by Sarah Monzon
The man was unbalanced. Which left her rattled, looking over her shoulder. She never knew when he’d show up, what he’d do.
With a sigh, she flipped the visor back up and opened the car door. Purple pansies lined the walkway of brick pavers up to the front door. She gave a quick knock, then stepped inside. Dominick flew at her and wrapped himself around her legs.
“Hey, kiddo. Where’s your mom?” Time to swallow any unease. Dominick already had enough to deal with in his little life, what with his dad gone. He didn’t need to worry about his aunt too.
“I’m in the kitchen.” Amara’s voice sounded from the back of the house.
Jack looked down at the cherub face topped with black ringlets. “Want a ride?”
He smiled so big his white teeth flashed against brown skin, hazel eyes dancing—mixed-race kids were seriously the cutest. Not that she was biased or anything.
Dominick slid down her leg with a squeal until his bottom rested on the top of her foot, then he wrapped his arms and legs around her calf like he was a baby koala. She half dragged, half walked to the other side of the house.
“What happened to your face?” Amara pointed with a paring knife, her eyes wide.
Jack glanced down meaningfully. “I’ll fill you in later.”
Amara followed Jack’s gaze down to Dom. “Right.” She set the knife on the cutting board. “Well then. Spaghetti is already on the table, and I just finished the salad, so it looks like we’re all set to eat.” She picked up the salad bowl and headed to the dining room. “Let’s hurry before Cayden gets bored in the exersaucer.”
They took their seats and said grace. Jack reached for the pot of pasta at the same time a click sounded across the table.
“What was that?”
Amara slid something beneath her hand and off the table. “Hmmm? Pass the salad please?”
She could have sworn she heard a click—
A gasp escaped her lips as cold liquid seeped through her jeans. A waterfall of milk streamed from the table and into her lap. Dominick’s wide eyes met her gaze when she looked up, his chin quivering.
“Sorry, Auntie Jack. It was an ax-me-dent.”
“Accident, bud.” Amara handed Jack a stack of napkins.
Jack wiped up the waterfall, the river on the table, and the small lake on the floor. She blotted at her pants, but she’d have to deal with the dampness for a while—denim didn’t dry out quickly.
“No harm done.”
A sippy-cup from the cupboard replaced the “big boy cup” he’d assured her he was big enough to use. Finally, she passed the salad to Amara and scooped up a spoonful of pasta and placed it in Dom’s plastic Thomas the Tank Engine bowl. “Sauce, bud?”
He shook his head. “Sauce is yucky.”
More for her to soak up with her garlic bread.
Dom scarfed his food with the speed of the steam train painted on his bowl, then hopped off his chair and barreled to the Duplo blocks in the corner of the living room.
Cayden began to cry from the baby gym, and Amara’s shoulders drooped. Her chair scraped against the wood floor as she pushed it back, but Jack stopped her with a hand.
“You eat. I’ll get the baby.”
She scooped wailing Cayden up and nestled her downy head. Did anything smell as good or feel as soft as a baby? Not that Jack was in any hurry to have one of her own. Being the cool auntie was a more-than-satisfactory role. Besides, in order to have a baby, one must first acquire a man. Right now she had one too many to deal with.
Bouncing and soft shushing sounds soothed the crying. Cayden looked up at Jack with her big brown eyes and pawed her auntie’s cheeks with her fists.
“So, Dom’s party.” Jack hid behind a hand, then peek-a-booed out, making her niece smile and coo. “What can I do to help?”
Amara sighed and set down her fork. Fatigue sagged her whole body. “Part of me wants to make it really great and special, especially since Eli won’t be able to be here. The other part just wants to buy a few party plates, pick up an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, and call it done.”
“I’ll tell you what—you pick up the plates and cake, and I’ll do the rest, plan all the games and whatever.”
“Really?” Amara ran a hand through the thick black curls that framed her head like a halo. “Are you sure?”
“Pirate theme, right?”
“Yeah. Dominick’s obsessed with them thanks to that show.” Amara’s gold hoop earrings swung as she shook her head. “Man, I miss television for grown-ups.”
Jack smiled, then winced as the cut in her lip pulled. “I’ll take care of the party.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” Amara’s fork twirled, and spaghetti wrapped around the tines. “Do you think your dad will be back in time?”
“He wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She pressed a raspberry into Cayden’s belly, making the infant squeal in delight.
Amara pierced her with a look. “What about in time to set whoever straight that did that to your face?”
Jack touched her cheek. “How do you know I didn’t run into a door or something?”
Black eyes stared back at her wordlessly.
“You’re right. It wasn’t a door.”
“Not unless the door’s name is Mitch.”
“How did you—” Cayden pushed her chubby fingers into Jack’s mouth.
“Brett made sure everyone knew before he left. Unfortunately, your dad couldn’t get out of the long hauls, but your brother said he had lined up someone to keep an eye out for you.”
Michael the babysitter. How many renditions of I told you so would she have to listen to when he got a look at her. Hmmm… Maybe none? He didn’t have to know. The bruise was noticeable but could easily be covered up with makeup. Her busted lip? Maybe no one would look too hard and see it.
A twinge of guilt pricked her, but that was ridiculous. She didn’t owe the man a recounting of her every waking hour. Besides being her brother’s partner, he was nothing to her. A stranger only a few weeks ago.
Except he seemed so much more now. And nothing stretched it a bit far. Despite the off-putting reason for their acquaintance, Jack enjoyed his company, his friendship. Electric currents still zinged through her body at his presence, and she was more aware of him than any of her other male friends, but that attraction would dim over time. Crushes were natural, but they passed quickly enough.
If he knew about Mitch’s presence at church though? That protector instinct would surge, and he’d stick to her like superglue.
Her imagination took over, conjuring up images of the two of them plastered together, their lips locked, their bodies fused as one.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she ducked her head into Cayden’s tummy. For all that was holy, she didn’t need to go there.
On the practical side, if she did tell him, he might decide to commit all his time to guarding her, and then he’d have no opportunity or strength left for his physical therapy. Prosthetics were in his near future, and if he didn’t dedicate the time to getting stronger, better…well, she wouldn’t stand in the way of that.
“Did you report it?”
“Report what?” Her ridiculous infatuation?
“The assault. Did you report it?”
Oh. “Uh. No. I came right over here.”
“Stop by the police station on your way home and report it.” Amara stacked the dirty dishes in front of her.
“I know I should, but…” Jack toyed with the crumpled napkin by her plate.
The clanking of dishes stopped. “But nothing.”
“If I report it as assault, that will get back to his commanding officer, right? Maybe he’ll get dishonorably discharged for it. I don’t know. But if he does get dishonorably discharged, don’t you think that’ll make him really angry? It’s not like they’ll lock him up for a little bruise on my cheek or anything, and if he’s angry and not in jail, where do you think he’s going to vent that anger?” She squeezed the napkin tight in h
er fist. “Maybe it’s stupid, not going to the authorities. Or maybe I’m better off just waiting until he gets reassigned.”
Dominick’s feet stomped into the room. He held up two blocks stacked on top of each other. “Mommy, they’re stuck.”
Amara pulled the Duplos apart and handed them back to her son, swatting at his bottom playfully as he trotted out of the room.
She looked back at Jack with a lingering smile. “They won’t discharge him. There might be some disciplinary action, but I doubt it would be more than a stern sit-down. Unfortunately. But you need to have everything on record down at the police station.” She pushed the dishes away from her and leaned forward, hand cradling her head. “I wish Eli were here. He’d know exactly what to do.”
Jack stood and walked over to her sister-in-law. She pushed gently against Amara’s shoulders. “Hey, we’re strong women. We can take care of ourselves.”
Dark eyes looked up at her from under a mass of curls. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to let someone else take care of me for a change.”
Chapter Eleven
England, 1944
Alice climbed into the Avro Anson. The plane wasn’t used much in battle, but the RAF had found it useful for training its pilots on twin-engine planes to prepare them for more powerful bombers. For Alice and the other members of the Air Transport Auxiliary, the Anson served as their taxi.
Bodies crammed all around her as the squadron managed to squeeze in. They were being transported to the factory where they would be the first to bring a new fleet of Brewster Buffalos to an active service squadron in a location she’d only heard of the night before. She’d pored over maps of the area, tracing her fingers along the topographical dips and ridges. Everything would look different from a bird’s-eye view, but at least she was somewhat familiar with the route. It helped that she’d be one bird of a flock all heading to the same drop-off.
Engines rumbled, the aircraft vibrating with the power it took to get a multiton hunk of metal off the ground and soaring into the air.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it back before curfew yesterday.” Rose elbowed Alice’s side, her clear eyes a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Thank goodness the raid had ended as quickly as it had started. Henry had gotten her back to the base at Maidenhead with an hour to spare before curfew. Not that he hadn’t left until the clock had chimed and Commander Gower had shooed him out.
A smile played along Alice’s lips. What would Daddy say if she brought home an English journalist? He’d bluster more than a tornado in May. If a man didn’t have a pedigree and a considerable bank account, he wasn’t worthy, in Daddy’s eyes. But she’d rather a man have character than fortune.
Rose’s elbow poked Alice again. “I see that smile. Sparks flew with Mr. Caldwell, didn’t they?” She clapped her hands together.
Alice swallowed her grin. “I’m not sure what you mean. The only sparks flying were the ones falling from the German planes.”
“Right. And I’m the Queen.”
It was near impossible to bow in the crowded seats, but Alice bent at her waist as far as she could. “Your majesty.”
The two erupted in giggles.
In a time when the world looked bent on destroying itself, it felt good to have a moment of levity.
Alice swiped at the moisture collected in her eye. “Have you ever flown a Buffalo before?”
“Lots. You’ll pick it up in no time.”
She hoped so. Flying didn’t intimidate her, but there was a bit of unease at the expectations to climb behind unseen instruments with only some note cards and a folded map.
They began their decent, and everyone grabbed on to the frames of their seats to brace against the jarring impact. Once the plane stopped, they filed out the door and onto the pavement below.
A tall skinny man with brass wings pinned to the chest of his uniform and a scowl carving deep grooves in the contours of his long face approached, clipboard in hand. He barked orders, never looking a single one of the ferry pilots in the eye. Alice’s spine went rigid. From surprise at the man’s tone or his obvious condescension of their rank, she wasn’t sure. This was the military. Commands were voiced at a decimal that burst eardrums, and the niceties of manners these men learned at their mamas’ apron strings were flicked aside like an annoying fly. Didn’t mean she didn’t wish for a simple please or thank you.
Her squadron scattered around her, and she hurried to catch up. She had no idea where she was going or what exactly she was doing. Her only saving grace was to mimic her peers’ every move.
The line of single-engine planes looked similar to others she had flown—large propeller blades attached to the nose, short squat body. The reinforced armored plating and armored glass behind the canopy windshield were new though. Planes in Tennessee hadn’t needed such reinforcements, as it was unlikely it’d be shot out of the sky over the Cumberland Plateau.
A line from Judy Garland’s hit film a few years before ran through Alice’s head. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Or in her case, Tennessee. There weren’t Munchkins, witches, or a yellow brick road for Alice to follow, but she was certain a number of those around her were searching for their own courage, heart, or brains.
Alice climbed into the plane, fourth in line to take off. When it was her turn, she powered forward and pulled up on the throttle, maintaining her position in the squadron. They headed northwest to the drop-off site. The sky was unusually clear, the air free of any jarring pockets that would have the plane dropping altitude. Perfect conditions for a first ferry.
It only took a little over an hour to reach their destination. They had two more rounds of planes to deliver still for the day. Once the Anson picked them up and delivered them once more to the factory, they would repeat the process.
Alice climbed out of the plane and removed her leather flight helmet. Hair damp with sweat clung to her head. She ran her fingers through the mess, wishing for a slight breeze close to the ground to offer some relief.
“You don’t belong here.” The sneer a few yards away stole Alice’s attention. Where had it come from? Those closest to her were busy checking over the new plane. None of the men paid any attention to her, so the comment must not have been directed to her.
Who then?
“Why don’t you take your curvy little backside and get out of those trousers. Put on a fitting dress, and let the men take care of business.”
Alice stepped around the propeller, the other planes lined up in a perfect row. The back of a large man blocked her view, and she couldn’t make out to whom he was speaking. He leaned his hand against the nose of the propeller, and Alice glimpsed half a body on the man’s other side. Whoever he had cornered only came up to the man’s chest.
What a bully. Alice seethed. He clearly clung to archaic strictures of gender roles instead of embracing the fact that women had the intelligence and ability to help in the war effort and beyond, but that didn’t trouble her nearly as much as seeing him tower over one of her fellow lady pilots. No one deserved to be intimidated in that manner.
“You ladies soar in here, preening and flirting with my men, showing off your bodies in inappropriate attire, turning the men’s heads with smiles and faces painted like Jezebel. How are they supposed to stay focused on killing the Krauts?”
The derogatory term for the Germans sent Alice over the edge. Yes, she wanted to stop the Nazis as much as the next person, but stereotyping and belittling a nation was only stooping to Hitler’s unreasonable mind-set. All men were created equal, whether Jew or German, and God would not have his children call each other names.
She stepped up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, his black eyes narrowed, face pinched in displeasure. “What?” he barked.
Alice refused to take a step back. She would not cower to his belligerence. She ground her feet and sank her hands to her hips.
“There is not a single thing inappropriate about—”
Her eyes swung to the side. Who exactly had he cornered? Teresa, a woman of even smaller stature than Rose, continued to cower, her hands wrapping around themselves in continuous motion. Her large green eyes appeared as saucers in her delicate face. Not a touch of rouge colored her cheeks, and Alice knew for a fact the woman hadn’t applied lipstick to her lips that morning either. Mr. High and Mighty had certainly not looked closely to the object of his disdain before heaping his condescension upon her.
“There is not a single thing inappropriate about Miss Weathersby’s attire. If you have a problem with it, then perhaps you should take it up with the British government, as they’re the ones who issued the uniforms.”
The man’s lips curled. “You do not belong here.”
Alice tilted her head. “Another matter for you to address your government about. For not only are we needed, we were invited.” She looked down at her nails, trying to appear to be bored. “And I do believe that we are now being paid the same as the male pilots.” Her eyes raised, and she hoped they threw daggers at the insufferable man. “So either you or the entirety of England is mistaken, because according to your government, we most certainly do belong here.”
She watched the man’s face grow deeper shades of red, sputtering like a pot with the heat turned up to high.
Alice hooked her arm through Teresa’s and gently tugged the girl along. “Don’t pay any attention to people like that,” Alice whispered under her breath. “They have rocks for brains and can’t see an inch in front of their stuck-up noses.”
Teresa didn’t respond but kept her face pointed to the ground.
Rose joined them, her brows lowered as if to say what happened?
Alice shook her head. She’d tell Rose about it later, but now was not the time.
The trio joined the rest of the squadron in the great room of a makeshift building. Some cradled steaming cups of tea or leaned in to have quiet conversations. There wasn’t much they could do until the Anson got there.
The door to the great room swung open, and Teresa’s towering bully strode in like a raging thunderstorm. “I have a Wellington that needs to go to the maintenance unit to have its munitions looked at.” His steely gaze swept the room and landed on Alice. “You will fly it there before continuing with your next duty assignment.”
