by Sarah Jio
I refused to watch them; instead, I searched the vehicle for Westry. Did he come?
Mary must have read my mind. “Looks like he didn’t make it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Don’t be,” I said, tugging at my engagement ring. “There’s nothing between us. Nothing at all.”
I held on to Kitty as the truck sped along the bumpy island road. Each pothole punctuated the shame I felt. How did I, an engaged woman, let myself become emotionally involved with Westry? I barely know him. What has this island done to my judgment? Kitty stared ahead. When the truck came to a stop a few minutes later, pulling up onto the beach, everyone but Kitty stood up.
“Kitty,” I said, “let’s go.”
She nodded dutifully, rising as if it were an exhausting endeavor. Lance helped Lela out of the truck, scooping her in his arms and then plopping her onto the sandy ground. She giggled and batted her eyelashes at him. Kitty quickly looked away. Was I wrong to bring her here? I hardly wanted to be here myself.
Mary led the procession onto the beach, telling the men where to set out the blankets, the fire for the cook, the beverage station, and the radio. There were oohs and aahs when a lance corporal named Shawn pulled out a gray radio and extended its antenna. Even Kitty smiled a little. None of us were immune to the power of music.
“Now,” Mary said, as the men and women found their places on the blankets. “If I can just get a signal.” She worked on the tuner for some time, stopping momentarily when she heard the faint sound of a man’s voice—an Australian accent—relating war news with such speed and intensity, I felt my body respond in kind.
“Japanese bombers stormed the north shore today, leaving a wake of death and destruction.” We all leaned in closer to hear more. “Casualties are estimated in the hundreds, many of them women and children.” She quickly turned the dial. After a few seconds, the static parted to reveal a crystal-clear signal coming out across the ocean. The melody was soft and sweet, haunting. “How strange,” Mary said. “We’re picking up a French station.”
The words were foreign, the melody unfamiliar, and yet it entranced me, and everyone else who was huddled together on the beach. Stella leaned in closer to Will. Lou reached for Mary’s hand and asked her to dance. A few other nurses paired up with men I didn’t recognize, even Liz. And Kitty didn’t object when a soldier sat down beside her. She even grinned, biting into an ear of corn with gusto. The melody aroused a longing in my heart that I tried to squelch, a longing for Westry. I turned my gaze toward the ocean and the stretch of beach that led to the bungalow. It was getting dark now. I shouldn’t. Besides, he wouldn’t be there anyway. But as the music played on, the bungalow’s pull became stronger, until I could no longer resist it. I stood up and walked quietly toward the beach. I could just slip away for a half hour. No one would know. No one would miss me.
I walked quickly, glancing back several times, just to be sure that no one followed. I slipped into the thicket and made my way to the steps of the bungalow. There it is. Our bungalow. The sight soothed me. I knelt down and felt around under the steps for the book and the key, but I heard the door creak open in front of me. I looked up, and there, standing in the dim light, was Westry.
A faint shadow punctuated his jawline, and his wet hair and unbuttoned shirt suggested that he’d just returned from a swim. He smiled. “I was hoping you’d come tonight,” he said. “Did you see that moon?”
I nodded, gazing up at the sky, where an orange-tinged full moon dangled on the horizon, so close it almost kissed the shore.
I took a step closer. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Come in,” he said, reaching for my hand. “I have something for you.”
He closed the door behind us, and I sat down on the bed. I felt the pulse, the electricity in the air. I knew he felt it too.
“Look,” he said, holding up a radio. “I got a signal.” He turned the dial and there was that sound again—that beautiful, haunting foreign melody.
“Listen,” he said, shaking his head. “French.”
I closed my eyes and swayed to the music.
“This song,” he said, “do you know it?”
I listened intently for a few moments, then shook my head. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“It’s ‘La Vie en Rose.’”
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know it?”
“I heard it shortly before I left for the war,” he said. “A friend of mine works for a record label. No one knows the song yet, at least not anyone back at home. They’re testing it on the radio before they release a record. But it’s going to be a huge hit. Mark my words. Just listen.” He sat down next to me. Our arms brushed, and I could feel the warmth of his body.
“What does it mean?” I asked, feeling Westry’s gaze on my face. I stared ahead at the radio.
He took a breath. “It means, Hold me close and hold me fast; The magic spell you cast; This is la vie en rose; When you kiss me, heaven sighs; And though I close my eyes; I see la vie en rose; When you press me to your heart; I’m in a world apart; A world where roses bloom; And when you speak; Angels sing from above.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, still unable to look at him. My hands began to tremble. I tucked them under my legs.
Westry stood up. “Will you dance with me?”
I nodded, taking his hand.
He held me close as our bodies swayed to the music, keeping his arms low on my waist, a perfect fit. I nestled my cheek into his chest.
“Westry,” I whispered.
“You mean Grayson?”
I smiled. “My dear Grayson.”
“Yes, Cleo?”
“Well, that’s just it. I am Cleo; you’re Grayson. But are we only pretending? Is this real? Why is it that when we’re here together,” I said, “everything feels so right, so perfect? But when—”
“When we’re out there,” he said, interrupting me, pointing toward the window, “it’s different?”
“Yes.”
“Because it is,” he said simply. “This is our paradise. Out there, well, it’s complicated.”
“And that’s just it,” I said. “I almost didn’t come tonight because I feared that you were growing distant. That night with Colonel Donahue—why haven’t you spoken of it?”
He put his finger to my lips. “Would you believe me if I told you I was protecting you?”
I looked at him, confused. “Protecting me? From what?”
“It’s a crazy world out there, Anne. War. Lies. Betrayal. Sadness. It’s all around us.” He cradled my head in his hands. “Next time you worry that I am growing distant, come here. Come to the bungalow and you will feel my love.”
Love. Westry loves me. It was all that mattered. I pressed my body closer to his and felt something akin to hunger welling up inside, an unfamiliar longing I’d never felt with Gerard. Passion. Is this what Kitty meant?
Westry took a step back for a moment. “Look at you,” he said. “You are a vision. I’m going to take your photograph.” He retrieved a camera from his knapsack, and instructed me to lean against the far wall. “There,” he said after the flash went off. “Perfect.”
“Now you,” I said, lifting the camera from his hands. “I want one of you. I want to remember this night, this moment.”
He obliged, leaning against the wall as I had done. I stared at his eyes through the lens, hoping to memorize the moment forever, before I clicked the button.
I set the camera down on the desk, and Westry lifted me in his arms and laid me on the bed, so effortlessly I felt like a feather in his grasp. I ran my hands along his arms. They were strong and firm. His lips touched mine, and my heart rate quickened as I took in the familiar scent of his skin, breathing it in, letting it intoxicate me. I unbuttoned his shirt completely and ran my fingers along his chest. His muscles quivered a little at my touch and he smiled. Something in me trembled too as he reached for the zipper of my dress. He undressed me with such de
licate, loving hands, caressing my skin, and kissed me with such intention, I wondered if he’d dreamt about this moment a thousand times before, as I had done.
Our bodies fit together like they were made for each other. Meant for each other. I closed my eyes, vowing to remember every second, every breath, every sensation, and when it was over, we lay snugly in each other’s arms, his warm chest pressed against mine. Our hearts beat in sync as the waves crashed into the shore outside the bungalow.
“Westry,” I whispered.
“What is it, my love?”
“What will happen after all of this is over?”
“You mean, after the war?”
“Yes,” I said. “When we go home.”
“I wish I knew,” he said, kissing my forehead.
I felt the cool gold of my engagement ring against my skin, and I instinctively pulled away from Westry.
“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”
I sighed. “It’s all so complicated.”
“Not when love is so certain,” he said.
For Westry, it was that straightforward. We loved each other. That was that. And yet, I had made a promise to Gerard. Gerard, who might be fighting for his life on a battlefield right now. Gerard, who was waiting for me to be his wife. How could I do this to him?
I looked up at Westry. As I gazed into his eyes, my resolve strengthened. I loved this man with every ounce of my being. I kissed him softly, and laid my head back on his shoulder. We listened to the French songs on the radio for a long time, forgetting people, places, even time, until my eyes grew heavy.
It may have been minutes or hours later, but I bolted out of bed when I heard the snap of a twig outside. I hurriedly dressed, fussing with the zipper on my dress as I peered out the window, where I could see a shadowy form on the beach.
“Who do you think it is?” I whispered to Westry, who quickly rose from the bed, slipping on his trousers and sliding each arm through the sleeves of his shirt. He didn’t stop to button it before opening the door. I followed close behind, realizing that I had no idea what time it was. Kitty and the others must have been panicked.
“Who’s there?” Westry called out to the figure in the distance.
“It’s me,” said a familiar voice. “Kitty.” We pushed past the thicket, and the light from the moon revealed her face. I could see that she was frightened. “Anne? Is that you?”
“Yes,” I said, suddenly aware that my hair was askew. Did I zip my dress all the way? What would she think seeing Westry standing there half-dressed?
“Oh,” she said when she noticed Westry beside me. “I—I didn’t mean to interrupt; it’s just that we were getting ready to leave, and we couldn’t find you.”
“I’m sorry, Kitty,” I said, a bit embarrassed. “I must have lost track of time.”
Kitty couldn’t see the bungalow from where she was standing, and I was glad of it.
“I was just leaving,” I said, turning to Westry. My God, he was handsome. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him here, maybe forever. “Good night, Westry,” I said.
“Good night, Anne,” he replied, smiling a secret smile.
Kitty and I walked in silence up the beach, until she finally spoke. “You love him, don’t you?”
“Kitty!”
She nestled her hand in mine. “It’s OK,” she said. “I don’t care who you love. I just want to see you happy. Are you?”
I looked up at the moon overhead and then back toward the stretch of beach that led to the bungalow. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve never been happier in my entire life than at this moment.”
The bumpy road home barely disturbed any of us. Not Stella, with her head resting comfortably in Will’s lap; or Mary, deep in conversation with Lou; or Kitty, lost in her own thoughts; and especially not me, with a heart that swelled with such true and perfect love. But with it came a great heaviness, for I had to make a decision. Soon, I feared.
Chapter 9
“Did you hear?” Liz said at breakfast. “The men are shipping out. Almost all of them. There’s some big fight on an island south of here. It’s going to be serious.”
My eyes met Mary’s. I could see the concern for Lou in her eyes and wondered if she could detect the fear I felt for Westry.
“Colonel Donahue is leading them out this evening,” Kitty said, with little emotion, as if she was reading the War Digest verbatim.
“Does anyone know who’s going?” I asked, hoping the panic I felt wasn’t evident in my voice.
“Yes,” Stella said, pulling out her handkerchief. “Go look at the list.” She pointed to the bulletin board outside the mess hall. “I saw Will’s name on it earlier.”
“Stella, I’m so sorry,” said Liz.
I turned to Mary. “Will you go look with me?”
She nodded, and we walked somberly outside to the board. There it was. His name, halfway down, in black ink. Westry Green. Lou’s was there too. Mary gasped, and we clutched each other tightly.
“We have to find them,” she said. “We have to say good-bye before . . .”
“Let’s be confident,” I said. “Let’s think positively. They need that from us.”
“Anne,” Mary muttered, “I can’t bear to lose him.”
“You shouldn’t talk that way, dear,” I said, patting her arm. “It’s bad luck.”
I’d already worked the early morning shift in the infirmary, so I didn’t feel guilty about sneaking out after breakfast to make a quick trip to the men’s barracks, where I gazed up at Westry’s window. The room, or what I could see of it from standing on a bench outside, looked empty—a tightly made bed and a coat missing from the hook near the door. Has he already left? Liz had mentioned earlier that a squadron had already departed. Is Westry with them?
I said good-bye to Mary and walked quickly to the beach, and once I’d rounded the bend, I started to run. Maybe he’s at the bungalow, waiting for me. I can see him before he leaves, if I run fast enough. My shoes filled with sand as I sloshed along the beach—sand that had never felt so heavy, so stifling. Can it be trying to keep me from Westry, to hold me back? I tripped on a piece of driftwood and clutched my aching knee before standing up again and resuming my pace. Faster. Run faster. Each second counted.
I pushed through the brush and finally made my way to the front step of the bungalow. The morning sun shone on its palm walls, streaming light all around it. I reached for the doorknob, praying that it would be open, praying that Westry would be inside. But my hand was met with a sharp click. Locked. Westry wasn’t there. I was too late.
I pulled out the key and let myself in anyway, sitting down in a heap of disappointment on the chair by the desk. The little room immediately comforted me. I could sense his presence, just as he’d said I would. I searched my memories for his exact words, and found them tucked away in my heart: “Next time you worry that I am growing distant, come here. Come to the bungalow, and you will feel my love.” Yes, I could feel his love. It enveloped me.
I lifted the floorboard and my heart warmed when I saw a letter inside.
My darling Cleo,
I have to leave now, my dear. I am shipping out to Guadalcanal for what the CO calls “serious combat.” The men don’t know what to expect, nor do I. After all, we’ve been sitting pretty on this rock for so long. We were almost fooled into thinking we were on vacation. It’s about time we fulfill our jobs, to do what we came here for. To fight.
I stopped by the infirmary this morning to say good-bye, but you were busy, and I hated to disturb you. I watched you work from the window for a few minutes. My, you are beautiful. The way you move. The way you talk. I have never loved as I love you.
I don’t know how long I will be gone. Maybe days. Maybe months. But I pray that you will hold the memory of last night in your heart, as I will. I pray that you will think of me and wait for me. For I will return, and we will be reunited. And when the war is over and done with, we will never part.
Re
member me, la vie en rose, my darling.
Yours forevermore,
Grayson
I wiped away tears, then ran outside to the shore as a squadron of airplanes flew overhead in formation. I blew a kiss out into the sky.
He’d come back. He had to.
The days passed with very little news from the war front. The men who had stayed seemed preoccupied and on edge, perhaps guilty that they weren’t out fighting too, or ashamed that they hadn’t been chosen for such an important mission.
The Allies were closing in on the Japanese in the Pacific, and this was a critical battle to protect New Zealand, Liz had explained. Liz knew more about the war than any of us. She said the Japanese had planned to colonize New Zealand, to rape and kill. And while the allies had taken Guadalcanal, pockets of enemy forces remained scattered throughout the South Pacific. We had to win. If we didn’t, well, no one talked about that, but it weighed heavily on our minds.
Every day more injured men were wheeled off airplanes. Some came in on stretchers, dazed and bloodied, mute, as if what they had seen had robbed them of their voices, their sanity. Others had such severe injuries—severed legs, missing arms, shrapnel in the eyes—that they moaned for morphine, and we gave it to them as quickly as our hands could inject needles into their pain-ravaged skin.
The steady stream of men kept us busy in the infirmary, making us wonder if the battle was going according to plan. Nurse Hildebrand, who directed us with such emotionless precision, seemed almost mechanical. “Liz!” she shouted. “Go to the storeroom and get a fresh supply of bandages. Can’t you see that we’re almost out? Stella! Come here and help me get this one prepped for surgery. Kitty! The man over in bed nine needs morphine. Quickly now.”
