Another two months have passed since the last update. How does time fly so quickly? And how is it that I spent a good month completely stuck on this chapter and then suddenly wrote about 3/4 of it in the span of four days? Anyways, I'm once again sorry to keep you all waiting for so long and I truly appreciate your patience and encouragement. I'm so happy that you still enjoy the story and I love hearing your thoughts about it.
Warning: this chapter mentions and deals with depression-like symptoms such as feeling numb and disconnected as well as parts of PTDS like flashbacks, jumpiness and feeling isolated and lonely. If these are sensitive subjects for you, please proceed with caution and take care of yourselves.
Esther saw ghosts everywhere. The streets of New York, especially near the harbour, were constantly teeming with returning soldiers and sailors and airmen. Familiar faces, faces of people she knew were long gone, flashed in the corner of her eye and vanished when she looked. A burst of laughter from a WAVE lieutenant reminded her so much of Susannah, one of the women in her company who had died on D-Day, that it stole the air from her lungs. The displays of camaraderie and friendship between brothers in arms, the teasing, the smiles, the nudges and the arms slung casually around shoulders… the sight grated against her ribcage and hollowed out her chest. So many times, she caught herself turning to say something to Steve, Jumbo or Lipinski, only to find empty air next to her.
Her parents noticed, of course, but pretended not to. They didn't know what to do or say, how to ask. They worried, so Esther pretended as well. She learned to ignore the faces at the fringes of her field of vision, to hide her flinches at unexpected noises, to pretend like she wasn't flooded by a fierce yearning and loneliness when she saw a group of girls chatting animatedly or some young men jostling each other in good fun.
.
Her mother urged her to go out with old friends, so she went, only to feel disconnected and like an outsider. Mary-Beth, Ruth and Gloria had been her best friends. Around the same age, the four of them had all worked in the secretary pool of a medium-sized law firm. They had taken their lunch breaks together, commiserated about some of their rude or inept co-workers, gone out dancing in the evenings or on outings on the weekend.
But that had been before. The quartet had become a trio in her absence, growing closer until the empty spot in their group disappeared. Until there was no more space for a fourth.
Esther and her time in the Army were interesting for all of fifteen minutes before conversation turned to the latest news in the other women's daily lives. Esther listened and smiled and mhm-ed in the appropriate places as the three women chatted about motherhood and married life and running a household, laughed at inside jokes and reminded each other of events from a year or two ago.
Mary-Beth had gotten married and had welcomed her third child four months ago. Ruth's husband had made a fortune in the arms industry and they were expecting their first child. Gloria, the youngest of them at 23, was the only one still working at Ross & Wembley and she was waiting for her sweetheart to propose.
Sitting in Mary-Beth's living room amidst baby pictures and toys, Esther listened and smiled and took a sip of too sweet coffee whenever her smile slipped.
.
Benjamin Silverton approached her outside the synagogue one sunny Saturday and asked her out to go dancing. Her father had been dropping hints about the young man seeming interested in her ever since Esther had started coming to the synagogue again. Because she knew Abba was worried about her, she accepted.
As far as nightclubs went, The Latin Quarter was a popular place and for good reason. The food was great, the music excellent and the atmosphere energetic and brimming with life. A big band was playing and people had a good time both on and off the dance floor. Benjamin was a fairly competent dancer, and a nice guy. They danced and made small-talk and over dinner, conversation meandered through a variety of light topics, though Esther found it hard to focus since Benjamin was more talking at her than to her. He acknowledged her contributions and opinions, but always continued his tangents.
Although it hadn't been a terrible evening, Esther still returned home disappointed and annoyed with herself for inadvertently comparing Benjamin to her friends from Dog Company, for hoping for a similarly relaxed and companionable connection. For feeling lonely and lost in a room full of people.
The door to her bedroom closed with the faintest click. In the faint glow of the streetlamp below her window, she undid her hair, wiped off the makeup and the stray tears that trailed down her cheeks. Mechanically changing into her pyjamas, she looked at her bed and shook her head with a sigh. No sense in going to bed if she ended up staring at the ceiling.
She tiptoed into the living room. The polished wooden floorboards were cool under her bare soles. She grabbed a bottle from the liquor cabinet, not caring if she got gin, whiskey or rum, and padded back to her room. Crossing to the window, she climbed out onto the fire escape and up to the roof.
.
A faint breeze played with her cascading curls, the mild night air refreshing after the heat of the day and the scent-laden stuffiness of a lively nightclub. Another sigh escaping her lips with a tired whoosh, Esther sat down against the brick balustrade, looking at the bottle in her hands. The ghosts stirred at the edges of her vision. In the distance, a siren wailed. She opened the bottle and raised it in a toast to the ghosts.
"To you."
The gin tasted like pine needles and melancholy, the faint burn of alcohol in her throat making her think of the ugly flask Gnazzo had filled with whatever liquor he could scrounge in every country they were sent to. She took another sip and tipped her head back.
"There's something wrong with me", she told the night sky. From the moment she'd stepped off the troop ship and back into civilian life, she'd been off-kilter, restless and swinging between numb and overwhelmed at unpredictable intervals.
Around her, the ghosts rippled and moved closer. Maybe in a show of silent support, maybe out of curiosity. Maybe because her mind had decided this was what ghosts did. She didn't know and couldn't bring herself to care. Which was part of what was wrong with her. Sane people didn't see ghosts. Normal people got worried when they saw things that weren't real. Well-adjusted people didn't sit on the roof in their nightclothes, drinking gin and talking to ghosts and themselves.
A sardonic chuckle made its way up from her chest. "Well-adjusted, sane people don't voluntarily jump out of airplanes either."
If he were here, Lipinski would be the first to throw in a snarky comment about a touch of insanity being a prerequisite for parachute infantry. The thought cheered her up a little, even as a pang went through her heart. Gosh, she missed her guys so much. She brought the bottle to her lips again.
Comfortably drunk – drunk as she'd been a couple of times with the boys in Dog, who always looked out for her, a good deal drunker than she would have ever dared to be before – she looked out over the skyline and let her thoughts drift.
By the time she climbed back down the fire escape and crawled into bed, the sky was already growing lighter again, the dawn of a new day creeping closer. She knew that when she woke up with a hangover, Abba and Ima were going to be worried again and she knew that she needed to get out of this limbo she was in, but as she closed her eyes, Esther decided she would worry about that after she'd slept and sobered up.
It is just like in my dreams. Gentle waves lapping at the sandy shores, the sun glistening on the impossibly clear water, laughter and squeals from the children splashing in the shallows with my dear Roger. School is out for the summer, so we go to the beach pretty much every day. Jill and I have never been closer, Roger and I enjoy rediscovering and redefining our relationship and the kids love showing me all the things they've learned and all the ways they've grown while I was gone.
I know I have been incredibly fortunate, that my transition back to being a civilian and a full-time mom is and has been so seamless. Of course, I miss the guys and I worry about them – I check the casualty lists every day and it hurts whenever I see a familiar name –, but it seems that I didn't lose a piece of myself in Europe and that the war doesn't haunt me too much. Who knows, that might still change. Maybe I'm trying not to think about it too much, the kids certainly keep me busy and Jill and Roger are very good about not asking probing questions or demanding to know every detail, for which I'm grateful.
I have to go. Tommy and Gwen want me to help them build a sandcastle.
.
The sandcastle was almost ready and the brave knights of Sandania were preparing to defend it against the water demons. Catherine and Gillian traded a fond smile over the heads of the two children as they helped them fortify the outer walls and finish setting the magic seashells into the turrets.
It had been 7 weeks since Catherine had come home, and she and her family had settled into a new normal. They all, kids and adults alike, had needed to adjust to the changed dynamics. Before the war, Roger and Catherine had raised Gwen and Tommy on their own, Gillian and her fiancé, Albert, having their own life in California. Then, after Albert had been killed, Gillian had moved in with her sister and her family, taking on the role of a parent while Catherine was away. Now, the kids had three parents since Catherine wouldn't dream of depriving her little sister of the love and stability her family had given her since Albert's death. And sending away the children's beloved Aunt Jill to reassert her own authority and position as their mother didn't even bear thinking about.
It had hurt when Tommy had gone to Gillian for comfort instead of Catherine as he would have a few years ago. It had stung to hear Gwen say she wanted Auntie Jill's help with her homework because "Auntie Jill always helps me with my homework". But Catherine couldn't and didn't blame them. She'd been gone for three years. At the kids' young age, three years were a very long time.
Gillian had been worried, hadn't wanted Catherine to feel undermined or supplanted. They had talked about the situation at length one night, the two of them at the kitchen table. Jill had felt guilty for upsetting the family dynamics, had even offered to leave to make the transition easier. Catherine had immediately vetoed that, insisting that this family had consisted of 5 people from the day Jill had moved in. They had eventually agreed to take it one day at a time and see where that took them.
Ironically enough, once they stopped over-thinking and realised that the kids accepted the new family constellation like it was the most natural thing in the world, it suddenly became very easy.
.
The traditionalists in the neighbourhood had a lot to say about the Wilsons, mostly behind their backs, of course. Most days, Catherine ignored them. The Army had given her plenty of practice in tuning out gossip and malicious tongues and she had better things to do than justify herself to those busybodies. But some days, she had to clench her teeth to keep from snapping back, and it was one of those days when Mrs Theodore decided to darken her doorstep with narrow-minded judgement.
"Mooom", Gwen hollered after going to answer the knock on their front door.
Still holding the wriggling bundle of shrieking laughter that was her son, Catherine came to the door. In an instant, she catalogued the strained smile, the tension in the neatly shaped brows and the haughty uptilt of the chin. Swinging Tommy right side up, she set him onto his feet and sent the kids back to their game. "I'll be along in a minute, okay?"
They scampered off, leaving the two women facing off with the threshold between them.
Clearing her throat, Catherine asked: "Would you like to come in, Mrs Theodore?"
"Thank you, I would."
.
Installed at the kitchen table with some iced tea, Mrs Theodore wasted no time getting to the reason for her unannounced visit. "I must say, Mrs Wilson", she said primly, smoothing a minute crease in her skirt, "we are all quite concerned about your family – your children in particular."
Catherine's eyebrows rose. "That is very kind of you, Mrs Theodore, but my family is perfectly fine."
"I'm sure." A polite, forced smile twitched across Mrs Theodore's features, betraying her disbelief just as much as her voice. "It's just, with all the changes your children have gone through these past few years, and the uncertainty…"
"I appreciate the concern, but I assure you: the kids are doing fine. They missed me, just like I missed them, but they didn't and don't understand enough about the war to worry I wouldn't come home. It was hard on my family and it was hard on me, sure, but we made it through."
"By leaving your children in the care of your husband and your unmarried sister? Surely you must see how it looks."
Catherine very deliberately put down her glass of iced tea before the urge to smash it overcame her. Taking a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and kept a tight hold on her temper. No matter how much Mrs Theodore's rudeness and disdain enraged her, she wasn't going to give the woman the satisfaction of losing her cool. And she didn't want Gwen and Tommy to hear her shouting and cursing.
"Mrs Theodore", she began, her tone calm and carefully controlled. "My sister lost her fiancé to the war, of course we took her in. She is family, after all. And I will always be grateful that she was here to support Roger and the kids. She loves Tommy and Gwen dearly and they love their Auntie Jill. There is nothing untoward going on for you to worry about and shame on you for implying such things about my husband and sister."
The insolent woman looked almost put out by the rebuke, like she didn't see why Catherine would take offense. "Well, that's a relief. We were merely concerned since… I mean, your sister is a very pretty thing and you know how men are."
"I have spent the last three years surrounded by men, so yes, I'm aware of what some of them can be like. I also served with countless men whose mothers raised them right, who'd rather walk blindfolded through a minefield than disrespect and harm a woman." She pushed to her feet. "And if you're done insulting my family inside my home, I think it's time for you to leave."
.
After Mrs Theodore had left in a huff, no doubt heading straight to other neighbours to gossip, Catherine shut the door and leant her back against it. She needed a moment to compose herself before she could go back to playing with the kids.
"The nerve of that woman", she muttered under her breath. "Comes into my house and starts insinuating all sorts of shit. Miserable hag."
Shaking her head, she mentally tucked her anger away. She could rant to Jill and Roger – and via letter to her friends – later, when the kids were in bed.
The familiar jingle of the ice cream truck sounded down on the road and not five seconds later, two pairs of small feet came stampeding into the hallway.
"Mommy, Mommy, can we have ice cream? Pleeease?"
Since this family is already in moral decay, why the hell not?, Catherine thought to herself with a burst of sardonic amusement. "Sure", she said, "let me just grab some change."
The kids cheered and practically bounced on their feet as she plucked a few coins from her purse. They were off like a shot when she opened the door. She followed at a more sedate pace, smiling at their boundless energy.
Who cared about what people like Mrs Theodore thought? Her little moppets were healthy, happy and well cared for. They had a loving, supportive family and a safe home to grow up in. Unconventional or not, those were the things that counted and if anyone tried to tell her otherwise, Catherine would be more than ready for that argument.