“Yeah, well now it takes a couple of hours a day, three times a week to be my scrawny old self.” Sara sounded a little defensive to her own ears.
“Whoa, now.” Paul held up his hand, his tone apologetic. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t insinuating there’s anything wrong with your size. Just teasing. I have a sister, so I know how sensitive women can be about their weight.”
“And why do you suppose that is?”
“What?”
“Why do you suppose women worry about their weight?”
“Well . . .” Paul hesitated. “I think at this stage, no comment is my best answer.”
Sara rolled her eyes in disgust. “Just like a man to cop out rather than admit the truth.”
“And just what truth are we talking about?”
“That men are to blame. If it weren’t for the way men made women feel about their bodies, their weight, etcetera, they’d be able to eat a slice of cheesecake now and then without having to starve themselves the next day and jog five miles to work it off.”
Paul reached across the table and covered Sara’s hand with his. “Are we talking about all men here or one particular man? Is that how your husband made you feel?”
Sara clamped her mouth shut and stared over Paul’s shoulder.
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her eyes back to his. “I don’t know what sorry excuse of a husband you had or what he did or didn’t say to give you the impression you needed to starve yourself to be beautiful, but he was wrong. I’ve seen the love and devotion you have for your grandmother. It’s beautiful, and so are you. Remember that.” He let go of her chin and took a sip of his Coke.
The tension between them broke when the waitress delivered their meals and refilled their glasses.
“Anyway . . .” Paul changed the subject. “How is your grandmother doing?”
Tears formed in Sara’s eyes, and she struggled to keep them back. “Not well,” she managed to say. “She’s been telling me about the wings?”
“Wings?”
“Yes, wings.”
She explained how she’d found the Navy pilot’s wings tucked in her grandmother’s dresser and since no one in the family had served in the Navy, she had taken them to the hospital. She told him of her grandmother’s reaction to the wings, and that she had shared with Sara the wings history.
“Mmh. That’s sounds interesting?”
“It’s incredibly romantic, but it ends badly.”
“Why?”
“It’s obvious my grandmother loved this man deeply, but she ended up married to my grandfather.”
“Maybe she was happier with him.”
“I don’t know. She told me everyone has one great love in their life—a love that will sustain them through the difficult times. This pilot was hers.”
“Ah, and have you found yours?”
“My what? Great love?” She almost snickered, but something in Paul’s penetrating gaze held her back. She answered honestly, “No. Maybe once I believed in such a thing, but not now.” She shrugged. “What’re the odds? A gazillion to one? If it really exists?”
“Oh, it exists.”
“And you know this because . . .”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“You’re married?” Sara felt a visceral tightening of her gut.
“No, not yet.”
“Engaged?”
“Nope. And before you ask, there’s no one on my radar.”
“Then . . .”
“I only have to consider my parents, grandparents, and my uncle. Theirs was a deep abiding love. I hope one day for the same.”
“I wish you well in that endeavor. Me, I’d prefer to safeguard my heart. It’s been bruised and battered enough.” She thought back to the death of her parents when she was young, her ugly divorce, and now the thought that even her grandparents’ marriage had been a facade convinced her she’d made the right decision.
“That’s too bad. I expect when you give it, you will do so whole heartedly. Some man would be a very lucky fellow to get it.”
She ignored his last comment, took a bite of her dessert and checked her watch before she gave in to the impulse to speak. “As far as I’m concerned, the moral of the story is love hurts, and if you’re smart, you’ll avoid it at all costs. That’s what I think.” She raised one eyebrow daring him to refute her statement, then set her fork down and reached for the check. “And now I really need to get back to the hospital. My sister will want to get home and fix dinner for her family.”
“That’s mine.” Paul snatched the check from her hand. “You drive. I pay, remember?”
He reached for his wallet and threw some bills down on the table. “You can buy the next time. Now, James.” He held her coat out for her to slide into. “Shall we return to the hospital?”
Paul held Sara’s arm as they slowly made their way across the parking lot to the visitors’ entrance. The feel of his hand seeped through her sleeve warming more than the skin below, but also perhaps a layer of the ice encasing her heart. Numbly, she followed Paul off the elevator and down the hospital corridor.
He stopped outside his uncle’s room. “Why don’t you come in for a moment and meet him?”
Still stunned by her unexpected reaction to Paul’s touch, Sara hesitated, but not wanting to be rude, nodded. The rail thin elderly man lying in the bed seemed to barely breathe. He can’t last much longer, she thought. A feeling of deep sadness engulfed her and she struggled for a moment to gain her composure. Facial scars marred one side of his face, and his right arm ended just above the elbow. Her heart went out to him.
“The war?”
Paul nodded. “His plane was shot down and he sustained massive injuries that drastically altered his appearance. From the photos I’ve seen of him in his uniform, he was what you girls today would call a hunk. My grandmother said he used to be full of life, and he loved to dance.”
She noted the photo sitting beside the bed and nodded to it. “His wife?”
“No.” Paul picked it up and handed it to her. “The love of his life.”
Sara stared at the faded photo blinking twice to clear the forming tears. “Oh. My. God.” Her eyes moved from the photo to the man lying deathly still in the bed next to her. “Jack?”
Chapter 23
“What’s his last name?” Sara whispered as she stared at the photo in her hand, then at Paul’s uncle.
“McOmber.”
Sara collapsed into the chair next to the bed. Numb with disbelief. “It’s one in a gazillion.”
“What’s one in a gazillion?”
“He’s Jack.”
Paul nodded. “Yes. His friends called him Jack. He was always Uncle Johnnie to me, though. That’s what my mom called him.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She shook her head. “He’s Jack,” Sara insisted, trying to make him understand what her mind scrambled to do.
“Yes. I just said that.” Paul seemed perplexed by her tone.
“But how can that be if he’s your uncle? He wouldn’t be old enough to have fought in World War II.”
“Great-uncle. My grandmother’s brother.” Paul squatted down in front of the chair. “Help me out here. I’m at a loss as to what you’re so stunned about.”
She turned over the framed photo still gripped in her left hand and held it out to him.”
“My grandmother.”
His eyes searched hers. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
She shook her head slowly from side-to-side. He’s Jack. My grandmother’s pilot—the love of her life. The one she’s been telling me about. She told me he died during the war. She never heard from him again.” Sara glared at Paul as if he were the guilty party. �
��Why would he do that to her—leave her without a word? I just don’t understand.” She stared at the frail man lying in the bed as if she could discern the answers there. “How could he?”
Paul stood from his crouched position, his face set with a hard expression. “Before you say anything else about Uncle Johnnie—”
“Jack,” Sara interrupted sarcastically.
Paul ignored her. “Let’s take it outside. I’m not going to discuss my uncle in front of him.”
“Fine,” she said firmly.
Paul led her to the visitors’ waiting area. Thankfully it was empty.
Sara took a seat in the furthest part of the room.
Paul paced.
“How could he?” she demanded of the man whose appearance she now realized closely resembled Gram’s description of Jack.
“Before any more accusations are made, why don’t you tell me the whole story? Then, I can tell you what bits and pieces I know. Despite what you think, my uncle loved the woman in that photo heart and soul. He’s kept that picture by his bedside as long as I can remember. He once told me, it was the face he wanted to see before he went to sleep at night and the one he wanted to wake to every morning for the rest of his life. There was never anyone else.”
“He never married?”
“No. Now how about you share with me what you know about your grandmother and my uncle, and I’ll fill in what details I can.”
Quelled by Paul’s tone, Sara agreed and relayed the tale of the wings as Grams had told it. When she finished, she glowered at him with righteous indignation.
“Okay,” Paul said, and ran a hand through the side of his smartly cut hair. “Here’s what I know. After my uncle was wounded, he lay at death’s door for weeks at a hospital in England too ill to be transported home. It wasn’t until a year later after the war ended that he was shipped back to a Naval hospital in the states where he spent another year undergoing further burn treatments. He became reclusive—hated people’s reaction to his appearance. Mom said she’d been told by her mom that Uncle Johnnie was never the same after he came back. His eyes appeared haunted as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
“Did he ever mention my grandmother?”
“He never talked much to me about the details, but he kept the picture of your grandmother beside his bed for the last fifty-odd years. As I said, he never married. He told me she was the love of his life. There could never be anyone to take her place.”
“But why did he let her think he died?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think he was afraid she’d reject him. I only asked him once about the photo, and he said, ‘What girl in her right mind would want to be attached to a mug like mine.’ He used to be good looking, but he lost the lower half of his right arm when his plane went down and he sustained severe burns. With modern-day technology, his appearance has improved from what I remember as a child. My mother used to warn me as a kid not to stare at him when we visited. The burns gave him a sort of ghoulish appearance.”
“He didn’t trust my grandmother to love him wounds and all?”
Paul shrugged. “Maybe he did and she ran the other way.”
No, Sara thought as she recalled the love in Gram’s voice when she spoke of Jack. It would take more than wounds to dim that. “You obviously don’t know my grandmother.”
“To be honest, I don’t think he gave her a chance to reject him.”
“Sounds kind of vain to me—hung up on his himself.”
“That’s the funny thing about my Great-Uncle Johnny. My mother once told me that even though girls practically swooned at his feet before his wounds, he never had a head about his appearance. He seemed to take it in stride and treated everyone the same. He was kind-hearted and well liked but after he was wounded he withdrew into himself. She said he blamed himself for his partner’s death. And, of course, there was the loss of a limb, and even if it was by his own choice, the loss of your grandmother.”
“Still, to let her believe him dead,” Sara said incredulously. In her mind, she couldn’t think of any greater sin.
“Better that, than he didn’t love her, don’t you think?”
“No.” Sara knew in her heart her grandmother had lived a lie. She just needed to convince Paul of the fact. “She had a right to know and decide for herself.”
“Maybe, but so did my uncle. I can’t say I necessarily agree with his decision. I don’t know the whole story, but I can understand his thinking. No guy wants to feel less than a man in his woman’s eyes. It would be a tough thing to live with.”
“Men,” she muttered, tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair as she mulled over Paul words. There was something else to the story they were missing. She could feel it, but what? Then it hit her. She remembered the phone conversation her grandmother had with Jack when he told her his mother had left them. Bingo. All the pieces fell into place. Jack’s fear or expectation of rejection from those he loved and his lack of faith in her grandmother had been the bloody culprit.
“What are you thinking?” Paul interrupted her thoughts.
She explained the conclusion she’d drawn.
“From everything I’ve heard, that sounds about right,” Paul agreed.
“But what should we do now?”
“What do you mean what should we do now? What’s there to do? You saw my uncle. I’ll be surprised if he makes it through the night.”
“Grams needs to know he’s alive.”
“Why? It’s obvious she moved on with her life. If my uncle wanted your grandmother to see him he would have contacted her, don’t you think?”
“Possibly,” she quibbled, not knowing really what to think. Was Paul right? Was it better to let sleeping dogs lie, as Grams would say.
Paul ruffled his hair with his hand then smoothed it back again. “I think at this stage it’s a moot point. Do you really think it matters now?”
“I would have said no a couple of days ago, but now after hearing her story—after hearing the love she bears for Jack—I believe she has a right to know.”
“You don’t think it would be painful for her to find out he’s still alive?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sara moved to the room’s window and stared outside, pondering how she would feel if she were in her grandmother’s shoes? She would want to know, and she was pretty sure Grams would too, even at this late date. Grams had longed for years to see Jack again. Did Sara have the right to deny her that now? Mind made up, she turned around and raised her eyes to Paul’s. “I’m sorry, but I have to tell her. I would like you by my side when I do.”
“You’re really going to tell her?”
“Yes, I am.” Mind made up, she stood and strode toward the door then turned. “We should do it right now. You coming?” She raised a brow in question. “Or am I doing this alone?”
Paul grimaced. “Let’s go then,” he said and followed her out.
Sara took the chair beside her grandmother’s bed and reached for her hand. “Grams,” she said softly. “Grams, can you hear me? I need to tell you something important. It’s about Jack. Can you hear me?”
Her grandmother’s eyelids fluttered but did not open.
“Please Grams. I need you to hear me. Jack’s great-nephew, Paul, is here with me and we want to tell you about Jack.”
Gram’s eyelids fluttered again then opened to look at Paul. “Jack,” she whispered. “You’re here. I’m ready love.”
“No Grams, this is Paul Anderson, not Jack. Do you understand me?”
Her grandmother’s tired eyes blinked and refocused on Paul before turning to Sara searching. “Haven’t lost my hearing yet, girl. They say it’s the last to go.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that because I want you to meet someone.” She
motioned to the man standing beside her. “This is Paul. He’s Jack’s great-nephew.”
Her grandmother’s startled countenance returned to Paul, a mixture of first joy and then sadness on her face. She held out a trembling hand. “Come closer. Let me see you.”
Paul stepped up to the bed and grasped the frail hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
A light began in Gram’s eyes that seemed to infuse her features. “You resemble him. It’s been so very long since I lost him, but I’ve never forgotten him. It won’t be much longer now until I see him again.”
“Maybe sooner than you think.” Paul glanced to Sara, waiting for her to speak.
Her grandmother’s confused gaze shifted from Paul to Sara and then back again as if she couldn’t take her eyes off Paul. After a long pause, she asked, “How did Sara find you and why are you here?”
Suddenly not sure whether this was such a good idea or not, Sara cleared her throat and took a deep breath.
Her grandmother waited expectantly, her eyes focused on Sara. “What is it, my dear?”
Sara pursed her lips, then squeezed Gram’s hand before speaking. “Paul is here visiting his Great-Uncle Johnny who is in the room down the hall from you. He’s Jack. Your Jack. He survived the plane crash but was seriously wounded.”
Her grandmother’s already pale face turned ashen at her words and her gaze flicked back to Paul. “I don’t understand.” she managed to whisper, pain and confusion in her voice. “Why? He said he loved me.”
Paul didn’t need to ask what she meant. “He did, wholeheartedly, but he sustained severe burns that drastically changed his appearance and lost part of his right arm. I think he wanted to spare you.”
Gram’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh dear, my poor love.” She seemed to shrink inward as if lost in the past. Finally, ruminating to herself, she said, “He must have thought I’d reject him like his mom, the foolish boy.” Then she made a sputtering sound and suddenly her eyes sparked with an emotion Sara hadn’t expected to see from her grandmother again. Pure ire.
Cherished Wings (Return to the Home Front Book 1) Page 15
