by Cat Gardiner
Then there had been the question of taking the job at First Response Air Med utilizing his Cessna. Providing emergency medical transportation to the lower 48 was something he had done for years, but not in conjunction with a company. That decision pushed him to restore, rivet by rivet, a 1938 Grumman Goose amphibious plane and sell it for a mint. With the cash, he outfitted the Cessna for air ambulance service of organ transplant recipients. The biggest internal struggle he faced was whether to retire from First Response and go back to independent charters for charity only. It took six months to finish the kitchen remodel before he made that decision.
Now busier than ever, he was flying the uninsured and poverty stricken all over the world for treatment and hardly finding the time to enjoy said kitchen. His particular devotion still remained his weekly trips north to Anchorage, shuttling vets to the VA Hospital.
On this day, faced with his lady friend’s ultimatum, the cedar shake roof was conveniently in need of refurbishing after these fifteen years of his residence below it. Nope, he wouldn’t be making any impulsive decision, particularly about love. He did that once in his life and that taught him never to do it again. Thinking things through in a thoughtful, methodical, and thorough manner was the best course of action.
Will heard the deck door open and close, and the brief sound of the morning news assaulted his respite of quiet rumination. His lady friend, Ginny’s voice carried up to him. “Will, are you all right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You stopped hammering, and I became worried.”
“Thanks, Gin. I’m fine, just taking a break is all. Sorry if I woke you.”
“Oh, hon, you didn’t wake me. I’m used to your productive early risings by now. I left your vitamins and baby aspirin on the counter.”
It’s not like he didn’t appreciate her concern—he truly did, but he hated that she treated him as a man much older than his mental and physical abilities. He felt fifty and, hell, looked fifty, too. Seventy-one was only a number, not a death sentence or the requisite trip to an old age home.
“Be careful you don’t throw your back out with all that pounding and hammering.”
“Yes, nurse.”
She laughed.
He and Ginny had known each other for five years and been romantically involved for two or three (he couldn’t quite remember), and it had taken every one of those five years for him to grow accustomed to her laugh: a bit too loud, a bit too guttural, and a bit too snorty. But Ginny was a good woman and together they had shared many laughs, quite a few bottles of wine, and an enjoyment of the outdoors. They’d hike together and snowmobile, even fish. He was a far cry from the city boy he once was, and she was a far cry from the southern, teenaged war widow and young mother she had become in 1952. Apart from the fact that she hated baseball and had no desire to travel for pleasure, they did have quite a few things in common. Overlooking the twelve-year age gap had been easy until she started to care for him as though he was ninety-five.
“Do you want more coffee?” She called up, her voice cheerful and bright.
Will shook his head. “Is that your way of asking me to come down?”
“You know me so well.”
He looked down at her probing expression. What is she expecting, an immediate answer? These things take time. This roof is in need of a lot of repair.
He knew he didn’t have time. She’d be leaving permanently in two weeks to live with her daughter in Kentucky unless he stopped her—or rather—made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Damn, he hated pressure to make impulsive decisions that required a commitment, and damn it he didn’t like committing to anything unless it was on his terms. Moreover, he had been really comfortable not having terms with Ginny these many years. Even as the nurse on the Cessna, Ginny did her thing and he did his, and they got together when they wanted to share whatever “thing” they needed to share with one another. Life was good and he was happy with this arrangement.
“I’m not done up here yet. Perhaps we can talk tonight over dinner?” He raised his brows hoping she got the point.
“That’s fine. I’m headed into town then since you’re avoiding confrontation. G-d, it’s not as though I’ve asked you to give me a kidney or anything, but I know you need time. Well, we’ll talk.” She blew a kiss up to him. “I’ll see you at my place at eight?”
Will took a deep gulp of cold coffee then smiled tightly. His heart really wasn’t into talking let alone making any commitments beyond fixing the loose shingle currently below his ass. “Sounds good. Drive safely.”
Her pretty smile beamed up, and it comforted him to know that she knew him so well and understood his nature. They were two of a kind, actually. Only now, she wanted something neither had previously desired in their relationship—a long-term commitment that began and ended with “I do.” It was certainly more than he felt he could give her but faced with her leaving Alaska, he’d give it serious thought. He owed her that much.
“Love ya’, hon. Be careful up there,” she said with a wave, then opened the door to go back into the house. The news channel had turned to music programming and a brief snippet of Vera Lynn’s “Yours” escaped from inside, floating up to him on a gentle breeze. For four seconds, heaven swirled, embracing a memory.
“Hey, Ginny? Can you turn off the radio?”
“Sure. I’ll see you later.”
Two doors slammed—the one on the deck and the one to that deep recess in his soul. Why was it that a simple, melodious song had the power to eviscerate a man no matter how virile and masculine he felt? Five fuckin’ decades and that song still affected him. Thank goodness, its effect had lessened over time to only a tolerable annoyance, and he rarely allowed himself the painful memories that ushered in more than a modicum of emotion. He wasn’t that man any longer and he’d lived about four of five lives in as many decades since then.
Ginny had already left the house, and he could hear her pick-up truck crunch over the gravel driveway when he said regretfully, “See ya’ later, Gin.”
To his ears, it sounded almost prophetic. He didn’t love her (not the way she wanted anyway), and his heart was telling him to let her go. He wasn’t the marrying type—not at this age. He tried it once in the seventies when he lived in Israel, but it didn’t work. After a year and a half spent deciding whether he was happy or not, he and Sandra divorced in ’77. She stayed in Tel Aviv, and he flew himself to Alaska, replacing sand for snow where he finally dug roots. Fifteen years was the longest commitment he’d ever made. He thanked his former Army co-pilot, McCarthy, for that, having settled in Sitka from New Jersey in the late sixties.
As the temperature rose slightly with the sun, Will stood up fully on the roof. Peeling off his sweatshirt to the white t-shirt below, he offered his well worked muscles a long stretch in the fresh Alaskan air. An eagle’s call in the towering Sitka Spruces surrounding the cabin added to the serenity of the moment, and he allowed his thoughts to meander once he resumed the task of fixing the roof. His hammering seemed to reverberate in the peaceful rhythm of the morning like the echo of the Vera Lynn song, which had affected him more deeply than he thought it would. He was dismayed that it pulled him from the debate that was supposed to be his priority about Ginny and the prospect of marrying her. Instead, his mind swept to another woman.
“Fifty years. I wonder what she’s doing? I should ask if she’s still alive. He’s kept an eye on everyone and everything for me, except the one person …”
The hammer smashed down upon his thumb. “Damn!” he cursed, promptly sucking it. With the action of finger to mouth, a flash of memory rudely intruded without invitation. Sitting in Channel Gardens of Rockefeller Center during the 1942 war parade up Fifth Avenue.
-And are you the right enticement, Lizzy?
Looking so adorable, she grinned with a mouthful of hot dog, and he couldn’t resist the temptation before him. With his thumb, he reached over to wipe a dollop of mustard from her bottom lip and sucked his finger clea
n. It was the closest to a kiss as he had gotten.
-Perhaps, I am the right woman for the job. You’ll have to stick around to find out and allow me to introduce you to all sorts of trouble.
Will continued to suck the tip of his thumb even though the throbbing was negligible. He wondered why a man’s first love wasn’t so easily forgotten and silently acknowledged that Lizzy Renner wasn’t just any first love. She was the first, the last, and the always. When they had courted in their youth, her mellifluous laughter, her smile, warmth, and sincerity had branded his soul forever. The way she had made him feel, and the way she responded to him could never be replicated by any other woman who had come and gone in his life.
Lizzy had ruined him for all others; even her cruel desertion of him after he left for England was not enough for him to forget her. To see her seven years later and married nearly destroyed him. To learn she had thought him dead was a shocking blow, but one they never had a chance to discuss. He made love to her that one magical night, August 8, 1949, to show her that no other man could make her feel the same way as he did, not even her husband. Theirs was a love that would never be duplicated, nor would it ever die. But it turns out their night together was just a one-night stand reprieve from her housewife boredom.
He sighed. “But she was right; she had a family by then, obligations that kept her from leaving him for you. I bet she has grandchildren now.”
The hammer skittered down the side of the roof and crashed onto the deck below. He chuckled wryly. She even ruined his efforts to fix the damn roof. Smiling, Will sat back upon the eave and stared out at the placid Sound and the beauty before him. He hated that he could recall every detail of Lizzy with such ease after all this time, yet he reveled in one memory that his mind’s eye conjured. Could anything be more magnificent than making love for the first time with a woman who consumed every fiber of a man’s being?
She trembled in his arms as he held her, their nude bodies lying side by side, their kisses caressing as his hand smoothed over each slope and curve of her supple skin.
-I love you so much, Lizzy.
-And, I love you. I’ll always love you.
-Are you sure you want to do this?
His girl bit her lip when she nodded.
No, a man who truly loved would never forget that moment even five decades later.
The sudden vibration from the beeper at his hip saved his heart from the indulged memory, and he responded without haste by tossing out the remainder of his coffee cup with a quick snap to his wrist. He sealed the thermos, packed up his tools, and climbed down from the roof. It was time to do some good for the infirm, and that was the only way he knew how to keep loving her from afar.
Will entered the cabin to the lingering scent of brewed coffee but passed by the stove. With calm but measured urgency, he picked up the phone to call his friend, Jimmy McCarthy, who was reaching out to him in need.
“Jim! Good to hear from you. Is everything all right?”
“Been better. Well … apart from that stint we did for two years as Kriegies in Germany.”
He sat at the kitchen bar, looking out beyond the deck. Anxious fingers ran through his salt and pepper hair. “Talk to me. Is it the cancer?”
“Yeah, and I need to get up to Anchorage for surgery. I hate to ask again, but … you know how it is. I don’t think I can manage flying the floatplane.”
“When do you need to get up there by?”
“They want me up on Thursday for Friday surgery. It’s in the lungs, Will.”
“Oh man. I’m sorry. I’m here for you. Whatever you want or need, it’s no problem. Do you need money for a place for Margie to stay while you convalesce?”
“I hate to ask.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. After all these years, you know I love you like a brother.”
“Thanks. Speaking of brothers ...”
Will rose from the stool and began to pace. “I’d rather not.”
“Look, my days are pretty much up. I’ve run the course, but a year ago I had the opportunity to get my shit in order when they diagnosed me.”
“Stop that! I won’t have you talking like you’re about to drop dead from this. You’ve beat worse odds.”
“No, this is it. I can feel it in my bones. What I’m saying is not to let grass grow under your feet any longer. We’re not getting any younger and you really should patch things up with your only living relative before either of you buys the farm. You gotta forgive, old man. Mend the fences with everyone who has done you wrong or you’ll die bitter.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“And how long will that take? What’ll you have to do—restore that fishing cabin of yours on Blue Lake before you decide to call him?”
“Jim, are you trying to piss me off?”
“No, just trying to knock some sense into that vaporhead of yours after all these years.”
Will smiled thoughtfully. “That’s what Louie used to call me when I joined the Corps as a cadet. So, I’ll be downtown tomorrow at ten to pick you and Margie up. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a smooth skirting of the issue at hand, Skipper. Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow … vaporhead. Thanks again.”
“Sure, glad to be of help. You saw me through some rough times in the war when I crashed, both from and in the PPL. Your friendship is a gift, Jim. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
Will hung up the phone, devastated to hear the news. It seemed those non-filtered Camels finally caught up with his friend. He poured himself a cup of coffee, warming it in the microwave and feeling an unusual surge of outright melancholy. No, he was in no mood for dinner at Ginny’s tonight. Making a snap decision about marrying her wasn’t fair to her and, at that moment, wasn’t first and foremost in his mind. That in and of itself told him something right there. He didn’t love her enough to fight for her. Fixing the cedar shakes wasn’t necessary—he knew the answer before he even mulled over the possibilities. Letting her go so she might find true love, something he was unable—actually unwilling—to give her, was the best thing he could do for her.
The house seemed eerily quiet. Nothing but his rapid pulse sounded in his ears when he looked at the telephone again. It taunted him, and he stretched his arm out to the black receiver only to retract it until finally reaching over. He wondered if he felt ready to do the first spontaneous thing in a long, long time.
He glanced at his father’s wristwatch. It was one thirty in New York, and his lawyer and former Kriegie buddy was most likely eating a pastrami sandwich at his desk. With a slight, unusual tremble to his hand, he grabbed the old telephone, pulled it onto his lap, and rotated the dial.
Alan Gardner unexpectedly answered the phone himself.
“Al, it’s me Martel … I’m doin’ great. Sitka’s fine, fishing’s great. McCarthy? Well, he’s in need of prayer … Yeah. I’ll tell him. How’s the family? … Good, good, glad to hear it. … Oh, really? … That’s wonderful. Congratulations … No, retirement has been keeping me busy … Listen, did Louie get the flowers? … And he’s healthy, still kicking and shagging his way through Exeter? … Good. … Yeah, I know. Maybe I’ll do that, but you know it’s been some time since I came east. … And his granddaughter? Has she moved into Primrose Cottage? … I’m glad, glad that house could be used as it should. Thanks for handling the details. Listen, I have a favor to ask. Can you find out about a Mrs. Elizabeth Robertsen?”
~~*~~
Twenty-Four
Let’s Do It
October 30, 1942
By true Floridian standards, the last week of October wasn’t quite the season for swimming, but given Lizzy’s love of the water and the way she cannonballed into the deep end without a bathing cap, there was no stopping her. It was obvious that it gave her an audacious opportunity to show off her form in front of Will. Not that he minded in the least.
On a two-day weekend pass in celebration of his twenty-second birthday he had flown the PPL Marauder to MacDi
ll Airfield where Pistol met him as though she was Marlene Dietrich greeting her personal fan club at the Third Air Force. Again, every Marauder man had treated her with fawning admiration and wolfish dizziness. Will loved how she had laughed at the commotion as he patiently guided her through the throng, back toward her father’s car. The frenzied escape from the exuberant crowd was followed by a two-hour drive south to Rosebriar Manor in the Horch at a relaxing but restrained Victory Speed.
There was a slight crispness to the air and a clear blue sky this Saturday afternoon, providing a delightful day that found them unwinding and anticipating what they both knew would happen over the weekend.
He lounged poolside, enjoying a tequila sunrise, briefly experiencing a fragment of this society world of hers, but he could never be a part of it, nor did he want to. It seemed that since he and his girl were last together in New York, its appeal had diminished to her as well, and that was truly impressive.
The Sarasota Herald-Tribune lie open before him, his feet resting relaxed and crisscrossed on the lounge chair opposite him. An article regarding a missing bomber and the ensuing search for the flight crew over the Everglades and Gulf of Mexico engrossed and distressed him, but he tried to shake it off. Today was a splendid day, marring it with thoughts of the war was unwelcome, especially when he heard her giggle behind him.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Lizzy watching him from inside the pool where she clung to the edge, but he remained silent continuing to read, waiting for her to voice whatever was swirling in that mind of hers. He could tell that she was up to something, something mischievous. Another giggle emanated.
