“No. I just...”
As nice as it had been being home...the comfortable bed, the food, the hot water whenever I needed it, the availability of books and clothes... I was restless. And shopping and eating out at a fancy restaurant wasn’t going to feed the need in my soul.
I glanced at my bedside table where a small radio and a framed photo of Aunt Victoria, Uncle Frank, and me sat amid a collection of letters. Four from Char, two from Tilly, and one from Paulette. In my absence I’d missed another squall. “It ripped the roof and sides off the showers and there were naked men running for cover!” Char wrote. Paulette had had a near crash, Tilly had lost two men on one plane ride, and Mac had gone missing for a day, only to be found drunk and hiding in a ditch, having lost his way on his walk home from Luganville.
But it wasn’t just the drama of living on base, it was the lives I guarded thousands of feet in the air.
“You miss the work. And your friends,” Aunt Victoria said. “Your purpose.”
My eyes filled and I closed them, tears running down the sides of my face.
I’d known at the age of seventeen, when I’d followed her into Lenox Hill Hospital on the Upper East Side of Manhattan where we lived, and donned a candy-striper apron, that helping others was what I wanted to do with my life. Tending to the sick, holding a hand, helping the injured... I was good at it. And the sense of worth it gave me, after the verbal and sometimes physical abuse I’d endured for years, was priceless.
I remembered following my aunt around those first couple of weeks, watching as she chatted with patients, taking their mind off needles and injuries and sickness, bringing smiles to their faces and oftentimes even a laugh. She was graceful and respectful and most importantly, kind. And I wanted to be her. I wanted to emulate how surely her hands moved and how comforting her words were...the soothing tone of her voice.
I’d stood in my bathroom for hours, staring at my reflection, practicing how to speak like she did. Slowly, I began to shed the old me, coaxing my mannerisms into new ones, quieting my accent until it had all but disappeared and no one ever asked again where I was from.
And then the war began. I found myself reading the paper and listening to the radio constantly, sick with the news being reported, worried and angry and determined to do something. When Pearl Harbor was bombed, I began to think I might have found a new purpose for my acquired skills, guilt driving my need to get overseas and help wounded soldiers. Wounded Allied soldiers. To be in the thick of it and sacrifice myself should I have to. It was the least I could do in my determination to right a dark, incomprehensible, and infuriating wrong.
But it was more than that.
There was also shame. Shame for where I’d come from. Shame for what I’d left behind.
I opened my eyes and stared at the woman I’d revered since the first moment we’d met.
“I want to go back,” I said. “If the war is still going, my skills are still needed.”
“I know.” She took my hand and smiled. “I’ve sensed it since you landed. Your entire body screams, ‘take me back!’” she said and we laughed.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Oh, Kate...you are selfless and brave, and have been since the day you split yourself in two to be who they wanted, but also who you wanted. Who youneededto be.” This time her eyes filled, her delicate nose reddening. “I’m so proud of you—and furious you’re not my child.”
I squeezed her hand. “But Iamyour child. You have always been the mother I wanted and needed.”
She sucked in a breath and looked away for a moment, nodding, a single tear making its way down her cheek. She wiped it away, her chin quivering as she met my gaze once more.
“I’ve failed you,” she said.
“You haven’t. You and Uncle Frank went above and beyond. What’s done is done.”
“Do you ever think about—”
“I always think about them,” I said, my voice soft. “What’s done is done,” I repeated.
She sighed and nodded. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.”
“I actually think I could do with lunch and a little shopping. Maybe we could pick up some things for my friends? I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t send chocolate.”
“That sounds like a perfect day out,” she said. “And then next week, why don’t we see about getting you back to work where you belong.”
10
It felt wonderfulto get out in the city, although strange. I’d grown so accustomed to living in the jungle, I’d forgotten how loud and full of life Manhattan was. Even the frigid temps didn’t keep people from hurrying down the sidewalks to meet with friends, walk in the many parks, or run to catch a bus, a train, or a taxi. The honks of horns from impatient drivers, the rumble of trucks, music and laughter and chatter—it almost felt as though there wasn’t a war going on—until I saw a group of men in uniform, clearly boys who’d never been to the big city and walked with their eyes staring upward at all the towering buildings. And yet, lovely as it was to see the familiar sights and hear the familiar sounds, I felt guilty being in the land of excess and ease, where things were accessible and many of these people had no idea about the hardships of war.
“That’s not true though, is it?” Aunt Victoria said, perusing the menu as we sat at a corner table with a view outside. “They may not be experiencing war like you have, or like soldiers on the front line, but they most likely have loved ones overseas and are frightened every day when a letter they’re waiting on lingers a bit too long. How they act out in the world does not necessarily reflect the fear and sorrow they feel inside. As you well know.”
Full from lunch, we wandered in and out of shops, her holding up items and asking if they’d survive the island we’d be sending them to. I nodded at some, shook my head at others, and nearly fell out of my wheelchair laughing when she held up a racy nightgown, thinking of Char as I did.
