“So what?” I asked, opening the ornate front door and waving her in in front of me.
We’d ridden home side by side, our planes flying in one after the other, and she’d told me her entire life story along the way, barely taking time to take a breath.
“I’m from Florida,” she’d said as soon as we were seated on our bikes. She’d pulled her long dark hair from its tie and let it tumble down her back, ignoring the whistles that came from the tarmac as we rode away. “Miami. You’d love it there. Well, maybe not, you’re kinda pale. Do you burn in the sun? I don’t burn. I love the heat. The music. The food. I was born in Puerto Rico but we moved to Miami when I was three...”
By the time we reached the mansion, I knew the names of her five siblings, her dog, Mischief, her nana and papa, her first, second, and last boyfriend, her favorite breakfast made by hertíaIssa, and which friend stole her best blue sweater in the tenth grade. My mind was reeling by the time we pulled up to the house. So when she finally took a breath and turned the conversation to me, I was at a loss.
“So, tell me about the guy,” she said, slightly exasperated, as if I should’ve known exactly where she was going.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, closing the door and trying to think back to if I’d mentioned one of the wounded soldiers I’d seen that day. But she hadn’t given me a chance to speak until just now so I had no idea who she was referring to.
“You are a terrible liar, Lieutenant Campbell.”
If she only knew. But still I was confused.
“Edith told me about your handsome first sergeant,” she said, slipping off her blood-splattered shoes and nudging them to the side of the front door with everyone else’s. “How he was asking about you this morning.”
“Oh!” I said, finally putting two and two together. I shook my head, feeling a blush warm my face. “He’s notmyfirst sergeant. Just a patient who nearly bled out on me the other day.”
“Mmm-hmm...and the one you went to check on, right?”
I shrugged and kicked off my own shoes, then sifted through the mail on the entryway table, finding a letter with my name on it in my aunt’s familiar penmanship. Tucking it into my pocket, I turned back to Hazel.
“I was worried about him,” I said.
“I worry about a lot of them,” she said. “But I’ve never gone to check in on one after I’ve delivered him.”
She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for me to say something. She was more like Char than I’d given her credit for, and I wasn’t sure whether I should feel amused or annoyed. But the way she looked at me, eyes wide like an eager puppy desperate for information, interaction, or just plain attention, made me laugh. She was kind, funny, and sassy, holding tight to the person she was and reminding me of something my aunt Victoria had told me several times over the past decade—that I could not allow other people or circumstance to take my humanness from me.
“There’s no point in doing the job,” Aunt Vic had said when I first brought up the idea of going overseas, “if you cease living as a result.”
I stared at Hazel, weighing my options. If I told her, I knew I’d never hear the end of it. There would be endless questions so long as he was on base. If I didn’t tell her, I risked putting a wedge between me and my new friend. She’d feel I was keeping her at arm’s length, which was no way to build trust and encourage camaraderie.
“Fine,” I said, giving in. “I’ll tell you about him. But upstairs. In our room. I don’t need everyone knowing my business.”
“Ooh!” she said, hurrying up the stairs. “There’s business to know! I can’t wait. And who’s the letter from? Did I ever tell you that only one of my siblings ever writes?”
As she prattled on, I shook my head, following her up the stairs at a much slower pace, already regretting giving her any information about First Sergeant Mitchell, but also loving the idea of having a friend to talk to once more.
I woke the next morning at four thirty when the alarm went off, Hazel, across the room from me, letting out a loud groan before stumbling from her bed and turning it off.
“Sure you don’t want to take my shift today?” she asked, turning on her bedside lamp. Her hair was in its usual morning disarray around her shoulders.
“No thanks,” I said, and turned over, placing my pillow over my head as she loudly opened and shut dresser drawers.
The great house shook with the activity of those scheduled to work and, try as I might, with the front door slamming over and over again as the women hurried out into the day, I wasn’t able to get back to sleep.
With a sigh, I threw off my comforter, swung my legs over the side of the cot, and padded barefoot to the shared bureau where I pulled out a pair of denim trousers with button detailing on the pockets, a short-sleeve white blouse, yellow cardigan, and my favorite pair of brown-and-white oxfords from the closet.
“What are you doing up?”
I jumped, staring through the dim light of the kitchen in the direction of the voice and finding Darla, another of my co-workers I’d barely been able to exchange a hello and goodbye with as we passed one another coming and going. She was sitting at the kitchen table, tucked into the corner, her head resting against the wall behind her.
“Good morning,” I said, yawning into one hand as I took a mug from the cupboard with the other. “I couldn’t get back to sleep with all the noise. You?”
“Couldn’t get to sleep after my last shift.” She slid a plate across the table toward me and I peered down to find a bunch of grapes. “I’ve been up all night.”
“That’s awful,” I said taking two grapes and popping one in my mouth. “Where’d these come from?” It gave a satisfying burst of flavor as I bit down.
