by Dean Hughes
“You don’t know that, Richard. You’ve never been married. Don’t you think peeling off layers—getting closer and closer—sounds exciting? It’s how I’ve always liked to think about marriage. I want to see you naked, and I want you to see me that way—physically and every other way. It’s such a sensual idea to me, and spiritual at the same time.”
Richard laughed longer, harder this time. “I suppose,” he finally said. “But I always thought girls were shy about things like that.”
“I am shy about it. I can feel myself blushing, clear down to my toes, even just to talk about it. It’s the idea that I like.”
“And I thought all along that it was me you liked.”
“Don’t laugh at me, Richard. I’m being serious.”
“I know you are. But I’m not sure that’s how marriage usually goes. Most of the married people I know don’t strike me as all that open with each other.”
“I know that. But can’t it be that way?”
“I really don’t know.” He wasn’t laughing now, and that worried Bobbi. “You’re awfully idealistic, Bobbi. I’m not sure I can give you what you need. It almost sounds like you want someone more like that English professor boyfriend you had back in Salt Lake.”
Bobbi was suddenly annoyed. She rolled onto her back and looked at the sky. “Richard, I’m not talking about being poetic, or even talkative. I just want us not to hide anything from each other, not be afraid to say anything.”
Richard didn’t respond, and Bobbi wondered what he was thinking. She knew she had to be careful. She had also made up her mind that in a good marriage partners didn’t try to change one another. And she was too idealistic; she knew that. She reached and found his arm, took hold of his wrist above his bandage. “I’m sorry,” she said, without explaining. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the breeze brushing over her body. She reminded herself to be thankful just to have Richard here close to her again.
“Bobbi, I’ll try,” Richard said softly.
She liked that immensely. She rolled onto her side again, put her arm across his chest, and took hold of his shoulder, liking its firmness now. “I will too, Richard. And don’t let me scare you off. I know I get carried away. My dad always said I had way too many fancy theories about everything.”
“That’s okay. The first thing I liked about you—other than the way you looked—was that you were so interesting to talk to.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wouldn’t you talk? I thought you were a statue there for a while.”
“Bobbi, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t open up all that easily. I don’t know why.”
“You will. I’ll open you. But you’re changing the subject. You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Why shouldn’t we get married this week?”
Richard lay still for a long time before he said, “I don’t know how to do that, Bobbi—get married and then leave a few days later.”
“But we’d have things to remember, Richard, and things to look forward to. It would bring us together.”
Richard didn’t respond. One thing Bobbi knew for sure was that she wasn’t going to force this on him. Richard was not domineering, but he was also not someone who could be easily cajoled into a new way of thinking. He considered everything, came to decisions after a process, not an impulse. And the truth was, she wasn’t sure it was wise to get married now either. As much as anything, she wanted to be reassured that he did want her, as much as she wanted him.
“Bobbi, I have things I have to do. Maybe it sounds strange to you, but I don’t want to marry you until I have hands—until these bandages are off and I can feel somewhat normal again.”
“Richard, those bandages aren’t important to me.”
He didn’t say anything, but she felt a reaction—the slightest hesitation in his breathing.
Bobbi raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him. “Are you worried about the way your hands are going to look?”
“Sure. To some degree. But that’s not the main problem. I still don’t know what I’ll be able to do and not do. I need to find out what my limitations are.”
“Do you think that would matter to me?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“I didn’t say I was worried.”
But now a tightness was in his voice, and Bobbi really didn’t understand. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Are you afraid you can’t make a living, or . . . what?”
“I’m not afraid. That’s not the point. I’ll be fine. I just need some time to get back to normal—to feel like myself again.”
“I don’t know what that means, Richard. To me, it doesn’t seem that your injuries are all that serious. I see boys in the hospital who are going home without eyes, with their arms and legs missing. Or their faces burned beyond recognition. You have no reason to feel abnormal.”
Richard sat up. And now Bobbi could see that she had said the wrong thing. His jaw muscle had tightened into a little lump. “I don’t feel sorry for myself, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “I’ll manage just fine.”
“Richard, what are you talking about? I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I just don’t understand why you don’t feel like yourself. I know you can’t come back from all you’ve been through and just suddenly adjust to everything. You’ve been in battle. Your ship was sunk. You were hurt, and—”
“Bobbi, I need to tell you something right now. You keep telling me you want to be open about everything, but I’m not going to talk about the war. I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I certainly don’t want to spend the rest of my life discussing it.”
Bobbi thought she understood some of that. In the hospital some men talked incessantly about their war experiences, but others refused to say a word. It was a common reaction, and one she thought she could comprehend, but it seemed a change for Richard. “When you were here before, you told me about things you’d seen. You told me about those Japanese soldiers floating in the water—and a lot of other things.”
“I was going back to sea then. I was trying to figure some things out. But now it’s over. I want to think about the future and put all that stuff behind me.”
“But if certain things are bothering you, why not get them out in the open? Won’t that help you? I know you don’t want to talk to just anyone about it, but why not with me? That was the whole point I was trying to make before.”
“And I told you, maybe I can’t be the way you want me to be.”
There was a hint of anger in his voice, or maybe just frustration. Whatever it was, it scared Bobbi. It was one of those moments when the wrong words could push one of them to say things that might change their relationship forever, maybe even end it. But it was Richard who softened and said, “Bobbi, listen to me. I’ve seen some things—felt some things—that I don’t want to feel anymore. I don’t want to talk about them, ever. I want to forget them. I’m not all messed up. I’m not some battle-fatigued ‘war victim,’ or something like that. I just remember the kind of guy I was before the war, back home, and I want to get back to that. I want to go home, get my life going again, and then get married. That’s all I’m saying.”
“All right. I can understand that. Maybe everyone does have to hold certain things inside. We have the right to some part of us that we don’t share with anyone.”
“But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m telling you I don’t want certain things to be part of me, and talking about them will only make them worse, not better.”
“Or will they fester inside you?”
“No. I’m not going to let that happen.”
“Okay,” Bobbi said, but she wasn’t convinced. There was still too much emotion in Richard’s voice, too much he was holding back. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered about the two of them. What if he was too private for he
r? What if she did have trouble, all her life, dealing with his reticence? What if she questioned him too much and he gradually withdrew from her? She had seen marriages that seemed all wrong, as though two people lived in the same house and shared meals and even beds, but apparently little else.
“I think maybe I ought to head back to the hospital,” Richard said.
“No, Richard. I won’t plague you about this anymore. Let’s just relax. We need to laugh.”
He nodded, and he even smiled, although that too seemed a little forced. “That’s true,” he said. He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I think you’re getting the wrong impression, Bobbi. I’m fine. I really am. There’s nothing bothering me that I can’t deal with.”
“Okay.” But it was the lie she heard so often at the hospital. Many of the men seemed to feel it was a sign of weakness to admit they were dealing with emotional difficulties. She watched men who were so full of pain they looked ready to explode but who would never admit to the slightest problem. Could she really stand it if Richard would hold her outside himself that way?
But she had to back off, and she knew it. So she and Richard got up, and they waded in the water, walked the beach, talked and joked. The only problem was, none of it seemed quite real, and the pretense kept hurting more and more. Finally, earlier than Bobbi had planned, they began their drive back to Pearl Harbor. Along the way, they talked about nothing important, and it was somehow like talking through a screen door, seeing each other all right, but with a hazy distortion between them.
Bobbi’s fear kept building. She didn’t mind Richard’s vulnerability; in fact, it touched her. But she needed to understand, wanted to help. What exactly was he thinking about—trying to forget? She hated the thought that she would be separated from him, that he would have to fight through this thing alone. And even more, that he wanted it that way.
They took the long way, drove toward Koko Head, and they talked about the beauty of the ocean, of Hawaii. Bobbi could feel that Richard was trying hard to seem self-assured, relaxed.
When they reached the Halona blowhole, Bobbi stopped the car so they could get out and stretch. That’s when Richard said, “Boy, I’d like to dive into the ocean and cool off. I can’t swim with these bandages on, but—”
“Sure you can. A little salt water won’t hurt your hands. When we get back to the hospital, I’ll change the wraps.”
“All right.” He smiled, slowly. And then fully.
That smile always had the same effect on her. She just wanted to forget everything else and be swallowed by his beauty—those pale blue eyes and the tender, quiet way he smiled. “I have a better idea. Forget about the water. Let’s kiss some more.” She put her arms around his neck and let her body press just a little against his.
But there were people about, and it wasn’t his style to make a show in public. He gave her a little peck, but then he pulled away and put his arm around her shoulder. They walked back to the car and drove to a spot up the road where they got out their towels again and then headed for the water.
Bobbi was a good swimmer and not afraid of the surf. She dropped her towel, ran ahead of Richard, and dove in first. He had a powerful stroke, however, and soon caught up to her. The two treaded water for a moment and then set out again, into the waves. When they caught a strong current, Richard said, “Let’s go for a ride.”
They both turned and swam with the flow of the big wave and then let the surf carry them all the way in to the beach. Bobbi crashed at the end, didn’t get her feet under her, and she came up spitting water. Richard laughed at that but managed to get his bandaged hands around her to help her stand in the waist-deep water. She used the chance to put her arms around him again.
“Do your hands hurt?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you tired?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go again.” She turned, dove into the water, and swam once more into the force of the waves. Then, as before, she rode the surf back. And back at the beach, she hugged Richard again, felt the gooseflesh on him as he shivered in the breeze.
They swam that way for maybe an hour, and finally they retreated to their towels, where they dried off. After, they waited as the sun sank toward the ocean, and they watched as it set. Some long, lean clouds, hanging almost on the water, were turning orange and gold, and the waves were picking up the tint.
“The world is beautiful, Richard,” Bobbi finally said. “We need to remember that.”
“People are okay, too. They’re just a lot more complicated than I used to think they were.” He hesitated. “Bobbi, I’m going to be all right. I promise you I will. I feel happier right now than I have in a long time.”
“That’s good. Do you feel like yourself?”
“No. Not really. But maybe that’s just some idea I have about who I used to be. Maybe I would have changed during these years no matter what I had been doing. We all change.”
“I’ll never again be the Bobbi who left Utah three years ago. But that’s okay.”
“Sure. That just makes sense.”
“Let’s not think quite so much, okay? Let’s just stay happy. What I need to remember is that a couple of months ago I thought you were dead, and I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the rest of my life. How can I feel bad just because we’ve got some challenges ahead? At least I know I have you—even if we’re going to be away from each other for a while again.”
“I thought I was going to die, Bobbi. I could have, very easily. And I kept telling myself, ‘I’ve got to make it. I can’t let Bobbi down.’”
“Really? You never told me that before.” He nodded and touched her neck with his wrist, and a little chill ran through her.
“We got back to each other, Richard,” she said, “and now we’ll make the best of it. We’re going to be all right.”
Richard nodded. Then he took her in his arms and held her, and he didn’t seem to worry whether anyone was looking.
Finally, rather late that night, they drove back to the navy base, and Bobbi redressed Richard’s hands. It was actually the first time he had let her look at them. “They’re not bad at all,” she told him. “I’ve seen so much worse.”
He held his hands out and looked at them. “When the explosion went off, I covered my face with my hands. It was just a reaction. But that’s why the back of my hands got burned. The doctor said that’s a lot better than getting them burned on the palms.”
“You protected your face, too. And your eyes.”
“Not completely. I had some bad burns across my forehead, but they healed pretty well.”
“I know. I can still see the scars right along here.” She touched his forehead, and then she lifted each hand and kissed it. As she did, she felt his response. He didn’t say so, but she knew he was relieved that she had accepted that much of him.
Bobbi was glad their time together was not quite at an end. She wanted to build on the feelings they had expressed later in the day, and not see him leave with all the tension they had felt at Sunset Beach. When she got in bed that night, she lay on her side and hugged her pillow, as though Richard were with her there, and she reminded herself again that she had prayed for him to come back, that his return had been the greatest gift of her life. But behind the thought lay a certain uneasiness. Could she have prayed so hard, been so thankful, and all along been wrong? What if the two of them really were too different? She tried to dismiss the thoughts, to tell herself that she was just being her usual overly analytic self, but she didn’t rest well, couldn’t seem to relax all night.
Chapter 4
LaRue Thomas was on a date with Reed Porter. Everyone at East High now considered her Reed’s girlfriend even though the two had only been going out for a few weeks. Reed was the golden boy of the high school, the star of every sport, and a heartthrob, too, with his wavy blond hair and childishly shy smile. He was like a cowboy movie star—soft spoken, with a tendency to look away when compliment
ed, his heavy eyelids drooping as though to cover his embarrassment. He and LaRue were with two of his basketball teammates and their dates, and they had all just come from the Centre Theater, where they had seen National Velvet with Mickey Rooney and Elizabeth Taylor. LaRue had found the show a little too dripping with sweetness, but everyone else had liked it.
Now they had driven to Fred and Kelly’s, a malt and hamburger place on Eleventh South and State in Salt Lake. When the jukebox began to play Jo Stafford’s “Whatcha Know, Joe,” LaRue suddenly jumped up. “Come on, Reed, let’s dance to this,” she said.
“Wait a sec. I don’t want my burger to get cold.”
“Oh, come on. It’ll be all right.” She jerked on his arm, almost dragged him out of the booth they had been sitting
in. She knew the truth, that he wasn’t confident about his dancing. Nor should he be. The guy had no sense of rhythm at all. But LaRue didn’t care. She was good, and she liked to dance where others could watch her. She was wearing a great outfit tonight: a straight skirt, short and gray, with a white blouse; a bright red, sleeveless sweater; and a matching red ribbon in her hair. She knew she looked cute, and she was well aware that Reed—as well as the other boys in the group—had been watching her all night. She loved every minute of that.
“Just step when I do,” she said. “I’ll show you the beat.”
He grinned. “Are you trying to tell me I can’t dance?” he said.
“I wouldn’t say anything like that.” She winked at him. “I just like to lead. You need to get used to that.”
“I think I found that out already.”
LaRue began to jitterbug, stepping emphatically at first, showing him the rhythm. After a few repetitions, she spun under his arm, then out, and then, as she had sometimes done with her friend Ned at the USO, she spun under Reed’s arm again, but this time she wrapped all the way around his back, made a full turn, switched hands, and spun back out on the other side of him.
