Gordon had rushed out to Gus and was dragging him out of the way, but the Germans were still approaching, still shooting.
Tears streamed down Dash’s face. “No, no, no! Gus! No! Pete! We have to go back!”
His expression was tender, but firm. “You’ve flown a lot of fighters, Dash, but you’ve never flown with a fighterpilot. Hang on.”
That’s when he opened up the Mosquito’s four .303-calibre machine guns and took the black uniforms down. At the end of the field, he nosed back up into the sky, pulling Dash’s stomach into her chest, then he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it.
“He’ll be all right.” His eyes shone with tears. “God, Dash. It is good to see you.”
Dash twisted backward, desperate for one more glance, but the wing blocked her view. Pete pushed the plane higher, but the night was too dark. She saw no movement at all.
sixty-oneDOT— July 1944 —Oshawa, Ontario
Dot stood at the door of her mother’s house, hat in hand. Other than the night she crept in through the window, this was the first time she’d been home in nearly two years, when she’d first joined the Wrens and headed to HMCS Conestoga. Her whole world had changed since then.
Never before had she been so eager or so nervous to see her sister. She knew from Dash’s earlier letter to Gus that she missed her, but she still worried. No matter the reception, things would continue to be difficult between them because of the unavoidable secrets. Secrets that would remain in place for the next thirty-nine years. All she could do was hope Dash would let it go.
Gerald had taken very little persuasion this time when Dot requested a week off work. After everything she’d done with Hydra during Operations Fortitude and Overlord while simultaneously coordinating the search and rescue of her sister, even managing to bring in a charming RAF pilot to fly her out of danger, he couldn’t really say no. Especially now. Since that night, no one had heard anything from or about Gus or Gordon. Dot had transmitted to them again and again, refusing to give up, but over the entire month, she had received no response. No one knew where they were or ifthey were even alive. The only person who might know anything was Dash.
Dot wasn’t sure what she would do if Gus never came home.
Dash had arrived in Halifax a couple of days ago on a hospital ship, where she’d been fed and treated for her infection before she boarded a train to Union Station in Toronto. Dot knew the hour she was arriving, and she could swear she felt the air change when Dash stepped out of the train. This morning, her mom, Uncle Bob, and Aunt Lou had gone to pick her up. Now she was here, mere feet away, on the other side of this door. Dot was so afraid, she was shaking.
But Dash must have seen her walk past the victory garden, because there she was, flinging the door open and wrapping Dot in a one-armed hug that they both wanted to last forever. Dash’s other arm was trapped in a sling against her chest.
“I’m so sorry,” Dot blubbered.
Dash squeezed her tight. “So am I. We have so much to talk about. I missed you so much. Come on. Let’s go to our room.”
The house smelled like heaven to Dot. The aroma of her mother’s roast chicken mingled with the perfection of Aunt Lou’s freshly baked apple pie, and though both girls’ stomachs grumbled, they needed to catch up by themselves. Dash told her about her work at the ATA, and Dot sat on her bed, knees hugged to her chest, taking in the miracle that was her sister.
“What happened the night you went missing?” Dot prompted, eager for the full story.
She only knew about what had happened after Pete had first contacted her. Dot had handled the search through Hydra, but she’d never received any kind of report from either Gus or Gordon because they had gone missing.
“I haven’t even told Mom yet. Let’s wait until dinner,” Dash said, then she patted Dot’s knee. “Tell me about you. I haven’t heard about you in so long.”
“I don’t want to talk about me,” Dot replied, even as she felt the heat of her little white lie creeping up her neck. More than anything, she wished she could share the truth with Dash, but she defaulted to her Camp X training. “All I do at work is type and think of you, so just let me listen, all right?”
“If you insist,” Dash said, though she didn’t quite look like she believed her. “But let me look at you at least. You look different. Stronger somehow. Happy. You may just be typing, but those must be great memos. You look… is there a man in your life, Dot?”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Her cheeks bloomed, and this time she knew her sister saw it. “But now that we’re on the subject, please, tell me about your Englishman. When are we going to meet him?”
“Not soon enough for me,” Dash said with a weary smile.
Their mother called them for dinner, and Dot followed her sister to the door. Before she stepped through, she paused and turned back. She took in the little dolls on the vanity and the overloaded bookshelf her father had made. The room and everything in it looked smaller than she remembered. And so much simpler.
“Gosh, it’s good to be home.”
Dash was already halfway down the stairs. “It sure is. Come on. Let’s go eat.”
They sat around the table Dot had missed so terribly, and she filled her heart with the sound of Dash’s voice and the sight of her loved ones. As if nothing had changed, Dot stayed quiet, listening rather than speaking, but her mind drifted beyond Dash’s tales of flying. Their father’s chair remained at the table, and she couldn’t stop thinking of that night. Of the relief she’d seen in his eyes.I knew you’d come.But she almost hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for Gus, she never would have made it.
Uncle Bob asked Dash something about plane engines, and Dash jumped in with information that had everyone except Dot fascinated. Dot knew nothing about mechanics, though she was in contact with pilots and sailors and soldiers every single day. She longed to share the adventures she’d witnessed through her headphones, maybe even boast a little about the lives that she had saved, but she never could. In the beginning, there had been something exciting in knowing she held secrets so important they could never be shared, but that novelty had gotten old very quickly. It would be thirty-nine more years before her stories would be told. Who at this table might be gone by then?
“Tell us about the happy ending,” Aunt Lou said.
“Well, it certainly didn’t start happily,” Dash said. “I flew into a thunderstorm, and…”
