In Perfect Time

by Sarah Sundin

  What if he could become a teacher? If he was reliable enough for Veerman, maybe he was reliable enough to teach. Sure, he chafed at routines and regulations, but he followed them now. And it didn’t kill him. He had a purpose—at first to impress Veerman, but now because he saw the importance of documenting his work so others could do their work.

  Perhaps he could follow the rules and regulations the teaching profession required. He’d have a good purpose—for the children. For Kay.

  Vertigo struck. He planted his hand on the fuselage to regain equilibrium. Kay would make anything worthwhile. When he was with her, he didn’t feel like a no-account. He felt like the kind of man who could support a wife.

  But could he? Above him, scattered clouds tumbled with the wind. “Lord, what do you want me to do? You got me into this mess. Help me out of it.”

  Footsteps approached, the sound of gravel skittering on asphalt.

  Roger turned around.

  Mike Elroy patted the tail of the plane like a dad patting a baby’s bottom. “You took off, Coop. In a hurry?”

  “Yeah.” Roger pulled his clipboard from his bag. “As Veerman said, weather’s dicey.”

  “Good thing we’re not flying air evac today. Still . . .”

  Roger recognized the wistful tone of a man enamored. “Why? Got your eye on one of the flight nurses?”

  He flushed. “Ah, she’s out of my league. Doesn’t even know I exist.”

  Kay was nice to Mike. Thank goodness it wasn’t her. The flood of relief came as a shock.

  But who was it? Mike was too good a man to fall for a woman with a boyfriend. Who was left? Vera Viviani sure was a looker and she was single, but she was haughty.

  Roger poked his clipboard at his copilot’s chest. “A man like you deserves better than a dame who won’t acknowledge you. Look around. Plenty of nice girls.”

  A twitch of a smile, but a strained one. “Yeah, thanks.”

  They started the preflight inspection, and a truck pulled up, loaded with five-gallon jerricans of gasoline for the Seventh Army front.

  Roger studied Mike as they did their inspection. A good-looking fellow in a boyish way, seemed younger than his thirty-one years. Smart, steady, kind. A banker. The sort of man who’d make something of his life and never doubt he could be a good husband, a good provider.

  The sort of man Kay Jobson should fall for.

  26

  Istres

  November 2, 1944

  Another memorial service.

  Kay sat with her friends in a church in Istres, waiting for the service to start, the walls cold and gray and stony, the organ blasting somber tones. The day before, a C-47 from Roger’s squadron had crashed in a storm on a flight from Luxeuil, killing the entire crew, flight nurse Lt. Aleda Lutz, a medical technician, and over a dozen patients.

  The church was packed with personnel from the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron and the 64th Troop Carrier Group, as well as locals who considered the Americans “their” boys and girls.

  Kay patted her shoulder bag, over and over. Why did her lap feel empty?

  Her Bible. She didn’t have her Bible.

  She sprang from her seat.

  Georgie looked up to her with red-rimmed eyes. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  Kay leaned down to whisper back. “I forgot my Bible.”

  “We can share.”

  “No.” On a day like this, nothing but her own Bible would do. She lowered her head on her way down the aisle, as if that would make her less obtrusive.

  A flicker of motion to her left.

  Roger sat on the aisle and waved low. “You okay?”

  She nodded, a lie. He didn’t look okay either, pale and drawn. Had he been close to the flight crew, or was he reliving Clint Peters’s death, just over a year earlier? “Forgot my Bible.”

  He lifted a wan smile. “I can give you another one.”

  What would she do without him and his sweet friendship? “That’s all right.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze on her way out.

  The organ quieted, and the chaplain approached the pulpit. Oh dear. She’d miss some of the service and make a disturbance when she returned, but it didn’t matter. She needed her Bible.

  Everyone mourned. Some had gotten drunk last night. Many cried. Some shared stories. All came to the memorial service to pay their respects. All but Vera. For her, setting foot in a church would be more painful than the loss itself. Poor thing.

  A horrid drizzle moistened her cheeks. She’d left her coat in the church, so she’d just have to put up with limp hair. Who would notice anyway?

  She turned onto her side street and approached the house she shared with eleven other girls. No, only ten now. The drizzle on her lips tasted salty, and she wiped her eyes. Somehow crying seemed right.

  Another hole in their squadron. The hole left by Rose’s death the year before had never been patched. Everyone loved Louise Cox, but no one could replace Rose, and no one could replace Aleda either.

  Kay climbed the outside steps to reach her room on the second floor. The dampness had darkened the walls to a mustard color. Even the house wept.

  Her room sat to the left, but faint sobs rose from behind the closed door to the right.

  Vera.

  Kay’s heart wrenched for her friend. Vera’s aversion to church didn’t erase her need to grieve, and why should she have to grieve alone? Maybe this was why Kay came back.

  She opened the door.

  Vera didn’t grieve alone. She sat on her cot, cuddled up beside Capt. Frank Maxwell. He held her in a familiar manner, caressing her arm, kissing her forehead.

  Kay sucked in a breath, icy cold, freezing every muscle, every thought but one.

  Vera scrambled to her feet. “Kay! What are you doing here?”

  “I—I forgot . . . What are you doing here? In women’s quarters?” She turned a pointed glance to the flight surgeon.

  He put on a flat smile, stood, and fumbled with his shirt buttons, as if checking to see that he was dressed. He was. A wormy feeling in Kay’s gut told her that wasn’t always the case when he was with Vera.

  Captain Maxwell smoothed his tie. “I was comforting Lieutenant Viviani.”

  Kay’s upper lip curled. “Your wife must be very proud of you.”

  “Kay!” Vera swiped tears off her cheeks. “What’s wrong with you? The old Kay wouldn’t have batted an eye.”

  “Baloney. Even I never stooped so low as to date a married man.”

  Maxwell’s dark eyebrows bunched up. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Nothing unseemly is going on here.”

  “More baloney. How long has this been going on?” Her head swam, and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh my goodness. This is why you’re always so mysterious about your boyfriend, your dates. You’re embroiled in a tawdry affair.”

  “It’s not like that.” Vera fiddled with the ends of her hair. “It isn’t tawdry. We’re in love. After the war is over, Frank will divorce his wife and marry me.”

  Kay’s mouth dangled open. “I can’t believe you fell for that. That’s what every married man promises his mistress.”

  She wrinkled her pert little nose. “It’s different with us.”

  “Is it? And what then? What if he actually divorces her and marries you? Don’t you think he’ll tell his next mistress the same exact thing?”

  “Enough, Lieutenant.” Maxwell stepped between Vera and Kay. His green eyes burned. “How dare you talk about me like that? I outrank you.”

  Her green eyes could burn too. “How can I speak respectfully to someone I no longer respect?”

  His expression darkened, stiffened. If he hit her, she’d hit him back.

  “Now, Kay.” Vera darted around her lover, took Kay’s arm, and turned her aside, her voice sugar-sweet. “There’s no need to get worked up. We’ve been friends for ages. You mustn’t be cross with me.”

  Heaven’s sake, the woman talked as if she’d done nothing worse than borrow
ing one of Kay’s dresses without permission. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re having an affair with a married man. It’s wrong and you know it. Not to mention it’s against regulations.”

  Vera grasped Kay’s hand, tilted her head, and dimpled one corner of her mouth. “Oh, you wouldn’t say anything. I know you wouldn’t. After all, how many times did I cover for you when you broke curfew?”

  Kay pried her hand free. “It’s not the same, and you know it. You expect me to ignore this?”

  “Well, of course. Mellie knows and she’s never blabbed.”

  Kay blinked her eyes as if that would clear her ears. “Mellie knows?”

  “She’s known for ages and not one word. And you know what a stickler for rules she is.” Vera chuckled in a conspiratorial way.

  Kay didn’t chuckle back. Mellie knew? Good, sweet, honest-to-a-fault Mellie Blake blithely ignored adultery? How could she?

  “You’re my friend.” Affection shone in Vera’s dark eyes. “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just asking you—begging you—not to say anything.”

  Kay’s stomach and mind and heart churned. She backed out of the room. “No promises.”

  Roger’s leg jostled. He glanced down the aisle of the church and at his watch. Again. Kay had been gone twenty-two minutes. She should have been back by now.

  Had something happened to her?

  He couldn’t just sit there. He leaned closer to Mike Elroy. “Be right back.”

  After Mike nodded, Roger slinked down the aisle and out of the church. Let them think he was rude, overcome by grief, had to go to the latrine. What did it matter? Kay needed him.

  Out in the drizzle, he jammed his cap on his head and stuffed his Bible inside his service jacket to keep it dry. He strode down the street, around the corner, past the boulangerie, onto the side street.

  There was Kay.

  A sigh rushed from his lungs. Thank goodness, she was okay.

  Or was she? She marched down the street, head down, arms swinging. With each step, her skirt snapped into a thin line between her knees.

  “Kay?”

  She looked up, pushed her hair off her face, and swayed a bit.

  What happened? He ran up to her. “You all right?”

  She shook her head and pressed her hand over her garrison cap.

  He wanted to fold her in his arms, but instead he laid one hand on her shoulder. “What’s the matter? Where’s your Bible?”

  “My . . .” She looked over her shoulder to her house. “I forgot all about it after—” She clamped her mouth shut.

  “After what? What happened? Someone hurt you?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “So, what—”

  In one second flat, her expression switched from dazed to determined. “You always give me good advice.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, and I need advice.” She headed down the street. “Come on. We need to go somewhere private to talk.”

  What could be more dangerous than privacy with a gorgeous redhead?

  Kay stopped and motioned to him. “Come on.”

  “We should—we should go back to the church.”

  “They don’t need us, and I need to talk to you right now.”

  Roger shifted from one foot to the other. “Your friends will worry.”

  She continued on her way, ordering him forward with a flap of her hand over her shoulder. “I hope they don’t look for me at quarters. They’ll be in for a rude shock. Except Mellie apparently.” She huffed.

  Roger sent a groan heavenward and followed the nurse. Your idea, Lord. Not mine.

  Catching up wasn’t easy at her skirt-snapping pace. In a few minutes they reached the Étang de l’Olivier. Alone.

  Roger sat on a rock and pulled out his drumsticks to look casual. “What’s up?”

  Kay paced in front of him, one hand wrapped around her slender waist, the other bracing her pretty chin. “Your friend Shell’s married, right?”

  “Right.”

  “What would you do if you caught him with another woman?”

  One drumstick dropped to the dirt. “Shell?”

  She waved her hand in front of her face. “Not Shell. Not him, of course. It’s Vera.”

  He groped on the ground for his drumstick. “She’s married?”

  “No.” She looked at him as if he were daft. “I caught her with Captain Maxwell.”

  “And he’s married?”

  “Yes.” She resumed her pacing.

  Roger let out a low whistle. “He’s her commanding officer too.”

  “Sort of. Not really. He’s the surgeon for our flight of six nurses, but Lieutenant Lambert’s in charge of the nurses and Major Guilford over the whole squadron.”

  “Still, he’s in a position of authority.”

  Her head sagged back. “I can’t believe it. Vera and I have been friends for years. I never thought she was that kind of woman. Oh my goodness! I bet this has been going on since we trained at Bowman Field. That was two years ago. I feel sick.”

  “Yeah.” He always felt sick when someone fell into temptation. It could easily be him.

  Kay stood right in front of him. “What should I do?”

  “Do?” He rolled the drumsticks in his moist hands. For once, no rhythm came to him.

  “Should I report them to Lambert and Guilford when we get back to Rome?”

  “I—”

  She charged down to the water, back again, gaze fixed on the trees over Roger’s head. “If I report them, will I look like a good leader, someone who can deal with tough issues and discipline those under my command? Will Lambert think I’m responsible? Or will she think I’m coldhearted? Vera will hate me, Alice too. Unity? There won’t be any. How can I destroy what little unity we have? And what will I look like? Will I look like a good leader or just like a woman scheming to look like a good leader?”

  Roger stared at her, clutched his drumsticks, and sorted through her mountain of words. “Well—”

  Kay let out a cry and shook her fists in front of her chest. “What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about what I look like? Who cares! Only one thing matters—doing the right thing. Right?”

  “Um, right.”

  She stomped up to him. “So what’s the right thing to do?”

  He stared up into her pleading face. How could he offer advice when he was about five minutes behind in her monologue?

  She plopped down onto the rock beside him, her hip pressed to his. “If I report them, I’ll have to report Mellie too, because she knew and didn’t say a thing.”

  He edged away a bit. Any farther and he’d fall off. “Mellie knew?”

  “Yes.” She turned blazing eyes to him. “She’s a Christian. She should know better.”

  Roger shrugged. “Christians still sin.”

  Kay collapsed forward, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She looked so small, so defeated, so confused. Her red-blonde hair hung in damp strands around her neck.

  More than anything, Roger wanted to pull her into his arms, or stroke her hair, or something. He had to comfort her. The turmoil made his legs jiggle.

  For heaven’s sake, what kind of friend was he? He jammed his drumsticks inside his jacket and rubbed her back, up and down, same as he’d do for one of his sisters. “You trust Mellie, right?”

  “I used to.”

  “She must have had her reasons. Maybe she couldn’t say anything—her word against theirs. Ask her.”

  Kay sat still, silent, and he stroked her back, her shoulders, warm and firm and soft all at the same time. Made him want her even more, but it seemed to soothe her.

  “Can you ever be good enough?” Her voice came out small and weak.

  “What?” This conversation gave him vertigo.

  She sat up, dislodging his hand but engaging his eyes. “Mellie’s a Christian and she ignored adultery. Georgie’s a Christian and she breaks the fraternization rules. Can you ever be good enough?”

 
; Part of him wanted to lie to make her feel better, but truth won out. “No, you can’t.”

  Kay groaned and sank down over her knees again. “What hope do I have? How can I ever be good enough to get the job I want, or a—a house, or—or—” Her voice broke, and her shoulders shook.

  Oh boy. This ran deeper than grief and betrayal and indecision. “You’re listening to the wrong voice, kid. That’s your earthly father talking, not your heavenly Father.”

  “What?” She sat up and shoved stringy hair off her reddened face.

  How could she look so beautiful when she was a mess? He faced the lake, gripped both knees, and wrestled his thoughts into words. “Remember when I told you God’s mercy was a gift? You don’t earn forgiveness by being good. He gives it because he’s good.”

  “Yes, but this is—”

  “No, it’s not different. Now we’re talking about God’s grace. He gives us good things not because we’re good, but because he’s good.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Her face glistened with tears and rain.

  Roger yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “What did you do to deserve this handkerchief? Nothing. I gave it to you because you’re my friend.”

  Her smile wobbled, and she blotted her face. “Thanks.”

  “God isn’t like a candy machine. We can’t insert a good deed and receive a blessing. Then we’d be in charge, not him.”

  Her gaze darted around, nowhere near his face. “Okay. All right.”

  “If he gives you the chief nurse job, it’s not because you did something good, but because he loves you and wants what’s best for you. And if he doesn’t give you the chief nurse job, it’s not because you did something bad, but because he loves you—and something else would be better for you.”

  “Oh . . .” Her gaze returned to him, bright with comprehension.

  In the mirror of her eyes, his words reflected back to him. God could choose to give him gifts too, no matter what Roger had done in the past. God could choose to give him Kay’s love, even if he didn’t deserve it.

  That thought stuck like a rock in his throat. He swallowed it and lurched to his feet. “Say, we’d better get back before they drag the lake looking for us.”