by Dan Walsh
If only she knew what he was thinking.
Ben could hardly believe how things had turned out. Barb and Joe had plans to go out for dinner after the concert. Hank had to leave also. His aunt and uncle were driving up from Miami and his folks insisted he be there for dinner.
Ben was actually alone with Claire. And she seemed in no hurry to leave.
Most of the crowd had left the Bandshell. He and Claire followed many of them down the wide concrete walkway toward the amusement park. Claire gently corrected him when he’d referred to it as the boardwalk. Locals called it the “broadwalk,” she said, since it was rather broad and made of concrete instead of wood.
They stopped for a moment to let the crowd thin out, leaned against the railing, and looked out over the ocean. Behind them, the sun was already setting. A string of pelicans flew by over the ocean. Ben watched amazed as they dove down, one by one, skimming one wing just inches above a wave. Just before it broke, the first bird tilted the other wing slightly and instantly rose back into the sky. At the same point, each of the other pelicans did the same maneuver, following right behind him. “Who teaches them to do that?” he said.
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “God, I guess. Looks like it would be so much fun.”
“That has to be why they do it,” he said. “Don’t you think? I mean, it doesn’t seem like something they have to do.” Right then, it dawned on him; he couldn’t remember the last time he did anything just for the fun of it. He looked at another odd sight on the beach, this one man-made. “I still can’t get used to the cars, people driving on the beach. I’ve never seen a beach like this. It goes out so far, and it’s so flat.”
“It’s really just like this at low tide,” she said. “But low tide can last for hours here. And you’re right, I think this is one of the few beaches in the world like this. They actually race cars here.”
“On the beach?”
She pointed south. “Down by the inlet. They created a track there a few years ago. You know where the lighthouse is?”
Ben nodded.
“It’s right around there. I don’t think they’re racing this year because of the war, but I’ve watched a few of them with my dad a few years ago.”
“You mean drag racing?”
“No, stock car races. Maybe thirty or forty cars at a time. They block off traffic and use the beach for one side of the track and Atlantic Avenue for the other. My dad said the straight part is two miles long, so they’re really moving by the time they reach the turn. And it’s so loud.”
“I’d love to see that.”
“Maybe next year you can, soon as this war is over. It’s really exciting.”
Ben didn’t want to say this, but he didn’t see the war ending by next year. The Nazis had far too many men, tanks, and planes. He wouldn’t be surprised if it went on for years. “Maybe I could go with you and your father when they start racing again.”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
Ben turned and faced the Ferris wheel. If pelicans can have fun, he thought. “Ever been on that?”
“A few times,” she said. “The view at the top is amazing.”
“Want to go on it now? I’d like to see that view.” What was he saying? It was too soon.
She looked at the clock tower. “I guess we have time to ride it once, then I probably need to head home for dinner.”
“What time do you need to be home?”
“Five-thirty.”
Before the others had left, Ben had agreed to drive Claire home. He was shocked she’d said yes. “My car’s parked at my apartment on Grandview. It’s only a few blocks from here. I promise I’ll have you there by then.”
“Then let’s do it.”
They walked past the clock tower. The Ferris wheel was just up ahead. He wanted so badly to reach out and take her hand.
“Mind if I ask you something?” she said.
“No.”
“When we were dancing, you said your parents had died . . .”
“And you want to know how?”
She shook her head, seeming embarrassed for asking. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful.”
It was extremely painful, but he wanted to tell her. At least as much as he could. “It happened six months ago.”
“Six months. Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry.”
“It was quite a shock. I still can’t believe they’re gone.”
“Honestly, Ben, you don’t need to tell me any more. I had no idea it was so recent.”
“It’s okay. I probably can’t share too many details but . . . I want you to know.” They walked past a shooting gallery. Ben smiled as he read a handwritten sign tacked above the original: “Practice Defending Your Country—Right Here!”
“Whatta you say, young fella?” the carnival worker yelled.
Ben looked at the man. Popping and pinging noises rang in his ears from four other customers firing away at an array of moving bunnies, swinging stars, and ducks rotating around a metal ring.
“Yeah, you. Whatta you say, young man? Only cost you twenty-five cents. Shoot down five in a row and win this nice big bear here for your best girl.”
“We’re kind of in a hurry,” Ben said. “And she’s not—”
“C’mon, twenty-five cents. I’ll bet you can’t even shoot four in a row. I’ll let you have this bear if you can shoot down four targets.”
Ben looked at the others he’d sucked in to the game. They were all shooting rifles. He noticed on the table in front of them two pistols. “How many do you have to hit if you use the pistol?”
“Pistols? A lot harder to hit moving targets with a pistol. I’ll give up my bear for three in a row. Just three in a row.”
Ben looked at Claire, tried to read if she was sending him any signals. She just smiled back at him. “How many shots do I get?”
“It’s a six-shooter.”
“Claire, would you like that bear?”
“Ben, you don’t have to do this.”
“Would you like it?”
She laughed. “What girl wouldn’t?”
She was being sarcastic. “See anything else up there you like?”
“What?”
“Pick a second prize.” Ben glanced at the man. He had a confused look.
“Okay,” she said, “that tiger looks pretty cute.”
Ben faced the carnival man. “Make you a deal, sir. If I get all six targets in a row, you give Claire here the bear and the tiger. Anything less than six, I get nothing.”
The man smiled. “A wheeler-dealer, eh? You’re on, son. Hand me a quarter and step right up.” The man looked at Claire. “Young lady, you might want to turn away. I guarantee this won’t be pretty.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said.
Ben walked over to the table. The other four shooters must have heard Ben’s challenge. They all stopped to watch. He picked up the pistol, eyed the targets, lifted the pistol, and fired six shots in a row, not a second between each shot.
Down went two bunnies, two stars, and two ducks. Just like that.
The man’s eyes bugged out. He looked from the targets to Ben. “Would you look at that,” he said.
Ben walked over, picked up the tiger and the bear, and handed them to Claire. “Have a nice day, sir,” he said. As they walked away he looked at his watch. “It’s up to you, Claire, but I think I can have you on that Ferris wheel and still back home in time for dinner.”
She looked up at him. “Yes, I believe you can.”
Chapter Eight
“Are they our chaperones up here?” Ben looked down at the stuffed bear and tiger sitting between them. They weren’t moving at the moment; the Ferris wheel was stuck at the top of the circle.
“I guess they are,” Claire said. “Don’t you love the view? Makes me wish he would leave us up here our whole turn.”
“I’d like that.” They were facing south. Ben could see his apartment on Grandview Avenue. And all the way down to the lig
hthouse and the inlet. To the west, a very nice sunset was unfolding. He looked to the east, past the Main Street pier, out to the edge of the ocean.
“See those little lights out there?” she said. “Those are shrimp boats.”
Ben knew this already. He tried to shut down a memory floating into his mind. An image of a shrimp boat through the U-boat periscope. So close, he could see the crew walking on the deck. The U-boat captain had invited him to take a peek. Then he said, “We wouldn’t even need a torpedo for that one. Just the deck gun, pow-pow-pow, and down he’d go. But tonight, we spare them. We are hunting bigger game than shrimp boats.”
“What are you thinking?”
“What?”
“You’re staring off into space again.”
Ben refocused on her eyes, then her lips. A much better image. “Uh, just thinking about what it must be like to be on one of those shrimp boats these days.” Not a total lie.
“You mean because of the war?” she said. Ben nodded. “I’ve heard they’re actually supposed to keep an eye out for German U-boats too.” She turned to look back out over the ocean. “I wonder if there are any out there right now?”
“I doubt it. At least I hope not.” He knew the one that had dropped him off wasn’t anyway. Their next mission was somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. “Hold on.” The ride started again, pitching them forward a little.
“Ben—about that question I asked before the shooting gallery—”
He’d wondered if that would resurface again. “You mean about my parents?”
“I don’t mind if you want to drop it. I just want to get to know you better. I mean, if we’re going to be friends.”
“A friend should know something as important as that,” he said. He didn’t mind that she used the word “friends.” They were friends, and he honestly felt she had added that last part just to be polite. She was starting to feel something more than friendship for him. He was almost certain. The Ferris wheel swung them down at the bottom of the circuit, then lifted them up again. “I wonder how many more times we’ll get to go around.”
“Three or four more,” she said.
Good, he would make this short. “Well, they were killed in a bombing raid.”
She gasped. “Really? Where?”
He couldn’t tell her where. It happened in Cologne, a large German city on the banks of the Rhine River. “We’d made a trip to Europe, to reconnect with some family.”
“Oh, in London? I’ve watched the newsreels. It’s so terrible what’s happening there, all the fires, and the people being dug out of the rubble—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, it’s all right. I wasn’t with them when it happened, thankfully. And I was told it happened quickly, that they didn’t appear to have suffered.” He wondered, was it a lie to let her think it was London? It couldn’t be helped. And it was true; he wasn’t with them when they died. He was in training for his mission.
She patted his forearm. “Do you have any other siblings? I have a brother, Jack. He’s somewhere in England. He’s a waist gunner on a B-17.” She left her hand on his forearm.
“No, it’s just me. We used to live in Pennsylvania, but I didn’t want to go back there . . . after. I came into some money and decided to come here. I’ve never been to Florida before. Just needed a fresh start.” That was a safe way to describe what happened, he thought.
“I’m so sorry. You must miss them terribly. Were you and your parents close?”
“We weren’t as close as I’d have liked,” he said. So very true. “But I definitely loved them. I’d hoped one day we would all come back here and start our relationship over.” He was suddenly overrun with emotion. “That’s what I wanted.” Tears began welling up in his eyes. He had to stop talking.
“I’m sorry, Ben.” She reached down and grabbed the bear’s paw and held it up. “I don’t have any tissues,” she said, smiling.
Ben wiped his eyes with the bear’s paw. It was silly but oddly comforting. As he did, the Ferris wheel stopped. They were at the nine o’clock spot, just a few seats away from the bottom.
“Let’s don’t talk about this anymore,” she said.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
When their seat rolled into the last spot, the attendant unlatched the rail and they got off. Ben handed her the stuffed animals. She looked back at the clock tower. “We better get going.”
“You’re right. Follow me.” He almost reached for her hand. They began walking south along the walkway, out of the amusement area. “It’s only a few blocks. I’m actually looking for another place to live.”
“Somewhere here?”
“Yes, definitely. Maybe one of those cottages near the ocean or a small house nearby. I just want more privacy. It’s not a bad place, where I’m staying now. Just kind of noisy.”
“It might be hard.” She leaned over and said quietly, “With all these WACS in town.” A group of four girls in uniform had just passed by.
“Yeah, I know. Every hotel is filling up. They’re talking about building little tent cities at a few places in town.”
“My mother said they’ve taken over the hospital . . . Hey, speaking of my mom, what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“What?”
“Instead of dropping me off, do you want to stay for dinner?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. I’m inviting you.”
“I don’t want your mom’s first impression of me to be a guy who just shows up unannounced for dinner.”
She stopped walking. “Ben, she’s not like that. Nor is my dad.”
“Your dad will be there?”
“My dad’s always there for dinner. But relax . . .” They started walking again. “You’ll like him. He’s very nice and very easy to talk to. When we get to my house, you just stay in the driveway for a minute, let me go in and tell them.”
“What if they say no?”
“They won’t. I’m telling you, my mother loves company. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you. She’s already seen you. I don’t know when.” They turned left at the corner, onto Atlantic Avenue. She laughed. “She thinks you look like Gary Cooper.”
“Gary Cooper?” Ben smiled but inwardly felt a moment of panic. He’d heard that name in his training. He was a famous singer, or maybe a movie star. He couldn’t remember. “What do you think?”
“I see some resemblance. But he’s an old guy, at least forty.” As they walked, she put her arm around his. More the polite, courteous version than something romantic.
But he loved it, and he imagined one day they’d walk together in the romantic version. He tried to think thoughts like that, instead of the fearful thought of meeting her parents in the next twenty minutes over dinner.
All the questions they’d ask.
And all the new lies he’d have to tell.
Chapter Nine
Ben sat in the driveway, thrumming his fingers on the dashboard, waiting for Claire to stick her head through the front door. Hopefully, to signal it was okay to come in. Darkness had nearly pushed the sunset from the sky. But with the light that remained, Ben could easily tell the house was magnificent. Most of the houses on this part of Ridgewood Avenue were like mansions.
Ben had seen homes this size in Germany, many of them confiscated from wealthy Jews, then turned into headquarters for high-ranking Nazi officers or used for special training missions. Like the estate house his team had been assigned near Brandenburg, out in the Prussian countryside. He remembered something his Abwehr commander had said as they sipped cognac in the living room: “Can you imagine . . . a Jew owning something like this? It’s almost obscene, an absolute waste!”
Claire’s house might actually be bigger than that one. It had two stories, a third if you included the attic. It was surrounded by ancient live oaks with moss hanging down from every limb. A wide porch wrapped across the front and down the right side. At the end of the driveway stood a gara
ge larger than most of the homes on the beachside that Ben had been looking at to rent.
Whatever Claire’s father did, he did it well.
Ben thought about what he’d seen these past two months in terms of the American economy. He’d only spent time in the Daytona Beach area so far. Things could be much worse in other parts of the country. But he hadn’t observed much in the way of suffering or privation. Nothing close to the propaganda he’d heard about back in Germany. War posters were everywhere, challenging everyone to conserve and do their part. The new gasoline and food rationing policies were well under way.
But from what he’d seen and heard on the radio, Americans had much more than the mere necessities of life. Much more than German civilians, now at war for three years. Even the gasoline rationing had nothing to do with a shortage of oil. There was plenty of gas in America for ships, planes, tanks, and automobiles. But since the attack on Pearl Harbor, rubber was suddenly in short supply. America had imported 90 percent of it from what were now Japanese-held countries. The gas rationing was mostly about keeping all those rubber tires off the road.
People were certainly making sacrifices in their food choices. Pretty much everything was regulated. But no one seemed to mind. Everywhere he looked he saw Americans pulling together, cooperating eagerly, full of patriotic zeal. He’d felt it too. He loved this country, loved everything about it.
America had its own propaganda machinery in motion, but it was different here. And he knew what the difference was. Americans were being told to believe in things people should believe in. True things. In Germany, it was all lies. The German people were forced to follow, forced to comply, forced even to wear the smiles on their faces as they looked the other way. Forbidden to say what they thought, to challenge anything they didn’t agree with. Forbidden to even ask questions.
His parents had been lured into a trap. He’d been dragged along with them. And for this, they had paid the ultimate price.
Heil Hitler.
He would never have to say those two words again.
Tap-tap-tap. “Ben?”
He looked up, startled. Claire was right there outside his car window.
