* * *
The sheets that have done nothing more than gnarl and wrinkle against my nightly tosses and turns are pulling tightly, tangling around us. The fabric feels like a cool silk against my hot skin.
“I wonder when the others will be back?” Everett asks, sweeping his fingers through my loose strands of hair. “Will they mind if there’s a man in the house?”
“Mind?” I question. “For every lewd sound I have overheard in this house, I can say, without a doubt, there are no rules about the guests we have.”
“Guests you say?” Everett questions with a quirk to his brow.
I didn’t mean to make him question whether I have brought a man here. “No, no, I have not had any company here if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” he says. “It’s just—I didn’t think women were as hungry as the men I spend my days and nights with. We don’t have many opportunities for rest, but they take full advantage of any free moments.”
“They?” I question in retaliation.
“Yes, doll-face. Only ‘they.’”
“Well, it isn’t all four of the girls. It’s mostly Beverly and on occasion, Isabel, if she finds a friendly Brit.”
Everett doesn’t seem as if he’s paying attention to my words anymore as he strokes the back of his finger down the side of my cheek. He’s gaze falls to my lips.
“Someday, I want to spend every night of my life with you, like this,” he murmurs, sending shivers up my spine.
This is exactly how I imagine a life with him; late night talks and whispers of sweet nothings while lying in the moon's glowing embrace.
“We will have a lifetime,” I tell him, trying to convince myself of an ending to a love story that the author hasn’t finished writing yet. “Like this: intertwined, warm, and protected by the walls that surround us.”
“I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect,” he says, leaning in to claim my lips again.
* * *
I tried my hardest to stay awake all night, fighting every yawn and long blink, but it isn’t until the morning light peeks through the window, and feeling Everett’s lips against my forehead that I know I wasted precious hours.
“I love you, doll. I will be back as soon as I can for as long as I have here.”
“Everett,” I utter. “I love you so much.” My voice is hoarse, and my head is still in a haze. “These last ten hours have been like a dream, and more than I could have asked for, but I will take whatever more time you can offer no matter when that might mean.”
With one last kiss, the air current from his movement brings a chill to my body and the sound of the creaking door stings the inside of my ears. My chest feels deflated and my pulse quickens. Once again, I am empty inside, wishing I could hold on to a feeling of comfort, something I only have when we are together.
42
June 1944
The early summerseason in Glasgow is the most pleasant time of the year. The wavering scent of flowers and greenery fill the air, and there are more days of blue skies than not. It’s pleasant not to feel the deep chill within my bones when I leave for the hospital each morning. We all have different assignments today and various times to report to duty, but I won’t mind the quiet on the train ride this morning.
My evening rendezvous with Everett ended during the latter part of April when he moved further south. We are about six hours away from each other now, but over the weeks that followed his relocation, we were able to meet a few timesin the middle for a late dinner. The last time we saw each other was in the middle of May, but the ability to remain in contact with him has been enough of a relief that I can live with the distance and brief encounters.
The walk to the train station isn’t more than a few blocks down the road, but I wasn’t expecting a delay to hold me up from the train I need to catch. A car skids to a stop beside me.
“Doll-face, get in, right away.”
A gasp catches in my throat when I see Everett in the driver’s seat. “Everett, what in the world are you doing here?”
“I’ll explain. Get in. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
This certainly isn’t like our typical long-awaited hellos, which means something is happening or has happened. There’s urgency in his voice and a lack of excitement in his eyes. My stomach gnarls with wonder as I slip into the passenger seat of a car that smells of stale pipe tobacco. There are cigarette ashes scattered along the dashboard in a thick layer of dust. Questioning who the car belongs to is the least of my concerns, but Everett hasn’t had a mode of transportation aside from the train, like me.
“Have you been driving all night?” I question, closing the door.
