In Perfect Time (42 page)

“Yes, swell.” She managed a breezy tone and adjusted her skirt over her knees.

Why did his attention bother her today? He was good-looking and so nice. But she’d never dated a shy man before. With plenty of lively men vying for her affection, she’d never had to take the effort to encourage the quiet ones.

And she refused to encourage Mike with false interest. She didn’t want him to hold her hand or embrace her or kiss her. Because she still loved Roger Cooper.

Kay groaned and sprang to her feet.

Mike’s eyebrows bunched together. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Just need to stretch. I’ll be back.” She headed down the aisle to the powder room.

Two rows back, Roger reclined with his cap over his eyes and his mouth slack in sleep. Kay’s heart jolted. Why could she still taste that mouth on hers?

Charlie Poole glanced up as if to ask her something. But she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to walk and hard.

“Lieutenant Jobson?” Charlie followed her down the aisle.

Kay set a smile in place and turned to him, right where the aisle bent to the side to skirt the restrooms. “Yes?”

“Are you good at math? Lieutenant Cooper’s taking a nap, and I can’t solve this problem.”

“I’ll see.” She took the paper and glanced at the rows of equations. “Algebra?”

“Yeah. He’s trying to teach me what I missed in school. It makes sense this time. He explains real good.”

“I’m sure he does.” Kay studied the equation, but
x
’s and
y
’s mingled in her vision. How many times had she watched him tutoring Enrico in their wine cellar?

“I’m glad he’s going to be a teacher. He’ll be swell.”

Kay snapped up her gaze to Charlie’s sparkling eyes. “A teacher? No, he’s a drummer. He had . . . he had an audition with the Veerman band.” A jab of guilt. She’d never asked how the audition went. Apparently it had not gone well.

“Sure, he had the audition. Hank Veerman offered him a contract, but he turned it down. Guess he hasn’t said anything. He kind of keeps to himself, don’t you know?”

“I know.” The words rasped over her throat as the words drilled into her brain.

“Can you believe it? Cooper told Hank Veerman himself he’d rather be a math teacher. How many teachers sit around wishing they could be musicians, and here’s a fellow, makes it to the big time and turns it down to teach. Don’t that beat all?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.” The paper trembled in Kay’s hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you with this problem. And I need to . . .” She waved toward the ladies’ room.

“Oh! I’m sorry, ma’am.” Charlie turned red and backed away. “Thanks anyway.”

Kay plowed through the bathroom door. A teacher? A teacher?

Roger had lied to her. He told her he couldn’t love her
because he was going to be a drummer and live on the road and he couldn’t give her the home and stability she wanted.

She braced shaking hands on the sink. He wasn’t going to be a drummer. He was going to be a teacher. What profession could be more stable than teaching?

She gazed at her pale face in the mirror, at the haunting realization in her eyes. His rejection had nothing to do with houses or families or living on the road. It had everything to do with her.

No matter what he said, he didn’t think she was good enough for him.

Kay yanked on the faucet and splashed cold truthful water on her face. He was wrong. She was too good for him, the lying, cowardly jerk.

52

Douglas Aircraft, Santa Monica, California
May 8, 1945

Roger pounded away at the drums while hundreds of couples danced to “The Victory Polka.” This would be their last show. Their month was well up, and today they were celebrating victory in Europe—V-E Day.

No more boys would fall to German bullets. Italy was free, France was free, and Germany was conquered. With the war over in Europe, the full power of the Allied armed forces could be turned on Japan, already in its death throes.

Today the workers at the Santa Monica Douglas Aircraft plant polkaed in sheer joy under the California sunshine. With everyone in trousers, it was hard to tell the fellows from the dames.

At the front of the stage, Georgie and Mellie sang, while Kay played the tambourine. This would be the last time he saw her. Since she hadn’t spoken to him once in the past two weeks, that would be best. The rawness would slowly scab over.

But man alive, he’d miss her. Even from a distance, he couldn’t get enough.

The song came to an end, Roger finished with a flourish on the cymbals, and the audience applauded.

“No, no.” Major Barkley patted imaginary heads in front of him. “No, the applause should be for you, the fine workers of Douglas Aircraft.”

Roger winced at the cheesiness but shared the sentiment under the cheese. These people had cranked out thousands of the C-47s that had ferried supplies, dropped paratroopers, and evacuated the wounded—and helped win the war in Europe.

After the applause died down, Barkley raised two fingers. “Today we have two surprises and two special stories.”

Roger frowned. This wasn’t part of the script.

“These are surprises for two of our nightingales.” He grinned at the ladies on stage, who gave each other perplexed looks. “First, it has come to our attention that Lt. Georgie Taylor is engaged to be married.”

Georgie’s face went bright pink.

“Today we have a surprise for you, Lieutenant Taylor. Drumroll, please.”

Roger’s jaw hardened. What on earth was Barkley doing? Georgie didn’t hide the secret of her romance with an enlisted man terribly well, but the PR man should have known better than to broadcast it.

“Drumroll . . . please?” Barkley directed a stiff smile at Roger.

Oh, that was him. He did a drumroll.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Lt. John Hutchinson.”

Roger whipped around. Sure enough, Hutch ambled onto the stage.

Georgie gasped, dashed a few steps toward him, and stopped short. She probably didn’t want to get the man in even greater trouble.

But Hutch grinned at her. “Didn’t you hear him? He said
Lieutenant
Hutchinson.”

“Lieutenant?” Georgie’s eyes widened.

Hutch nodded and drew her into an embrace. They didn’t kiss. They just held each other as if hundreds of people weren’t watching.

Roger’s grip on his drumsticks intensified. Hutch and Georgie hadn’t seen each other since November, before the plane went down. Their reunion should be private.

But Barkley loved a show. “Lieutenant Hutchinson has served as a pharmacist, as a technical sergeant, since he was drafted in 1940. He was in Honolulu when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He landed with our troops in Sicily and at Salerno and at Anzio. For months, he endured German bombing at Anzio, earning medals for bravery along the way. His hospital landed in Southern France the day of the invasion and had to retreat in the Battle of the Bulge. But now he’s been rotated stateside—after his commanding officer bestowed a commission.”

Georgie lifted a tear-streaked face and fingered the gold second lieutenant’s bars on Hutch’s epaulettes. “So now . . .”

He kissed her forehead and said something Roger couldn’t hear.

Just as well. The words—the moment—should have been between the two of them alone.

“Come on over, you two lovebirds.” Barkley motioned them to the microphone. “What do you think, ladies and gentlemen? Shouldn’t these two young people tie the knot?”

The audience cheered and applauded.

“That’s what we thought.” Barkley tipped his head to partially face the couple. “The Army Air Force has planned a beautiful wedding for you this Saturday. We’re flying out your parents and have every detail arranged. That is, if the bride is willing.”

Roger’s hands fisted over the sticks. Barkley deserved a sock in the jaw.

Hutch turned his back on the major and lowered his face to within an inch of Georgie’s, and they spoke in hushed tones.

“What’s that?” Barkley said. “We can’t hear you.”

Roger scooted to the edge of his stool and laid aside his drumsticks. He couldn’t clobber a man who outranked him, but he could certainly give him a piece of his mind.

Georgie peeked around her fiancé, her face flushed. “The bride is willing.”

“Did you hear that, folks? We’re having a wedding this Saturday. Then two of our little nightingales will be taken. As for our married nightingale, Lt. Mellie MacGilliver—she’s about to receive a surprise too.”

Was Tom here? Roger craned around to look behind him but didn’t see any sign of the engineer.

“For three long years, Professor Hiram Blake was imprisoned by the Japanese for no crime other than being an American. For three long years, he lived in barbaric conditions at Santo Tomas in the Philippines. But now he’s free. Now he’s here.”

“Papa?” Mellie clapped her hands over her mouth and wobbled.

Kay steadied her friend.

Behind Roger, a gentleman in his fifties came onto the stage with faltering steps—emaciated.

“Papa!” Mellie ran to him and embraced him.

“Isn’t this touching, folks? She hasn’t seen him for over three years, didn’t know if he lived or died for much of that time. So how about it, Lieutenant? Professor? Come to the microphone. These good folks need to hear from you.”

No, they didn’t. Mellie clung to her father, sobbing, and the poor man could hardly stand. How could they be expected to speak to a crowd?

“That’s enough.” Roger bolted from his seat and wrapped his arms around Mellie and her father. “Hutch! Georgie! Follow me.”

He shepherded them to the stage stairs, where Mike stood, jaw dangling. “Mike! Get this gentleman into the tent, give him a chair, a crate, something to sit on.”

“Will do.” Mike guided them down the stairs.

As he passed, Hutch clapped his hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Thanks, Coop. We needed some privacy.”

“No kidding.” Now to face Barkley. He headed back onto stage.

“Come on, everyone!” Barkley waved his arms around. “Let the nightingales know you want to hear from them again. Give them a big hand.”

The people obliged, eager for drama.

Barkley spotted Roger. Although he kept his grin in place, his eyes shot poison arrows.

Roger marched to the microphone, aware of Kay a few feet to the side, all by herself now. “Ladies and gentlemen, while we’d all love to hear from them, some moments are too sacred for spectacle. These people have been through a great deal. They deserve time to catch up on the past and to plan for the future—in private. Don’t you agree?”

More applause, but subdued.

Major Barkley gave a clipped laugh. “There you have it, folks. The protective leadership of Lt. Roger Cooper that saved this group from capture by the Nazis during two long months behind enemy lines. How about some more stories, Lieutenant Cooper? Or another song, Lieutenant Jobson?”

Roger’s stomach contracted. He would not allow Barkley to use Kay this way. “Ah, who wants a bunch of boring old stories on a day like this? On a day of victory. You want to dance, don’t you? Not some plodding little love song—how about ‘In the Mood’? What do you say?”

Whistles, cheers, stomps, applause.

Roger returned to the drum set. “In the Mood” was an instrumental piece, so Kay was off the hook.

The bandleader raised his baton, the trumpet player tooted the intro, and Roger joined in with the rest of the band.

Kay headed toward the stairs, passing the drums, and she halted. For the first time since they’d left Texas, she looked Roger in the eyes.

The power of it almost made him lose rhythm.

Her gaze combined gratitude and guardedness. She hated what Barkley had done to Georgie and Mellie, and she appreciated what Roger had done. But she still didn’t trust him.

He gave her a quick “it was nothing” smile and returned his attention to his drums.

After the song concluded, Barkley dismissed the workers back to their jobs. After all, he reminded them, the war wasn’t over yet.

The band packed up their instruments, and Roger and Charlie dismantled the drum set.

Barkley strode over to Roger. “Listen, pal. I’m in charge. Not you.”

“I know that, sir.”

“I hope you enjoy the next seven weeks.”

“Seven weeks?” Roger looked up from his work to the major’s red face.

A slick smile with narrowed eyes. “The Seventh War Loan Drive. You’re a hit. The Army issued orders for all of you to tour up and down the West Coast. Seven more weeks.”

Seven more weeks with Kay. Joy and dread swirled in his gut.

Barkley stepped closer and shoved his finger in Roger’s face. “Remember, I outrank you. I hold the power to discharge you from the Army once the Japanese surrender. No more stunts like you pulled today. Understood?”

He swallowed past the thick sludge in his throat. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

53

Santa Monica, California
May 12, 1945

The strangest wedding Kay had ever attended.

Standing at the front of the church, she wore the green gown she’d purchased in Tulsa, Mellie wore a new gown in a rich gold that made her skin glow, Georgie wore a confection of white, and Hutch, Roger, and Mike wore their olive drab service uniforms.

The Army Air Force had flown both sets of parents to California, but no other friends or family were present. Hutch barely knew Roger and he’d just met Mike. The Army had filled the church pews with military and industry bigwigs, the lavish wedding and reception a gift of gratitude for their faithful service.

Mainly, they wanted a crowd for PR pictures.

Kay fixed her gaze on Georgie and Hutch, side by side, hands entwined. It might be the strangest wedding ever, but it also might be the happiest. Both of them beamed pure joy.

Georgie was so petite and sociable, and Hutch so tall and quiet. They complemented each other, brought out the best in each other.

Why wasn’t it the same with Kay and Mike? With him,
there was . . . nothing. He was nice. So very nice. And good and kind. But she felt nothing for him other than general appreciation.