Neither approach was wise. Jim wanted to help them find a mellow balance, to be prepared and alert, unsullied by fear or fury.
Balance. He tapped his pen on the clipboard. That’s what he needed. Just like Nehemiah. Prayerful but bold. A man of analysis and a man of action. A man who gathered and encouraged, yet could also rebuke and stand his ground.
Here at sea, Jim was determined to temper boldness with prayerful caution. And back in Boston?
His breath puffed out his cheeks. He’d made a mess, but he’d sort everything out as best he could. First item on his agenda when he returned—he’d have that long, emotional talk with Quintessa. But why did it have to be emotional anyway? He’d never understand how women thought. Jim had been out with Quintessa only three times, and none of those outings qualified as true dates.
However, he wouldn’t return until mid-December at the earliest. Quintessa would have a whole month to think about what he’d said on his departure. She was an intelligent woman. Maybe they wouldn’t need an emotional talk after all.
Jim signed the bottom of his report. Yeah, and maybe Hitler would surrender and go back to painting.
Regardless, Jim would be firm and truthful. He didn’t love Quintessa. He loved Mary.
And what about Mary? Could he pursue her right away? That depended on how Quintessa reacted. He didn’t want to be an insensitive dolt, but how else would it look? Both women saw him as Quintessa’s property. Somehow they’d made that decision last time he went to sea.
What would they decide this time?
Jim groaned and rearranged papers on the clipboard for the rest of his watch. Daytime was quiet on convoy duty. U-boats didn’t like to attack during the day, and the merchant ships could keep station more easily. If it weren’t for the weather and the difficult nights, it might be relaxing.
He longed to unwind. His short leave in Boston had been almost as nerve-wracking as his time at sea. If only he could have spent his time with sweet, relaxing Mary.
If only he could be there right now. Quintessa had told him enough about the sabotage case to know something was going on, but not enough for him to make sense of it.
And the Christmas pageant was approaching. When Quintessa told him Mary had been cast in a leading role, he was worried. How was she doing? She was strong enough to handle it, but he wouldn’t be there to cheer for her, to encourage her.
He should be back for Christmas though.
Christmas. Would Mary go home to Ohio or stay in Boston? If she went home, could he get enough leave to follow her? It might be romantic to declare his love under a Christmas tree. Girls liked stuff like that, didn’t they?
And he’d decided on a bold declaration, when it was time. No more trying to be suave. No more foolishness. Just plain brave honesty.
Even though it was too late. He could feel it in his gut, but that wouldn’t stop him. Nothing could.
“Back at Standby 2, sir,” the computer operator said.
Jim blinked and looked him in the eye. “Very well. Good job, everyone.”
The operator gave him a teasing smile. “Daydreaming, Mr. Avery?”
Caught in the act. He chuckled. “Suppose I am.”
“The blonde or the brunette?”
The computer crew broke down in laughter. But Jim had two older brothers. He could handle teasing. He laughed right along and clapped the man on the back. “Classified information.”
The words gouged him in the chest. Classified information. That’s how he’d treated his interest in Mary, and look where that got him.
Jim started a new report sheet, a clean start. Time to declassify.
36
Boston
Wednesday, November 19, 1941
How strange to wear a spring suit the day before Thanksgiving, but when November felt like June, what choice did Mary have?
She headed past the Muster House on her way to work in the unseasonably warm morning sunshine. The newspapers forecasted a record high for today. If only it were still June, with Jim in Boston and Quintessa in Chicago.
