“That’s only because you’re such a good Christian. Once we’re married and you know that everything is blessed by God, your conscience won’t bother you, and you’ll enjoy the kissing and touching and all.”
I was pretty sure that a church ceremony and a ring on my finger wouldn’t suddenly make me feel all quivery and excited to kiss him, the way other girls talked about kissing their boyfriends—or make me want to grope him the way he wanted to grope me. “Neither of us has ever dated anyone else. I think it’s a good idea for us both to see other people.”
His face had gotten all mottled. He’d been a pale boy, pale and slight. His lips looked kind of mushy when he pressed them hard together. His eyes had teared up, but behind the wateriness I glimpsed a flintlike hardness I’d never seen. “Who is it?” he asked.
I was too surprised to take him seriously. I laughed.
“This isn’t funny.” His voice was tight and low. “Is it Ted Riley? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Ted was a tall, thin, painfully shy boy with glasses and an Adam’s apple like a goiter. I couldn’t remember him ever saying a word to me—or to any girl, for that matter. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know there’s no one else. But if I were to meet someone—and if you were to meet someone—well, I just think we should be free to date other people if the occasion arises.” I tried to smile, but Charlie was blinking fast, trying so hard not to cry that it cut me to the quick. I tried to lighten the mood. “I hear those French girls are really something.”
“Jesus!” Charlie never cursed or took the Lord’s name in vain, so the word jolted me. So did the way his hand banged down on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to see anyone else, Addie, and I don’t want you to, either.” He looked away, wiped his face with his knuckle, then turned back to me. “Say you’ll wait for me. Promise me you’ll wait.”
I couldn’t. But I had to promise him something. This was Charlie—my lifelong friend, my companion since we were both in diapers. I couldn’t send him off to war crying with a broken heart. “I’ll write. I promise I’ll write.”
“Every day?”
“You know I’m not that good about writing. I’ll send a letter every week or two, though.”
“Every week.”
“Okay. Every week. Or at least every ten days.”
“Every week. Promise?”
I blew out a sigh. “I promise.”
“That’s better.” He put his arm around me. “And when I get back—well, by then, you’ll be ready to settle down.”
It did no good to argue with him. I looked down at my hands.
“You will,” he insisted. His hand tightened on my upper arm. “You will. You’ll see.”
Jiminy! I just wanted him to give it a rest. “Maybe,” I’d muttered.
“That’s more like it.” He tried to pull me in for a kiss, but I drew away.
“Come on, Addie. It’s my last night. Let’s seal it with a kiss,” he said.
“I need to get home,” I said. “You can kiss me good night in the driveway.”
“So you wrote to him?”
Hope’s voice made me open my eyes. I’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, yes. Just as I said I would.” I also wrote to four other servicemen. It was part of the war effort, keeping up the morale of the boys. I used to write the same letter five times, copying it onto scented stationery. “They weren’t really personal letters—just chitchat about the weather, the latest movie, the war effort at home, what was happening at my job... just general stuff.”
“He was hurt in the war, wasn’t he?” Hope said.
“Yes.” My mood darkened. We were jumping ahead, getting to a part of the story I dreaded talking about. “Right after the holidays, he took shrapnel in the foot and lower leg.”
“In England, right?”
“Well, it happened in France, but he was sent to a hospital in England, and they weren’t sure he was going to make it.”
“How awful!”
“Yes, it was. He had a fever. And back in those days, fever often meant gangrene. Penicillin wasn’t available until later in the war. While he was in England, they thought they’d have to amputate his leg.”
“Oh, Gran!”
