by Gail Cleare
Bridget went outside and saw the red Jeep still parked where they’d left it that morning. Shading her eyes with her hand, she peered across the town green. Down at the far end, in front of the library, stood a swing set and some other playground equipment. She spotted Nell sitting on one of the swings, swaying back and forth.
She remembered their contests as little girls, seeing who could swing the highest and try to hook the moon, inspired by the poem their mother read to them at bedtime. Bridget walked onto the lawn and slipped out of her expensive clogs, enjoying the feel of the cool grass between her toes. She headed toward the girl who was now a woman but was still her baby sister and always would be. It was a comforting thought.
Everything was changing in Bridget’s life at a breakneck pace. Thinking about it made her head spin and her stomach churn. But this was how it always happened: things would go along day after day in the same pattern of events and relationships, and then boom, it would all tumble apart, and like a row of falling dominoes, one thing after another would change until everything had been transformed and a whole new status quo emerged from the rubble.
Nothing ever stayed the same for long for Bridget. Her marriages, her addresses, her client list, and even her hairstyles changed completely every few years.
But through it all, there was Nell, stable and sensible, looking up to her trustingly, ever admiring and supportive. Rebuilding Bridget’s self-image when it had crumbled into dust and reminding her who she really was. Smiling and beckoning to her from the playground. Inviting her to swing and swing and keep on swinging, side by side, until they could stretch out their feet and hook the moon.
Bridget and her sister went to get lunch at the café and sat at a table outside, enjoying the balmy weather while they ate. Afterward, they walked back to the hospital.
As they drew nearer, Nell’s face puckered up in a suspicious squint. She stared at the beat-up old blue truck parked haphazardly across two spaces in the parking lot. “Oh no you don’t,” she cried, running toward the building.
“What’s the matter?” Bridget hurried to keep up.
Nell flew through the double doors, rushing past the receptionist and racing along the familiar path to the ICU. Bridget drafted along in her wake, sending apologetic looks to the hospital personnel, who watched their speedy progress with disapproval.
Coming to a halt outside her mother’s cubicle, Nell panted with rage. A man sat in the chair next to Mom’s bed, her hand held in both of his. A vase of fresh flowers had appeared on the bedside table. Mom’s eyes were closed, and she seemed to be sleeping.
“God dammit,” Nell muttered, her fists balled. “Goddam drunken jerk.”
Bridget looked through the glass, impressed by the visitor’s rugged good looks. “Who is that man, Nell? Is that… him? Jake Bascomb?”
“Yes, it is, and he promised not to come back. He’s a bloody liar.”
Jake seemed to hear them talking and turned his head. He sneered when he saw Nell then looked curious when he spotted Bridget. Leaning over to kiss Mom’s hand, he stood up and walked out into the hallway.
Nell fumed. “You… you… you shouldn’t be here.”
“Take it easy.” He seemed perfectly calm and sober, in contrast with Nell. “She’s not even awake.”
Nell peered into the cubicle and seemed to relax slightly. “But you promised not to come back until I said it was okay.”
Jake finally turned his eyes to Bridget, who was treating him to her most practiced Southern belle smile. A responsive glimmer flashed in his eyes.
“No.” He spoke to Nell while he smiled back at Bridget. “You demanded, but I didn’t promise.” He reached out for Bridget’s hand. “And this must be the other Reilly sister, right?”
Wearing rumpled clothes and needing a shave, Jake still looked like he would clean up quite well—not at all what Nell had described. He reminded Bridget of a distinguished silverback gorilla: impressive, strong, and commanding.
“Mr. Bascomb, senior, I presume?” Bridget almost fluttered her eyelashes but managed to suppress the reflex.
“Cut the crap, Bridget.” Nell’s tone was impatient. “Every time Mom sees this guy, she goes into a tailspin, and we can’t afford that right now, can we?”
Jake and Bridget looked like two kids caught passing notes in class.
“Of course not.” Bridget gently withdrew her hand. “She’s right. We really do have to keep Mom calm and quiet.”
Jake glanced through the glass at the sleeping woman, and a troubled look flickered across his face. “Sure, no problem.” His voice was gruff, and he turned to face Nell. “Don’t be so uptight, little girl. I just wanted to check on her.”
Nell scowled at the term little girl, which was obviously meant to annoy her. “Okay, so you checked. Now, go.”
His eyes smoldered briefly, and he glared at her. Without another word, he nodded to Bridget and strode down the hall, covering the yards swiftly with his long legs. Then he was gone.
“My lord.” Bridget fanned herself and stared as he walked away. “You didn’t tell me we had anyone like that up here in the woods.”
“I did too. And wait until you meet Mr. Bascomb, junior.”
“Oh no, honey, I’ll leave him to you. I’ve been waiting a lot of years to see you meet the man who could stir you up. No offense to your husband, of course. He’s very cute too, if you like the conservative, obedient type.”
“I do. I like that type very much.”
“Yes, yes… so you said. But let’s not forget the famous hug, shall we?” Bridget needled her with a mischievous grin.
“No chance of that.” Nell sighed.
“Poor baby.” Bridget patted her on the shoulder but couldn’t resist teasing. “And did you talk to your husband yet today?”
“Yes.”
“Is he coming up to join us?”
“Not yet. He’s taking care of the kids. Sends love.”
“Hmmm,” Bridget said, pretending to examine her fingernails.
“Shut up.”
“Whatever you say. Shall we sit with Mom a while longer, then?” Bridget headed toward Mom’s cubicle.
“I’ll get another chair.” Nell turned to ask the nurse for help.
Mom slept for the rest of the day, her breathing growing easier. It looked as though the antibiotic was working. When she awakened, she seemed much better and sat up to talk a little, her voice nearly normal. Ben’s “Get Well Soon – Or Else…” card had arrived, with a picture of a skunk on it, and they all had a good laugh. As evening approached, the nurse settled her down for the night.
Mom kissed Bridget and Nell good night, whispered, “I love you,” and smiled then shooed them away with her hands. She seemed to have turned a corner, and there was a little sparkle in her eyes. The ICU nurses promised to call if there was any change.
Bridget left the hospital feeling relieved and optimistic.
Chapter 28
Mary ~ July 10, 1967
Mary stood outside at the 3rd Field Hospital in the city of Saigon, Vietnam, waiting for the next ambulance to appear. There were already eight of them parked in front of the long, two-story building. Some contained up to six soldiers lying on stretchers stacked on racks like bunk beds. The dark-green trucks emblazoned with Red Cross signs had delivered casualties flown in to Tan Son Nhut Air Base by medevac planes, from two ongoing battles in the Central Highlands. It had been going on all day, and the beautiful mosaic tile floor of the covered porch was slippery with blood.
Her lower back ached from being on her feet since dawn. Mary stretched out the kinks and took this brief chance to straighten her white cap and duty uniform. There wasn’t anything to be done about the bloodstains or the sweat. It was monsoon season, and working outside on triage duty in the humid heat was like tor
ture. Not to mention the stress of having to choose which patients would be patched together first and which would have to wait.
She silently cursed General Westmoreland, who was the reason she couldn’t wear lightweight fatigues instead of the heavy whites. He insisted that seeing women nurses in white uniforms and stockings was good for the soldiers’ morale, and he had ordered it for Mary’s hospital. He was headquartered in Saigon and liked to bring important visitors and reporters to tour the hospital. Everybody said he wanted the nurses to look good to give the impression that everything was under control. Nothing like a lot of relentless white sheets and walls and uniforms to banish the image of blood from your mind’s eye. Mary had noticed that the tours only came on slow days.
In a busy section of the city, the compound of relatively modern buildings had a stateside type of atmosphere, with air conditioning in some of the rooms. Most of the best surgeons in Vietnam had been attracted to the staff. Mary felt lucky to be stationed there, especially considering how bad the situation was in lots of other field hospitals.
Mary knew she would be the first American woman most of these boys had seen in many months. They saw her as a true angel, and she didn’t want to let them down.
An ambulance pulled into the driveway and reversed to back up to the porch. Mary calmed herself and put a welcoming smile on her face. When the engine shut off, two medics jumped out of the cab and ran to open the rear doors.
All the racks were occupied. A boy in one of the top bunks turned his head to peer out at the light. His left eye was covered by a field dressing that was wrapped around his head. When he saw Mary, he began to sob. She had gotten used to the sound, but it never failed to move her.
“Hey there, soldier.” Mary stepped forward and reached for his hand while the corpsmen slid the stretcher off the rack. “It’s great to see you. We’re going to take real good care of you, so don’t you worry about a thing. Let me just take a quick look…” She rambled on in a soothing tone, understanding the positive impact of a woman’s voice that sounded like home.
The boys still inside the truck heard her too, and they began to stir and moan, calling to their girlfriends, their sisters, their mothers. Mary knew that at the moment, she was all of these. She answered, calling the soldiers “honey” and “my boy.” With her heart firmly under control, she put sunshine and picnics and apple pie into her voice, and it brought them comfort.
The men lowered the stretcher to the ground, where she quickly examined the wounded soldier and made some notes on her clipboard. She told them where to deliver him and turned to the next casualty. More men came to help unload the truck as Mary sorted those who could wait for care from those who needed immediate attention. When the ambulance was empty, the driver and his partner jumped back inside and tore off toward the air base for a refill. The whole exercise had taken approximately ten minutes.
Later, the quiet in the air told everyone that helicopters had stopped coming in from the north and the rush was over for the time being. Mary’s shift was finally finished, and she had stopped outside for a moment to look up at the night sky. It had cooled off a bit, and the stars were out. A medical corpsman was rinsing blood-soaked stretchers with a garden hose and stacking them upright against a wall to dry. He turned off the water and looked over at her.
“Good work today, Lieutenant Sullivan.”
She squinted across the shadowy porch. “Thanks, Sergeant. You were driving, weren’t you?”
“Yep. Cigarette, ma’am?” He walked over, a pack of Marlboros outstretched.
She took one and leaned close to the flame as he lit a match. When he bent to light his own, she saw his face in the light. Brown hair and blue eyes, quite a bit younger than she was but not a kid like so many of the soldiers in Vietnam.
“You look familiar… Bascomb?” She read the name printed above his right breast pocket as he had apparently read the tag pinned above hers. “But you’re new, aren’t you?”
“Aw, sweet thing, I’m crushed. You don’t remember me?”
Then it dawned on her. “Honey’s. In Honolulu. You’re the guy who saved me from unthinkable embarrassment, right?” She laughed, remembering how she had almost hit the floor that night.
He nodded, smiling. “It’s Jake. What’s yours?”
“Mary Ellen Sullivan. Haven’t seen you here before. You just get transferred to Saigon?” He looked different now, with long sideburns and a moustache. Kind of like the Beatles on their new album cover. Mary thought he looked exotic. Very attractive, especially after a day of examining unspeakably mangled limbs and oozing head wounds.
“Yeah, I got here last week.” He looked at her left hand, where the diamond ring still sparkled. “So Mary Ellen, how’s the boyfriend?”
“Fine, last I heard. He flies a Skyhawk for the navy.”
“God bless him.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“You headed back to your hooch now?” He used the nickname that nurses in the field had adopted for their improvised quarters.
Her living situation was relatively good, in the former school complex that had been converted for US Army hospital use. It was fenced and patrolled by MPs who made sure nobody entered without permission. The female nurses had their own building, where Mary shared a room with five other women. They had decorated it with posters, pretty bedspreads on their bunks, and colorful curtains, but it was definitely still a hooch.
She nodded. “Time for laundry and sleep. I’m beat.”
“I’ll walk you if it’s okay?”
“Sure. Thanks, Jake.”
They ground out their cigarette butts in the driveway and strolled down the road that led into the group of buildings. Jake offered her a swig from his pocket flask, exactly the kind of “fraternization” that was questionable between an enlisted soldier and an officer.
She shot him a mischievous grin. “Since we’re old friends, how can I say no?” Mary sipped and tasted whiskey. It went down like smooth, sweet fire.
Somebody had the radio on, and it was playing Aretha Franklin’s new hit record, “Respect.” The song echoed through the hospital complex. Mary giggled and sang along. She needed to forget about the horrors she had seen all day. Grabbing her hand, he swung her around, rocking, as they danced down the middle of the road. The buildings they passed were shuttered and shaded with little slashes of light where windows had been left open to let in the breeze. Laughter and soft voices leaked out into the night. The rain clouds had cleared off, and a tiny sliver of crescent moon was in the sky. When she looked up and ignored everything else, Mary could almost imagine she was back home.
Jake admired her footwork. “You’re pretty agile when you’re not drunk, sweet thing.”
“Better give me some more in that case.” She took the flask from his hand again.
“Long as you’re not on your ass when the next security sweep comes around.” Jake grinned at her as she swallowed twice, choked, and gave him back the whiskey.
“Those guys are my buddies anyhow. No problem.” She unpinned her cap and took it off, letting the breeze cool her head. She caught the spicy scent of warm male skin that wafted her way when he swayed close, and she studied him. “What’s your story, Jake? Where are you from, and how did you end up here?”
He took a long pull on the flask and handed it back to her. “Born in Maine, grew up in Vermont. Dropped out of college after one semester and got drafted. Ended up in the medical corps because I had CPR certification and a clean driving record. Six months in the field, then hello Saigon. End of story.”
“Well, I hope not.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right,” he said, laughing quietly. “We’ll go home someday, and life will go on.”
“We’ve lost a lot of wonderful guys, Jake.” Mary took an extra swig and handed him back the flask, almost empty by t
hen.
“President Johnson says the fighting is almost over. I heard on the radio last week.”
“You really think so? That would be fab-a-lush. I mean, fabulous.” Mary burst into laughter, stifling the sound with her hands over her mouth.
“Enough for you, sister. You’re cut off.” Jake stopped walking to grin at her.
Mary glanced up with an embarrassed smirk. “Sorry,” she mimed, and they resumed walking. When they reached the nurses’ quarters, she flopped down to sit on the front steps, and he sat beside her, pulling out his cigarettes. He lit one for her and another for himself.
“I’m from New England too,” she said. “Boston area.”
“No kidding? Howdy, neighbor.” He solemnly held out his hand, and they shook on it.
“Funny how far apart that seemed when we were home. But now…”
“It seems like right next door.” Jake finished her thought.
“Yes. Even California seems close to home, from here.”
Jake looked at her through a cloud of smoke, his eyes dreamy. “I wouldn’t mind living right next door to you, Mary Ellen Sullivan. Not one bit.” His eyes wandered down her body, along the line of her legs stretched out on the steps.
She squirmed and tucked her legs under her. “Be careful what you wish for, Jake Bascomb. Don’t you have a girl waiting for you at home? Or maybe several?”
“Her name is Virginia. We might get married some day, unless you change your mind about that pilot. Be sure and let me know. I’ll give her the brush-off and marry you.” His eyes were dark blue with a spark of something in them that she didn’t want to see.
Jake seemed a little dangerous, and a twinge of nerves made her shiver. Anything could happen if she wasn’t careful. In Vietnam, everything was so unreal—part nightmare, part wild and exciting. The fear of death gave people permission to misbehave. Lots of her coworkers were having affairs, even those who were married. It was a way to pass the time when work was slow and to feel intimacy while surrounded by strangers. Mary had been out on a couple of dates since her arrival but nothing serious. She was trying to be loyal to Thomas.
