“What are you going to do this summer, Gran?”
While Jordan toiled at a temporary, usually low-paying gig each year, Grandma Meredith volunteered her services to any charity or non-profit that needed an extra set of hands.
“I haven’t decided yet.” Grandma Meredith sipped her coffee, a pensive look on her face. “This year, I think I’ll play it by ear.”
“That’s new. You normally plan every day of your trip from start to finish. Sometimes every minute.” Before Jordan could ask what had prompted the change, she noticed a man with thinning salt-and-pepper hair staring at their table. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t look now, but the late-in-life Lothario across the room is looking at you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re the last drink of water for miles.”
Grandma Meredith didn’t bother to give the guy a first look, let alone a second. “I’m sure he’ll find an oasis somewhere.”
When the food arrived, Jordan took a picture of her sandwich with her phone and uploaded the photo to two of her favorite social media sites. “Papa George died when I was nine,” she said, giving the molten cheese sauce time to cool so she wouldn’t burn the roof of her mouth the first time she took a bite. “Twelve years is a long time to be alone. Don’t you want to meet someone else?”
Grandma Meredith smeared honey on her toast. She looked outwardly calm, but something in her eyes hinted at inner turmoil. “I think we’re all entitled to one great love, two if we’re lucky. I’ve already met my quota.”
Jordan’s memories of Papa George were growing fuzzy but remained fond. She remembered how he used to dote on her and how he would spend hours making her laugh. She remembered him reading her bedtime stories and tucking her in at night. She remembered him making up funny songs while she, he, and Grandma Meredith skipped stones on the pond in their backyard. She remembered a man admired by all who knew him.
“Papa George is a pretty tough act to follow, and anyone you brought home to meet the family would have to earn my seal of approval before he’d be allowed to spend time with you.” Jordan winked to let Grandma Meredith know she was only seventy-five percent serious. Okay, maybe eighty. “Take a chance. Put yourself out there. If you meet someone, great. If you don’t, at least you had some fun along the way. That’s always been my motto. Why don’t you borrow it for a while?”
She took a breath as she tried to gauge Grandma Meredith’s reaction to her words. Grandma Meredith’s blank expression didn’t give away what was going on behind her eyes. Jordan took an uncertain step forward.
“Papa George wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Grandma Meredith said firmly. “I have bridge club, garden club, afternoons at the Y, and my volunteer work.”
To Jordan’s ears, those things sounded more like entries on a to-do list than the ingredients for a happy, well-rounded life. Something—a very big thing—was missing.
“I’m sure your volunteer work is fulfilling, but don’t you want to be fulfilled in a way that’s a lot more fun?”
She waggled her eyebrows to make sure Grandma Meredith got the joke. She could be so dense about sex Jordan often wondered if her mother was a product of Immaculate Conception.
Grandma Meredith demurely reached for her orange juice. “If you were younger, I’d wash your mouth out with soap.”
“Why? You’re the one who taught me to say whatever was on my mind.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I also taught you the value of running your thoughts through a filter before you give voice to them.”
“That takes too long. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, I always say.”
“Before or after the cops slap the cuffs on you?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Grandma Meredith always gave her grief about her confrontations with those in power, but Jordan could tell she was proud of her for being willing to take a stand on issues others chose to avoid. “Before he died, I’d be willing to bet Papa George gave you permission to move on. Why don’t you take it? I know he was the love of your life, but—”
Grandma Meredith’s expression grew stern.
“Your grandfather was a good man and the best friend I’ve ever had, but he wasn’t the love of my life.”
Jordan couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Her grandparents had the strongest marriage she had ever seen. When they were together, they were like school kids holding hands on the playground. Deliriously in love and with eyes only for each other. Had she misjudged what she had seen? “What do you mean? You two seemed so happy. Are you saying that wasn’t the case?”
“We were happy. We had your mother and then we had you. I wouldn’t trade the life we had for anything.”
“But you didn’t love him.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I loved him more than words can say.”
Jordan picked up her fork and toyed with her food. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like eating. She struggled to wrap her head around the idea that, as much as Grandma Meredith seemed to love Papa George, she might have loved someone else even more. “This is crazy.” She dropped her fork in her plate with a clatter that made the people at the next table turn around to see what was the matter. “Does Mom know?”
Grandma Meredith shook her head decisively. “Your mother has always been eager to accept everything and everyone at face value. You never do. That’s why I always knew you’d be the one who’d ask all the questions no one else has ever dared.”
Grandma Meredith reached across the table and held her hand. Her touch was gentle yet firm. Grounding her, yet giving her wings to fly.
“Who is he?”
Grandma Meredith frowned in apparent confusion. “Who?”
“This guy you were so crazy about who wasn’t Papa George. Do I know him?”
Grandma Meredith pulled away. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ve already said too much as it is.”
“Oh, come on, Gran. You give me an intriguing opening to a story, but you don’t tell me the rest of it? You can’t leave me hanging like that.”
Grandma Meredith’s eyes flashed. “This isn’t a story. This isn’t a mystery to unravel. This is my life we’re talking about.”
“I know,” Jordan said gently. “I didn’t mean to come off sounding flippant. I’m just…surprised.” She placed a hand over Grandma Meredith’s, reestablishing their connection. “But I want to understand. I really do.”
“In that case, I’ll ride shotgun. You drive.” Grandma Meredith finished her coffee and placed twenty-five dollars on the table to cover the cost of the bill and the waitress’s tip. Then she tossed Jordan the keys to her Escalade. “Because I’ve got a story to tell.”
Chapter Two
August 1, 1967
Saigon
First Lieutenant Meredith Chase climbed out of the belly of the transport plane and stepped onto the tarmac. The oppressive heat hit her like a slap to the face. She felt like she’d stuck her head in an oven that had been preheated to four hundred degrees. Only her whole body was broiling, not just her face. Sweat poured down her cheeks and slid down the back of her neck. What wasn’t absorbed by her clothes pooled in the small of her back. She could feel semi-circles of dampness forming in the armpits of her Army-issue fatigues.
She tossed her heavy canvas rucksack over her shoulder, adjusted the angle of her helmet with the palm of her hand, and followed the other nurses as they headed toward a utilitarian gray metal building where their commanding officer and a small support team were waiting to process their paperwork.
As the parade of newcomers swept past them, male soldiers whistled and hooted to herald their arrival. Meredith’s cheeks burned with embarrassment after one of them pulled his head out of the engine of the jeep he was tinkering on, looked her up and down, and said with a broad grin, “Welcome to BC, beautiful. I’d love to play doctor with you any time.”
His fatigues were identical to hers, from the olive sh
irt and pants to the black combat boots. While she was neatly tucked and pressed, his rumpled shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a white undershirt that was practically transparent from perspiration. A thick pelt of curly hair covered his chest. A few damp tendrils peeked out of his grease-stained collar.
A thought entered her head with the certainty of fact.
That’s the man I’m going to marry.
The mechanic could have been her twin. He was tall and blond with bright blue eyes and a dimpled smile. He looked like a college football hero accustomed to hearing a crowd’s cheers on autumn Saturday afternoons instead of air raid sirens and shouts of, “Incoming!”
Meredith looked away, but not before registering the surname stitched on the right side of his shirt. Moser.
“It’s better not to get too attached,” the woman directly behind Meredith said. “It hurts too much to lose them once you get to know them.”
Meredith turned to see who had spoken. Ah, yes. Robinson. The quiet one with the dark brown hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders who hadn’t had much to say during the flight from Japan. She had been content to sit back and observe with a bemused smile on her face. Meredith had felt like she was passing judgment on everyone, deciding who would make it and who would wash out. Meredith wanted to know where on the spectrum Robinson thought she belonged—potential success story or abject failure?
“I take it this isn’t your first tour.” Meredith pitched her voice deeper in an effort to project an air of command. She hoped she sounded the part because she certainly didn’t feel it. She felt like she was in over her head and she’d just stepped off the plane.
“As a matter of fact, this is my fourth.” Robinson sounded like a world-weary veteran, which, Meredith supposed, she was. Even though they weren’t on the front lines, they were at war, too. “I’ve been in the ’Nam off and on since ’62.”
Robinson took two long strides and drew even with her. Meredith knew Robinson’s first name was Natalie, thanks to a quick round of introductions on the plane, but for some reason her surname felt like the more appropriate moniker. Robinson exuded leadership, even though she was, unlike Meredith, no more than a buck private.
Meredith’s nursing degree and certification as a registered nurse meant she was awarded the rank of first lieutenant when she volunteered. Back in the world, Robinson must have been either a licensed practical nurse or an orderly. Otherwise, she would have been named an officer when she first volunteered. Five years later, though, her lowly ranking didn’t make sense. With multiple tours under her belt, Robinson should have advanced to the rank of sergeant or corporal at the very least. Either something in her character or, more likely, something in her personnel file, had prevented her from moving up the chain.
Meredith didn’t know why Robinson’s superiors hadn’t seen fit to grant her the promotion she seemed to deserve and she didn’t care. Robinson was supposed to defer to her, but she had much more experience in this region. Even though they’d just met, Meredith would follow her anywhere.
“How old are you?” Meredith asked. She was twenty-three. Except for Doris, the middle-aged woman whose snores had serenaded them from the time their plane had taxied down the runway in Okinawa until it landed at base camp in Saigon, most of the other nurses appeared to be around the same age.
Robinson smiled and hooked a thumb in her waistband. She walked with the bow-legged, loose-limbed grace of a cowboy. Her stance only added to the impression. When she narrowed her eyes, she looked like a gunslinger sizing up her competition. “Don’t you know better than to ask a woman how old she is or how much she weighs?”
Meredith had never experienced any qualms about answering either query. Then again, she had always been a little bit different from the girls she’d grown up with. Girls then; women now. Women with whom she still shared little in common except a place of origin.
“May I ask where you’re from then?” She thought she detected a Southern accent when Robinson spoke but couldn’t pinpoint which state was to blame.
Robinson smiled as if she found Meredith’s discomfort amusing. “Jekyll Island, Georgia. You?”
“Omaha, Nebraska.”
Robinson nodded. “Naturally.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Nebraska’s the Cornhusker State, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, so?” Meredith couldn’t follow her train of thought.
“You have hair the color of corn silk and eyes as blue as a Midwestern sky. Where else would you be from?”
When Robinson smiled again, Meredith felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She’d never had a similar reaction to anyone before, let alone a woman. There was a name for people who had such feelings. A name she didn’t answer to.
“You’re going to roast in this heat, Nebraska. I hope you knew what you were getting into when you volunteered for this assignment.”
Meredith laughed despite herself. “You sound like my mother.”
Robinson raised a hand to the sky. “Heaven forbid.” She looked at Meredith with a questioning but sympathetic frown. “Your mother doesn’t approve of you being here?”
Meredith watched a Chinook helicopter come in for a landing. As the dual rotors slowed, soldiers rushed out and began unloading the cargo. Meredith swallowed hard as dozens of body bags were loaded in a fleet of ambulances and ferried to a building that must have housed either the morgue or graves registration. She dragged her eyes away from the unwelcome sight.
“In my mother’s mind, it’s okay for my brother to do his part and serve his country. I’m supposed to keep the home fires burning.”
“In a few weeks, you might wish you’d listened to her.” Robinson placed a steadying hand on her arm. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have you here. Good nurses, like most things in Vietnam, are in short supply.”
A lump formed in Meredith’s throat. She’d been an Army nurse for two years. She’d seen more examples of man’s inhumanity to man in those twenty-four months than she had in her entire life. She’d worked tirelessly and without complaint despite long hours and imperfect conditions. This was the first time someone had thanked her for her efforts. Robinson made her feel like her contributions mattered. Like she mattered.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. We’re a small but hearty band. I’m glad I can welcome a new member. If you have any questions or simply need someone to talk to, let me know. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Robinson removed her hand, Meredith immediately longed for its return. She missed the comfort and sense of safety Robinson’s touch had briefly provided.
The group entered a building marked Arrivals/Departures, which put Meredith more in mind of a pleasure cruise than a twelve-month stint in a war zone. Four ceiling fans whirred overhead, churning the still, stagnant air but providing little relief from the stultifying heat.
Meredith and the seven other nurses who had flown with her from Okinawa formed an orderly line parallel to the intake table, where a woman with a lieutenant colonel’s silver oak leaves affixed to her uniform collar held court.
“At ease,” the woman said, pushing her gunmetal gray chair away from the table. Her voice was filled with quiet command. It was a voice Meredith suspected was equally at home lavishing praise or giving blistering corrections. Her uniform was wrinkle-free, as if it and its owner had never seen a drop of sweat. Meredith would love to look that unruffled.
She and her companions dropped their duffels at their feet and folded their hands behind their backs as their CO slowly walked back and forth in front of them.
“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Billie Daniels. While you’re in Saigon, you will be under my command.”
Meredith thought her commanding officer would be a gray-haired veteran. Instead, Lt. Col. Daniels appeared to be only in her late twenties or early thirties—the space of time her mother often referred to as the uncertain age betwee
n immaturity and experience. Meredith hoped the LTC had more of the latter than the former.
Lt. Col. Daniels’s dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun, which added to her intimidating appearance. Her eyes were like lasers. Every time she focused them in her direction, Meredith had to fight not to lower her own in deference.
“For the first month, you’ll be working at one of the model hospitals we have established to help the locals provide quality medical care after the US no longer has a military presence in this country,” Lt. Col. Daniels said. “Then you’ll be randomly assigned to evacuation hospitals in Long Binh or Qui Nhon. You’ll work the emergency room, triage area, and intensive care. Sometimes you’ll see as few as ten patients per day. Other times you’ll be inundated by over three hundred. When you work triage, your job will be to help the medics separate the expectant patients—those not anticipated to survive their wounds—from the ones who have a better chance of making it home.”
“Permission to speak, ma’am?” a nervous-sounding voice asked from the end of the line.
Meredith knew the voice well. Lois Dunbar, its chatterbox owner, had talked everyone’s ear off on the plane. Meredith knew much more than she cared to about her fellow first lieutenant’s adventures with enlisted men from San Francisco to Hawaii to Japan. The ones in Vietnam, she supposed, were next on the list.
Lt. Col. Daniels stopped pacing in front of the line and turned to face Lois. “Permission granted.”
“What happens to the expectants? Are they left to die?”
Meredith had the same question, but she hadn’t dared interrupt the lieutenant colonel’s speech to ask it. Lois was a braver woman than she was. Or more foolish.
The War Within Page 2
