Cupid's Bow: The First Generation Boxed Set

by Storm, Melissa

“I think I see something,” James whispered as if the enemy were close enough to overhear. “Take another pass.”

  As they drew closer to the source of his interest, James squinted, trying to make out the regalia on the distant men’s uniforms. Was this the batch of missing soldiers or just another enemy outcropping? Before he could get a closer look, a terrible boom shook their plane.

  “Shit!” someone cried.

  Another wracking boom, and the engines fell deathly silent. The pilot wrestled with the controls, fighting to keep their fifty-ton bird airborne for as long as possible.

  James mumbled a quick prayer under his breath. Somehow hoping the single word “please” would be enough to protect the lives of the men below, of his crewmates, and, of course, of himself.

  The only sense he had left was sound. He didn’t feel the pain of impact, or smell the singed metal as it crashed into the ground, but, oh, could he hear the screams of his fellow airmen.

  “Tell Sally I love her,” one said.

  “Nooooo,” another cried.

  Mangled cries arose as some men died and others watched their blood squirt from gaping wounds. Bones popped from flesh.

  James squeezed his eyes shut, hoping if he didn’t look, none of it would be true.

  Perhaps he lost consciousness, or perhaps they were ready and lying in wait. Because the next thing he knew, a pair of men had yanked him from the wreckage and prodded him with their rifles.

  His eyes flitted open and took in the strange, small men. How could such diminutive people take down their powerful war machine?

  They spoke loudly in a language he didn’t understand. It wasn’t clear whether their words were meant for him or for each other, but it was clear they were agitated. They pulled him to his feet, forced his head down, and led him away from the Superfortress. He didn’t have time to see if any of the other men had survived. He couldn’t see where his captors were taking him.

  All he had left was the mismatched symphony that boomed around him and—he hoped—the photo he had found the night before. His lucky charm, he’d said. Well, he’d be needing every last scrap of luck he could find if he were ever to make it out of this strange land alive—let alone a hero.

  Chapter 3

  Gloria sat alone in the room she had always shared with Rico, although normally it had been divided by a curtain to give each a small measure of privacy. She sifted through his belongings to determine what to keep, what to donate, and what to throw away. Of course, Mama was no help. Instead she’d taken a vow of silence hoping it would help Rico reach heaven a little faster. This meant she kept herself sequestered in her room even more than usual, intermittently napping and coughing her phlegm into a cloth napkin.

  Gloria checked on her often, and mostly allowed her younger brothers to fend for themselves. Eating cold leftovers for a day wouldn’t harm them any. Besides, the faster she finished this work, the faster all these constant reminders of what she had lost would be gone.

  Now her next oldest brother, Hector, had taken over Rico’s side of the room. She hated how quickly life moved on for the rest of them when it had come crashing to a sudden and permanent halt for her favorite brother and oldest friend.

  When she went to bed at night, she stared up at the mural Rico had painted above their beds, a colorful night sky hardly visible by the light of the moon glowing through the window. He had wanted to be an artist, but knew such a luxury was never to be. Not when he—like she—had to help support the family.

  What would she do if she were completely free to pursue her own ambitions? She hadn’t the faintest. Never even having allowed herself to get carried away by flights of fancy and false optimism—not like Rico, who had a knack for looking on the bright side.

  And where had it gotten him?

  Six feet under. Which was why she needed to perform this sad chore in the first place.

  She sighed and tossed a stack of magazines in the garbage. On the top shelf of their closet behind where the magazines had been, she found an old photo album. Just the thing she needed. Maybe it would contain a few more humanizing touches for the small funeral service they’d be holding in a couple days’ time.

  The old leather cover was worn and patchy, but the photos inside were crisp and full of life. The five of them—Gloria and her four strapping brothers—sat on the retaining wall behind their small home, sticking out their tongues and making silly faces at the camera, little Pablo nothing more than an infant then. She remembered it well, could almost hear Mama shouting at them to behave and take a nice picture for once.

  The next picture showed Rico and her father wearing dirty trousers and work boots but no shirts, their bronzed skin made that much darker by hours in the hot afternoon sun. She remembered that day well, too. It was the day they had put that same retaining wall in the backyard to keep the little ones from stumbling up the hill and into the street behind.

  Gloria turned the page, feeling grateful she had so many good memories with her brother given she’d never be able to form any new ones again.

  A torn photograph fell into her lap, and she picked it up—a close-up of Rico’s face, creased and torn clean down the middle, but still clearly showing his joyful smile and knowing eyes.

  But what had he known really? Back then his life had been so full of potential. He hadn’t yet signed up for the Air Force and he was still finding time to paint or sketch every day. They had been so happy then. Even Mama had been hale and healthy, an active part of the family still.

  The saddest part of all? That the picture had been taken one short year ago.

  Short in time, but long in memories—most of them grim. Gloria decided to hang on to this photo for herself. As she lovingly tucked it into her pocketbook, she couldn’t help but wonder why this particular photo had been so carelessly maintained when other, much older pictures were still in pristine condition.

  And what had happened to its other half?

  * * *

  Time passes. James’s whiskers grow long and dirty, his bones become rigid and frail. He’s hungry, tired, sore, scared. He has nothing to offer his captors, no vital information, no secret strategies—but still they keep him, hidden so well that apparently none of the search-and-rescue teams can find him.

  He tries to remember Deborah’s smile, the way her lips felt on his when they kissed under the night sky. But the memory feels artificial, like something he read about perhaps, only experienced vicariously rather than for himself.

  Nothing feels real, save his one anchor to reality—to the hope of a life outside of this dank prison. The woman. The picture.

  It is she, not Deborah, who comforts him in the night, who dances through his mind on a perpetual loop of invented memories. He imagines her life, what she must be doing every moment. Picking out the ripest tomatoes at the local grocer, reading a dime store novel while tucked away under the covers of her plush bed, taking a hike on a steep nature trail, stopping frequently to examine the tiny blooms along the road.

  Her life is a pleasant, perfect event. Not like here. And if he manages to make it out with his life, he’ll find her, thank her for saving him from madness, possibly even death. For it is his imaginings of her life that give him hope, the strength to take the abuse, the deprivation, and to survive his prison.

  She is the reason he is still standing when they finally come to liberate him, the reason he can answer their questions with sure, confident answers rather than jagged sobs and hoarse whispers like the others they’ve saved from the encampment. She has meant the difference between life and death for him, but still he doesn’t even know her name.

  They fly him back to the States, admit him to a VA hospital. The doctor says he can’t go home until he’s regained some of his strength. The war is coming to a close now and soon his life can return to normal. But he doesn’t know what exactly normal means anymore. His normal had become a cramped cell on foreign soil, the specter of death looming over him every second of every day. His guardian ang
el had delivered him from that fate, and now maybe she could save him from the horrifying prospect of normal. He doesn’t want to return, only wants to move forward—to find the mysterious woman in the tattered photo he still clutches in his weakened grasp.

  He must thank her, but first he has to figure out who she is and where he can find her.

  Chapter 4

  The hot air felt stagnant in the windowless factory. Gloria suppressed a cough, but still the dust continued to tickle her throat and burn her eyes. This was her life now, possibly forever. With Rico gone, she needed to work even harder both at home and on the assembly line to support her family.

  Mama’s medicine was expensive, but also non-negotiable. She couldn’t imagine losing her dear mother so soon after her big brother. Meanwhile Papa was at work so often they rarely even saw him anymore. He didn’t make near what he was worth, being an illegal worker.

  She, having been born in the States like her younger siblings, could at least find somewhat more stable work. But she was still an unskilled, uneducated woman with brown skin and what some might call a bad attitude. She didn’t find it at all fair that life had to be so difficult when her family worked so hard and were such good people. Still, she knew this job was the best she could get, and she was grateful for it.

  Of course, now that she’d increased her hours, taking care of the household fell largely to her eldest living brother, Hector, who was only eleven. At that age boys should be outside climbing trees and riding bikes, not making lunch for their younger brothers or ensuring Mama took her medicine every four hours as instructed by the doctor.

  Gloria’s job involved quality control, inspecting the completed part to make sure there were no errors. Her part would be combined with other parts to form an engine, which would then go into a machine of some kind. What kind she still wasn’t sure. Her mind often wandered as she ran her hands over the amalgamation of metal gears, springs, and rods.

  She’d picture a better life for her family: Mama healthy again, dancing around the living room while Papa—who no longer had to work fourteen hours per day—held her close and crooned in her ear. Rico holding an art show downtown, selling his paintings for hundreds, even thousands of dollars, to wealthy socialites. She, at college, working toward a degree. In what, she didn’t know. She only knew she wanted to learn about the many paths life had to offer before settling on the one that would best suit her.

  Only… This life had a single path, one that involved working hard, making barely enough to scrape by until the day she died from sheer exhaustion. Perhaps she would marry, perhaps not. Why bring more children into such an impoverished, hopeless world?

  Oh, she was happy for those few moments each day where she sat on the end of Mama’s bed and allowed her to braid her long, dark hair before going to bed, when she told bedtime stories to her brothers, or listened to Papa’s beautiful voice as he sang songs from the old country. Those moments were what kept her going for the long stretches in between when her muscles ached and her eyelids felt heavy.

  A coworker came over and said hello, breaking her of her reverie.

  “This is my last day, so I wanted to make sure I said good-bye,” she announced, shooting a bright smile Gloria’s way.

  “Good-bye?” Gloria continued to examine her part as the woman she hardly knew engaged her in conversation.

  “Yes, I’m headed West. There’s a new factory opening up in California, and it pays almost double what they give us here. Figured I might as well give it a shot, you know? Anyway, I guess this is it. Bye.” She waved and headed toward the exit.

  “Wait,” Gloria called, imagining how different life could be for her family with a little extra financial padding. Papa could even stop working and stay home with the family. Yes, with a better job, Gloria could take care of them all, give each of them a better life. And who knew? Maybe the new factory wasn’t quite so hot or dusty. Maybe her life could be better, too.

  “Mind telling me a bit more about this new factory? Are they still looking to hire? Do you think…I could apply?”

  The woman walked back her way and placed a business card in Gloria’s hand. “Ask for Frank. And, hey, I hope to see you there. It would be nice to have a familiar face around.”

  Gloria stuffed the card into her pocket. Was this her golden ticket to a better life?

  The opportunity loomed large in her mind. Yet still she hesitated. Her entire life had been in Texas. Would this new job be so much better that it would be worth uprooting all of them? Taking Mama away from her doctor? What if things only got worse?

  Part of her wanted so desperately to go, but another hidden part yearned to stay.

  This wasn’t a decision she could make herself. She’d leave it in God’s hands. “Please,” she whispered. “Father, show me a sign. Tell me the right path.” Feeling relieved of the burden of this weighty decision, she returned her full focus to the assembly line. And she knew that, sooner or later, she’d receive a sign.

  How she hoped it would be sooner.

  * * *

  The way James saw it, he’d spent all those months in the commies’ prison; he didn’t want to spend another day being held prisoner by anyone else. Even if the whitewashed walls of his current holding cell were that of a hospital room rather than a POW camp, he refused to be confined for another moment. He’d wasted too much time already.

  “You need to rest up and regain some strength,” the nurse said sweetly while changing his IV bag.

  But James argued with the medical staff at every turn. He so desperately needed to break free and find the woman whose picture he’d held close to his heart for what felt like forever.

  Finally, they agreed to release James into the care of his buddy Tommy. It only took a bit of gentle prodding to get his old friend to make the long trip to sign him out of the hospital.

  Tommy looked like a new man, one James almost didn’t recognize when he stepped into the tiny hospital room and grabbed James’s luggage.

  “You look a little worse for wear there, Jimbo. Are you sure you want to head home? I saw that nurse you’ve got. What a looker.” He let out a low, long whistle. “You sure it’s not worth sticking around a little longer to try and make sweet with her?”

  James didn’t have the energy to laugh, but he did smile. “Nah, I’m ready to get home.” He knew if he revealed his plan too soon, Tommy would turn around and bring him right back here—and James knew better than to let that happen.

  “How you been, Tommy? Did you ever marry that girl of yours?”

  Tommy spoke with a huge grin plastered on his lovesick face. “Sure did. And we’re expecting. Should be any day now.”

  James stopped walking and gave his friend a long hug, ending it with a few quick pats on his back. “I’m so happy for you, Tom. I can’t believe you’re going to be somebody’s father. I mean, it seems like only yesterday we were—”

  “Hey, not a word about that. Somehow Diana always manages to hear, even if there’s half a world between us.” He laughed and slapped James on the back as they walked through the parking lot. “It’s so good to have you back.”

  But despite Tommy’s words, James didn’t feel as if he had returned.

  He felt as if he was back at camp that first night with Tommy when he had discovered the photo, as if the past year or so hadn’t happened at all. The time spent in the enemy’s prison had occurred as one long uninterrupted chain of days spent staring at the picture, imagining her life, shutting out everything else around him, because to pay attention would be to invite pain.

  Now here Tommy was, still the same chipper fellow he’d always been—just taller, stronger, and happier. He’d emerged from the war a hero, while James was meek and frail. What would his life be like now if he’d done his tour of service and returned home with Tommy? If he’d come back to the States with a wife waiting in the wings, a child on the way?

  It all felt far too grown up.

  Of course, James would never again be th
at patriotic nineteen-year-old, eager to defend his country, still not quite understanding the full ramifications of such a decision.

  He was no longer the same idealistic youth Deborah Walker had fallen in love with. He was a man now, hardened by a war that almost broke him.

  And Deborah…he’d promised to return to her—only now it didn’t seem fair, not when he’d begun such an intense one-sided relationship with the woman in the photo.

  He needed to broach the topic with Tommy. Now that his friend had signed him out of the hospital and driven half of the way home, he doubted he’d turn around and take him back. James just needed to do his best to not sound too crazy when he asked for his help.

  Tommy apparently had a lot on his mind as well. While James continued to plan the big reveal in his head, his friend spoke up. “There’s something I, um, need to tell you.”

  “What?”

  The expression on Tommy’s face turned sour. “About your girl, Deborah. Well, as far as we all knew you were dead. Jim, you had been missing for such a long time. None of us thought it was possible that you… When they called me to tell me you had been found, I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t stop hugging Diana and thanking God for delivering you safe and sound.”

  James sighed and held his arm out the window to let the wind rush through his fingers. “Safe, yes, but sound I’m not so sure.”

  Tommy took his eyes away from the road to study James. The car swerved, forcing him to return his focus to the highway. “Everything’s going to be okay now. You’re home, Jimmy. You made it! And you can stay with me and Diana as long as you need to, but there’s something else we need to talk about first. I have to make sure you know before you get your hopes up to high.”

  “Okay, lay it on me.” James brought his hand back inside the car and rested it on his lap.

  “Well, when you went MIA, I went to her house to let her know what had happened. I mean, I figured she should know, right? And well, she seemed really torn up about it. Of course, she did. She was your girl. Then when they called last week, told me you’d be coming home, I tried so hard to find her again so she could be here waiting for you too. Only she was nowhere to be found. I tried so hard, Jimmy. Honestly, I did. Someone told me she got married and moved away, but I don’t know for sure if that’s true. I’m so sorry. I know you’ve already lost so much, but maybe you haven’t lost her yet. We can still find her. I could help you look. Anything to help you get your life back.”