Winter, 1942
Dear Laura,
Well, as you may have noticed, we've been delayed. Norway was nice. Bitter, cold, and icy, but the people were friendly. England was the same as it was before. Thanksgiving there wasn't exactly the same as I imagined it would have been at home. We spent it on the water. Food was better than normal. They flew in a small band to entertain us. It wasn't bad. I'm sorry I missed our date. I will be home in time for Christmas. In fact, I see myself just where I want to be by Christmas Eve morning. I'm a little scared about all of this. But I'm sure you'll make things easier.
All the best,
Calvin
***
Easier? Make things easier? Laura folded the letter and slid it into her pocketbook. Everything in her life was a frazzled mess. How could she make things easier for someone else, especially someone like Calvin? Her mind brought up a picture of her best friend, Teddi, and she swallowed. She wouldn't feel guilty about any of this. Never complain, never explain, she reminded herself.
Anthony rolled in from the hallway of their Riverside Drive apartment, arms flexing as he navigated his wheelchair to the center of the living room. "Are you leaving?"
Laura snapped the flap to her pocketbook shut. "I'll be back in a few hours."
"Where are you going?"
"Brooklyn," she said, trying her best not to sigh with weariness.
"At this time of night?"
"It's five o'clock, and Gordon's driving me."
"He's available to drive you now, but where was he at noon when I wanted a haircut?"
"I'm sorry. I'll get my father to hire a driver full-time for us."
Anthony wheeled himself around and headed for the low bar at the far end of the room. "Don't bother. If I wanted more handouts, I'd ask my own father."
"I'm sorry, Anthony. I'm trying here."
Anthony poured a healthy amount of scotch into a tumbler and took a gulp. "So, you're trying. I try, too."
"Do you?"
"I know, Laura, you think this is easy, right? Wheeling around in this contraption when everyone I know is out fighting."
"Chessie's here."
"Chessie's on leave from basic training. He'll be gone soon. I couldn't even hold my own for five months. If I'd known I'd be back so soon, I would never have—"
She folded her hands, thumbs in a ladylike cross, brows raised just a bit. "What? Never have asked me to marry you?"
"That's not what I was going to say."
"You were thinking it."
"Laura, don't act like this. It's not you."
"This isn't you either, Anthony."
He swallowed back the rest of his scotch and put it down on the short bar with a thud. He wheeled himself over to an expansive window overlooking the Hudson River, his back steeled. His wall was firmly up, and Laura had neither the time nor energy to begin chipping away at it.
"I'm sorry, but I have to go," she said. Before reaching the door she added, "I love you."
"Me too," she heard him mutter faintly.
At first, it seemed like a dream come true, Anthony being sent home. But he barely touched her, except when he clung to her after the nightmares that made him scream and sweat and twist in their sheets. It wasn't his fault. She had to stick by him. That was what wives did -- even when they were only nineteen-years-old.
She clicked the door shut behind her.
*~*