad smile, shaking his head as if he didn’t see the sense in any of it.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” William cut in with a pleasant smile of his own. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I steal my wife away for a moment.”

  The men grinned wider with knowing eyes, responding with, Not at all, and, Take your time.

  William wrapped his arm around Kathleen, resting his wide palm on her lower back possessively, and the first little thrill raced up her spine, giving her hope they might stand a chance after all. He grabbed her hat and gloves from the counter as he led her through the back room until they escaped into the bright sunshine and fresh air. Kathleen turned around in anticipation, wondering if this was going to be a turning point in their relationship.

  A sharp pain exploded in her stomach, and she was sure she felt her rib crack. She doubled over in agony, struggling to catch her breath and fell to her knees. Her vision faded in and out as stars danced before her eyes. What had just happened? It took her several moments, but finally she was able to pick up her hat and gloves and stand up straight to look her husband in the eye. She sucked in a breath.

  Big mistake.

  He looked like a monster. She stumbled back a step. His thin, flat lips were curled into a snarl and his brown eyes were filled with fury. She didn’t recognize him at all. “How dare you,” he growled. His hand was still fisted.

  “W-What did I do?” she managed to get out on a whisper-filled sob.

  “Don’t you ever contradict me in front of anyone again, do you hear me?” He thrust his finger in her face, and she flinched.

  “I didn’t contradict you. I know you can’t join the war even if you want to because of your vision. I voiced my opinion on the war, not you, that’s all.” Fear like she’d never known seized her body, her muscles stiff and frozen, leaving her vulnerable.

  She didn’t know what to do. What to say. How could this be happening? She’d lived with him for two weeks and hadn’t seen any signs that he could be capable of something like this. His father had been hard on him when he was a little boy, and from what she could tell, he still was even as a man. She’d seen that while growing up, but she’d never really known his father. No one had ever hinted that he’d abused his son, but if he hadn’t, then William must have been born pure evil. The thought of being married to someone like that terrified her.

  “You’re a woman. You don’t have an opinion,” he hissed. “You made it sound like I am less than a man and a coward. No wonder you were still single at your age. I’m your husband. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “I promise you it does.” She looked him in the eyes and silently pleaded with him not to hurt her again.

  Suddenly he changed, as if her look was one he knew well, reinforcing her fear that he hadn’t been born a monster. He’d been raised into one. The rage left his face as quickly as it had appeared. He took a shaky breath, and then he wrapped his big arms around her, pulling her in for a tender hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want to strike you, but you understand why I had to, right?”

  His touch made her skin crawl, like tiny little bugs scurrying about beneath her skin. She fought back the impulse to vomit and pull away, though she would never forget his musky scent. It was ingrained on her brain, and she instinctively knew it would always bring back this haunting moment of his betrayal: the fear, the pain, the fury. “How dare you,” he’d said. How dare he, she thought.

  Clamping her jaw tight, she nodded once sharply, hoping it was enough.

  “Thank you for dinner, by the way. It was sweet of you.” He tipped up her face and pressed his wide, firm, dry lips against hers. “I love you.”

  “Me too,” she ground out through her teeth and pressed her lips into a tight line. “I’ll see you at home.” She turned around and walked away as quickly as her shaky legs would carry her. As soon as she was out of his sight, she found the nearest bush and vomited as she crumbled beneath the weight of her tears. Her mother was wrong. He wasn’t going to take care of her. He was going to ruin her if she let him. The problem was Emma wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to do anything about it. Because if she did….

  It would surely be the end of life as she knew it.

  2

  Present Day: Beacon Bay, Maine

  Logan Mayfield poked his head out the door to the waiting room of Beacon Memorial Hospital’s emergency room. It had been a slow night. Not that any night was particularly busy. They mostly saw boating or fishing accidents, broken bones, and cases of the flu or pneumonia. Occasionally they saw a heart attack or stroke victim, but that was about it. They didn’t really have crime in Beacon Bay, so they never saw cases of stabbings or gunshot wounds other than unfortunate hunting accidents. All in all, they didn’t have a lot of death in Beacon Bay. That’s one of the main reasons he’d moved to Maine from New York City six years ago.

  His wife Amanda had died four weeks after giving birth to their son Trevor from complications during childbirth, which led to her hemorrhaging weeks later. Logan had been on his own in raising the infant every day since then. Amanda was from Beacon Bay, and her parents still lived here. They were good Christians and would provide a stable family network for Trevor. That was the other reason Logan had left such a prestigious position at a high-profile hospital. If he couldn’t give his son his mother, then he would give him the next best thing: his wife’s family. He owed her that and so much more.

  It was his fault she had died.

  Logan had grown up an orphan with no family to speak of. He didn’t want his son to go through what he did. And with no hope of future brothers or sisters, Amanda’s parents were the only family Logan could give him. Besides, Logan wasn’t too proud to admit he needed all the help he could get. He’d put himself through college and med school, vowing to make a name for himself at any cost. But then he’d met Amanda and realized some costs wer
e too high. She’d been the angel in his life from the day he’d first met her at Columbia University. She was in the nursing program, and he was in medical school. They’d fallen in love, gotten married, and had a beautiful baby boy.

  Then she died and left him empty.

  Logan’s heart ached, and his chest felt heavy. Just thinking of her pale blonde hair and blue eyes still tore him up inside and haunted his dreams every night. Trevor had his mother’s hair and eye color but his father’s curls and size, by far the biggest boy in his first-grade class. Logan had specialized in being a trauma surgeon, but then his wife died and he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to save her. He would always be there for his son, but he would never quit punishing himself or forgive himself for what he’d done.

  Logan and Trevor moved to her hometown of Beacon Bay, Maine where he was the head ER doc. Beacon Bay was a small town, but they were fortunate enough to have their own hospital. The hospital wasn’t big, but it served its purpose well. Living in Beacon Bay made it impossible not to know most of the residents, but Logan had managed to keep his wall up, refusing to get emotionally involved with anyone. He loved helping people and was good at his job. He was in his mid-thirties now. His work and his son would have to be enough for him because he didn’t deserve anything more.

  He was about to walk out of the waiting room and back to his office when the front door opened on a gust of wind. It was dusk already as the days hadn’t yet grown longer. Most people were home for dinner by now, but the woman who entered wasn’t most people. In fact, he didn’t recognize her at all. She was a little thing—maybe five-foot-two—sharply dressed in designer jeans, boots and coat with a sophisticated-looking auburn bobbed hairstyle like something you would see in a trendy magazine. Definitely not local. Except her hair was all straggly waves from the rain now. Obviously, something had gone horribly wrong for her today. That aside, she reminded him of the high-profile women who came from money that he had known back in his New York City days.

  Maybe she was a tourist passing through on her way to one of the bigger coastal towns. A lot of people toured the coast of Maine from spring through fall, but not many stopped in Beacon Bay. He frowned. Her hand was bleeding. Her eyes met his for a moment, and a strange sense of déjà vu swept over him. He felt this instant connection as if they had met somewhere before, which was crazy. He never forgot a face. His frown deepened, and she drew her eyebrows together, looking puzzled yet curious over why he was staring at her like that. He cleared his throat, donned a neutral expression, and then sent her a nod of hello before slipping back into the hallway and heading to his office to wait.

  When the nurse was finished prepping the patient, she called him in. He walked into the room, wearing a stethoscope around his neck over his blue scrubs. He’d always hated white lab coats, feeling like they made a doctor look stuffy and unapproachable. He skimmed over the patient’s chart and then turned to her with a pleasant expression meant to put her at ease. He’d always been complimented on his bedside manner, which he worked hard on.

  He was a big man, at well over six feet, with thick, black, curly hair, an equally thick, black beard that remained heavily shadowed no matter how close he shaved, and eyes that were such a dark brown they looked like espresso coffee. That could be intimidating to the toughest of men, let alone women and children. Underneath it all, he was a giant teddy bear.

  Holding out his large hand, he said with a pleasant, approachable tone, “Hello, Ms. Hendricks, I’m Doctor Mayfield. Welcome to Beacon Bay.”

  She shook his hand with her much smaller good one and met his eyes with strong, intelligent amber pools of skepticism. Looked like he wasn’t the only one with walls up. “Thank you, though I’m not sure how welcoming your town has been to me.” She held out her injured palm.

  “I can see that.” He took her hand, held it palm up, and inspected the damage. “That cut’s pretty deep. You’re going to need stitches. Lucky for you, I’m pretty good with a needle and thread.” He tried to lighten the mood.

  She arched a brow.

  Tough crowd, he thought and bit back a chuckle. He instructed his nurse to bring him his supplies. “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

  “I’m a journalist. Never know where the job will take me, Doc. No worries. I’m up to date on all my shots.”

  “Good to know.” He cleaned her hand, propped it up, gave her several shots until the entire area was numb, and then talked while he worked. “So tell me, Lois Lane. How did you get this nasty cut? And why in the world are your clothes damp? Did you hit your head, too? You do know it’s not summer yet, don’t you?” Even beyond the smell of seaweed and fish and salt water, she smelled good. He detected expensive cologne, hair products, and lotions. She came from class, and no matter what she did, he imagined she wore it well.

  “Funny, but trust me, there is no Superman in my life,” she said as if without thinking, her eyes filling with pain and confusion for a brief moment but then she seemed to catch herself and corrected her tone to one of a news informant. “I was walking along the coast when the tide was low and I saw something shining.”

  “Cat that ate the canary?”

  “Something like that.” Her lips tipped up a hair as if against her will.

  “You know what they say about that cat, right?” He never lost focus on her hand as he continued to stitch.

  Her tone sobered. “Curiosity can be deadly, I know, but hey, it’s the nature of the job. Anyway, when I set out to investigate, I discovered an old bottle wedged between two rocks. I had to break the bottle to retrieve my treasure.”

  “Treasure?” This time he was the one to raise his brow as he looked up from his stitching to study her.

  A flash of excitement swam into her eyes. She reached into her pocket with her good hand and pulled out a faded, yellowed map and held it up to him. It had a coded message written on it and at the bottom was signed, Until Tomorrow, followed by the name Kathleen Connor. The corner was cut off, but the rest of the map was legible.

  “Interesting,” he said as he studied the map. “Deciphering coded messages was a hobby of mine back in my college days when I took an art history class and got caught up in hieroglyphs.” His curiosity piqued, but then he thought of something and his sensible doctor brain took over. “When exactly did this happen?” He went back to finishing with her hand.

  She shrugged and seemed to contemplate that. “Maybe a half hour ago. I came straight here.”

  “That wasn’t very smart.” He was already shaking his head.

  Her eyelids narrowed. “Bleeding hand, wet clothes, and hospital emergency room: what’s not smart about that?” Man, she had a razor-sharp edge. Someone had wronged her big-time, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Treasure hunting at night when the tide is coming in.” His gaze met hers once more, only this time he was far from enamored. “That’s what’s not smart.” Wronged or not, she needed to face reality and start making smarter decisions.

  She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t treasure hunting. I was walking. I can’t help it if the journalist in me is wired to investigate strange occurrences. A sparkling object at low tide in an area not usually traveled by humans is worth checking out. I knew I might not get another chance at discovering what it was if I didn’t react when I did.”

  He wrapped her hand while carefully considering his words. “Nothing is worth risking your life over.” His voice grew quiet yet firm.

  If he hadn’t married Amanda and gotten her pregnant, she never would have died. He adored their son Trevor, but his wife had paid the ultimate price by being with him. He would never make that mistake again. Emma reminded him of Amanda: petite yet full of adventure. People like that didn’t think first, they acted—consequences be damned.

  Emma Hendricks was the most interesting person he’d met in six years, but he couldn’t afford to be interested in anything except taking care of his son and his town. There was so much bad going on in the world: people fi
ghting for their country, children starving, the homeless just trying to survive. He couldn’t save the world, couldn’t even save his wife, but at least he could try to make a difference in his town. It was his penance for what he had done, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. It would never be enough.

  Because no one knew what had really happened.

  May 1942: San Francisco, California (the Pacific West Coast)

  Manning his station, Petty Officer Rutherford kept watch aboard the USS Tennessee as it patrolled the West Coast. It was early morning, the sea spray misting the sky, mixing with the daily fog that matched Joseph’s gloomy mood. All was eerily quiet, leaving a soldier too much time to reflect on the past—a place he never wanted to go again but was determined never to forget.

  All Joseph Henry Rutherford III had wanted to do was help people and get involved. He came from a small town in Maine called Beacon Bay, but his family was wealthy. They had made a name for themselves in shipbuilding and were pillars of the community. He could have been anything, but he’d chosen to enlist in the Navy in the summer of 1940.

  His parents hadn’t been happy with him joining the Navy and getting stationed on a battleship in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, but he’d told them that was about as far away from the war as a soldier could get. It was like going on a beach vacation. After Hitler invaded Poland in September of 1939 and World War II started, he’d had so many friends go off to Europe to join the Allies in the fight against the Axis, never to be heard from again. Joseph hadn’t felt right about sitting back and doing nothing except being a spoiled rich playboy. He’d simply wanted to grow up and do his part.