It was hard to get back into the swing of things. The first day was the worst. Abby tried to brush off the other nurses' condolences, but not out of rudeness; she just didn't want to burst into tears.
So, she filled her waking hours with work. Mind-numbing, back breaking work. For the first time in ages, the hospital ward, relatively empty except for a few malaria cases, was taken apart piece by piece and cleaned within an inch of its life, then put back together, good as new. Abby had help at times from the others, but long after they were off-duty, she continued her cleaning, easily picking up where she left off the day before.
The supply closet was next, Abby sending the dust bunnies on their way after organizing all medicines alphabetically.
It was methodical, soothing, predictable. While trying to remember where she put the hydrocortisone or scrubbing a particular stubborn spot on the floor, her mind could forget, at least for a little while, its sorrow at her loss, the loneliness of not being able to attend the funeral back in the States, the fear for her surviving brothers.
The telegrams still came from her mother, her father, Johnny, Kevin and other family friends. Tony's message lagged along behind them all. Abby read them, allowing herself a moment to weep, then stoically put them away. Tears would do her no good. It would do Jimmy no good.
Abby left the photo of her and her brothers where Bobby left it, right over Tony's picture.
Feeling maudlin, Abby couldn't help but wonder if she would have been feeling this sorrow if it were Tony who had died. But then, there aren't too many Japanese attacks of inland military bases.
It wasn't fair to think that, and she knew it. After all, she wouldn't have been involved with Tony if he were the daredevil type. When she met him, he was on her father's staff, although he was now permanently assigned to the states due to 'health reasons.'
'Health reasons' her ass. He was just afraid.
But, they were all scared. Bobby even admitted he was. Jimmy was as his injured plane rocketed into the ocean.
Those were the thoughts nightmares were made of, waking her up with a start in the middle of the humid night, heart in her throat.
She didn't see any of the Black Sheep for several days. For that, she was grateful. And, she knew why. When faced with death, pilots had a tendency to run and hide, almost as if death couldn't touch them if they stayed away. Like it was contagious. Pilots rarely attended other pilot's funerals. To do so admitted death was an option. And, it never was.
It was so easy to cling to Bobby, to put down her defenses and allow herself the luxury of needing another human being. She told herself it was only because he was there. She could just as easily have broken down in front of anyone.
But, she had let him in her room. Him only, refusing everyone else's request at entry.
Abby told herself again it was only because they could relate. After Boyle's death, they connected in a way she had not connected with anyone in a long time.
That's all it was, nothing more, nothing less.
But, by the time the hospital was spotless, she still didn't feel any better.
As always, the night air was humid, but a breeze blew off the ocean, bringing with it the scent of salt and night-blooming flowers.
The last telegram had arrived right before supper. Abby was back to eating with the girls, and they seemed relieved that her self-therapy using cleaning was over. Everything seemed back to normal. On the outside. Inside, Abby felt like she was set adrift. Dangerous territory. Because, that meant she would automatically try to cling to the first thing that came her way. Like a flood victim holding onto the first debris that came along.
The last telegram actually accentuated those feelings. That's how she found herself on the little lagoon beach, staring out over the rippling water. The telegram fluttered in her hand as she sat with her knees drawn up to her chin.
When he sat down beside her, she wasn't even really surprised.
"How'd you find me?" she asked, still looking out at the water.
He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. "I figured you'd show up here eventually. This seems to be the place for escaping from it all." He didn't tell her he'd come here every night, hoping to see her.
She glanced at him, but he didn't seem to be mocking her.
They both continued staring out onto the water, the moon reflected on the surface.
When he took the telegram from her, she didn't protest.
"Twins, huh? Must run in the family."
"She'll have her hands full. If those boys are anything like Jimmy and Johnny were."
"Life has an uncanny ability of moving on, whether we want it to or not. Doesn't it?" He brushed his hair from his forehead, the wind blowing it out of place.
"That's very philosophical, Bobby. Don't let the guys hear you, or next thing you know, you'll be labeled the squadron egghead." Abby glanced sideways at him and managed a smile.
His laugh echoed off the water.
Her smile broadened at the sound, and she laid back into the sand. He followed suit.
"You know, T.J.'s a little mad at me." She hadn't seen him all week.
"No kiddin', sweetheart. He's also a little ticked at me."
She raised up on her elbow to see him better. "You? Why?"
"Well, we're supposed to be mortal enemies. Me and you, that is. And you and T.J. are supposed to be . . . whatever it is you two are."
Abby flopped back down on her back, ignoring the sand she was in her shirt. "You men are all alike. Everything's a competition with you. And . . . thanks. For – well, for letting me snot all over you like that."
She could hear the smile in his voice. "That's OK. First hot water that's hit my body for weeks." He paused for a moment. "I'm just glad to see . . . that you're doing better." She didn't know it, but he got regular updates on her from Donna. He knew about the cleaning sprees and the nightmares.
She shrugged, fighting tears that always seemed too damn close to the surface. "It's hard, but . . . but I'll manage."
"I have no doubt in my mind."
That sat in comfortable silence for awhile, enjoying the breeze. Although they weren't touching, Abby liked the quiet feel of him next to her. It had a calming affect on her bruised and battered soul.
"I've found a hobby." He broke the silence, almost making her jump.
"You mean, one that doesn't involve booze, bombs or bimbos?"
He sat up with a groan. "No, it doesn't involved booze, bombs or bimbos," he mimicked.
She sat up, too. "Well? What is it?"
"You promise not to laugh."
"Scout's honor," she replied solemnly.
He looked at her skeptically. "Swear?"
"OK, OK, I swear! Now, what is it?"
He sighed, almost looking like he wanted to change his mind. "It's photography."
She blinked. "Seems like it'd be hard to get supplies around here for that."
He looked sheepish. "Well, the supplies sort of belong to the military. Pappy made me in charge of taking photographs for missions and stuff. So, I just use the same stuff outside of missions, too."
"That's a very good way of putting it, Bobby. Taking the 'better to ask forgiveness than permission' route."
"That's one way of putting it."
"Well, how's it going?"
He crossed his legs, making patterns in the sand with his fingers. He looked so much like a little boy, not a Marine pilot, she had to smile.
"Fine, I guess. I'll have to show you what I've done so far."
"I'd like that."
His head jerked up. "You would?"
She was a little taken aback. "Sure. Why not? Hey, maybe when you're a rich and famous photographer, I can tell people, 'yeah, I knew him way back when he was using stolen flight cameras'."
"Borrowed," he corrected.
"Right. Borrowed."
He trickled the sand through his fingers, watching it fall. "We're going out in the morning, but meet me on the beach afterwards."
"How will I know when you're back?"
He grinned. "Oh, I'll let you know."
She looked at him suspiciously. "No monkey business."
"Me?" he looked surprised. "Never. I better get back though. We're flying out early." He rose to his feet effortlessly
Abby didn't ask any particulars about the mission. She didn't want to know. Ignorance was bliss. But, she did try to ignore the tendrils of concern forming in her chest as he offered her his hand.
That's the last thing I need to do! Worry about him . . . I mean, them.
"I think . . . I think I'll stay here. For a bit."
He looked dubious, letting his hand fall to his side. "I don't know. It may not be safe."
"I think I can take whatever any ruffian has to dish out at this point."
He smirked. "True. Poor bastard."
He disappeared into the woods, leaving her with a growing sense of apprehension of what she was getting herself into.
The moonlight glinted off the ring on her hand. She rarely paid it any attention anymore. Both of them had avoided setting a date, her by joining the Army and him by being his usual procrastinating self.
At first, it was fun dating Tony. Her father loved him, and it got her mother off her back. She even surprised herself by accepting his proposal, but she was almost 25 at the time. Practically an old maid. Not that it ever bothered her. But, if her mother bemoaned her lack of beaus another day, she would scream. He was a good man, would take care of her for the rest of her life. What more could a woman want? It was the sensible thing to do – marry Tony – and that's what she always was – sensible old Abby.
Nevertheless, here she was, getting all sweaty palms over some hotshot pilot – something she always swore to herself she would never, under any circumstances, do. She didn't need to ruin what she had with Tony. And, if he could be faithful back in the states, she sure as hell would be, too!
She would meet Anderson tomorrow. Look at his pictures. Comment on them appropriately. Despite their rocky beginnings, he had been kind, almost gentle with her, and she owed him that much. Then, escape back to the hospital, where she'd stay for the duration of her tour.
Abby hoped it was as easy as it sounded.
