“Yes, to join the rest of the Twenty-Eighth on the Continent,” she said. “Though he couldn’t tell me details. What he did for me on Saturday night? I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that, and for his friendship,” she said, still trying to convince herself that was enough.
“Now, while we’re cleaning up this mess and don’t have soldiers crawling all over this thing, you need to come clean, Fiona,” Viv said. “What happened with Peter Moretti Saturday night?”
I had been dodging their questions, not ready to talk about it, though I had been thinking about him ever since. I wanted to tell my friends, but I had been almost afraid to acknowledge how I felt, even to them.
“All right, here’s what happened . . . ,” I said, and I told them every single detail of the evening, including how I felt then, how I was still feeling. When I was finished, I looked up at Viv and then at Dottie. My face was red from talking about it all. I realized they had both stopped what they were doing and were just looking at me.
“For the record, I didn’t tell him about the fiancé part,” Viv said. “I swear.”
“Me either,” said Dottie.
“I didn’t think you did. It could have been anyone,” I said.
“Fiona, it’s okay, you know,” Dottie said, coming over and sitting next to me on the floor where I had been scrubbing grease from it. “You need to forgive yourself for having feelings for him. You’re human, and let’s face it, we’re surrounded by men all the time in this odd life we’re living here. Also, Peter Moretti seems like a very decent guy.”
“I agree with Dots, one hundred percent,” said Viv. “As I’ve said, everyone is coming and going over here; no one knows what’s going to happen after all this. Don’t be so hard on yourself for having a life. Frankly, I think it’s about time.”
“Yes, but I keep thinking, what if Danny’s still alive? I feel like it’s such a betrayal.”
“If he’s still alive, he would understand,” Dottie said, patting my arm.
“The Danny Barker I know definitely would,” Viv said. “Please stop beating yourself up, for the love of God.”
“Hey, where’s the famous singer Dottie Sousa?” Eddie Landon banged on the Cheyenne’s window and made us all jump. “We’re ready for some singing.”
“Showtime,” I said, as I helped her off the floor.
Dottie grabbed her guitar and started to play to loud cheers as I began cleaning again, thinking about the conversation, relieved that it was over. I wanted to accept what they were telling me so badly, that Danny would understand, that it was okay to have feelings for someone else. But then I would think of the possibility that he was in a POW camp somewhere, depressed and miserable, and the feelings of guilt and betrayal would bubble up all over again.
Maybe it was better if I didn’t say good-bye to Peter Moretti. Maybe it was for the best if I never saw him again. It would make things simpler. Wouldn’t it? But just the thought of never seeing him again made my heart ache. I knew, almost despite myself, that I would do everything I could to try to find him that weekend, to at least say good-bye, possibly for the last time.
On the following Saturday afternoon, we were sitting outside enjoying the sun and a cup of tea in Mrs. Tibbetts’s garden as we waited for Jimmy to pick us up for our long stretch of work, hitting all the air bases before the troops took off for Holland. We heard a jeep coming down the road and thought it was him, but Mrs. Tibbetts came back into the garden with Joe instead. Baby the goat followed behind them, bleating at Joe in judgment.
“I’ll go get the teapot,” Mrs. Tibbetts said, taking her time on her walk to the kitchen.
Joe looked disheveled with dark circles under his eyes. He was gripping an unsealed envelope. Dottie put her cup down and stood up, looking at the envelope in his hand. Viv glanced at me with raised eyebrows and kept sipping her tea.
“Dottie,” he said. “Can we talk?”
“Yes, we can talk right here,” Dottie said. “We’re leaving any second. Jimmy is picking us up. We’ll be gone for a couple days.”
“I know. I’m leaving today for the Continent, heading to Southampton in a little while. And I had to show you this before I left. It’s a letter to Mary Jane. You can read it if you want. It’s the one . . . it’s the one that I should have written the moment Fiona introduced us in London. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that. I’ve been so stupid. I told Fiona on the ship, all this time I expected to get a Dear John letter from her, breaking up with me. The truth is, we’d been growing apart even before I left. And I’ve been waiting for that letter to come. And I don’t know why I’ve been waiting for it, because I’ve been wanting to end it since the day I met you.
“I’m in love with you, Dottie. I’m not sure how you feel now, after I behaved so disrespectfully at first but . . . oh, no, don’t cry . . .”
He walked over and put his arms around her in a hug, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. I caught Mrs. Tibbetts watching from the kitchen window, smiling and clasping her hands together. I grabbed Viv by the elbow and pulled her up.
“We’ll give you two a moment alone,” I said, giving Viv a look. As a reminder to Dottie, I added, “Jimmy will be here soon.”
They didn’t hear a word.
A short while after Dottie bid a sad good-bye to Joe, Jimmy picked us up in the Cheyenne. We were accompanied by a military police escort and Major Bill, who was driving a two-ton truck of supplies behind us. Our caravan drove all night through the silent villages of Lincolnshire, trying to reach as many soldiers in as many airfields as we could before they all departed. We had decided that we could sleep when they were gone.
Just before sunrise, we reached the airfield at Folkingham and parked right near the hangars where the C-47s, the military transport planes, were warming up. It was that pitch darkness right before any hint of dawn, and a cold wind was whipping across the field.
The soldiers were walking around loaded down with their equipment. Some of them were jumping or jogging, trying to stay warm and psych themselves up. I saw Patrick Halloran holding tight to the Saint Christopher medal around his neck and quietly praying. Many guys came over to the Cheyenne, laughing and joking with us, trying to keep their mind off the obvious. More than a few were drenched with sweat despite the chill in the air.
“Fiona, Viv, thank God you’re here. I need a huge favor,” Nelson, our eager helper from observation day, said as he came running over with something wrapped in a blanket.
“Sure, Nelson, what can I do for you?” I said. I offered him a doughnut, but he shook his head and unwrapped the blanket.
Inside was one of the ugliest little dogs I’d ever seen. She couldn’t have been more than seven pounds, with black and brown hair that was either matted with dirt or sticking out straight. Her pink tongue was dangling halfway out of her mouth, and she had enormous bulging black eyes that looked too big for her head.
“I need you to take Barbara,” he said, pleading.
“Oh my God, is that a dog?” Viv said, leaning out the window to get a better look.
“Yeah, she’s a mutt. She’s the best—a sweetheart, right, Barb?” he said, hugging her while giving us the hard sell. “She’ll love Vera, I promise. She loves cats. Will you take her?”
“Who names a dog Barbara?” Dottie asked, smiling while she patted the poor thing.
“Hey, it’s after a girl from home,” Nelson said. “It’s a great name.”
“Nelson, how did you even get her to the airfield?” I said.
“Don’t ask.” He gave me a mischievous look. “So, will you girls take her?”
I looked at Dottie and Viv, and they both gave me slight nods. How could we say no?
“Only if you come get her back from us someday,” I said.
“I promise.” He smiled. “She’ll eat anything; she’s easy, you’ll see,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Then he added, “I’ve got to go. One last hug.”
He hugged the scruffy dog so tight it broke my heart. “Good-bye, Barbie girl, see you soon,” he whispered.
He handed her to me, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes.
“Okay, gotta go. Thanks, girls. Bye, Barbara!” He ran off to hide his tears, and Barbara started to whimper.
I heard a hiss behind me and looked up to see Vera Lynn standing on the top shelf looking down, her back arched and her orange tail puffed up. Barbara peered up at her and barked in greeting.
“Oh, this is going to be fabulous,” Viv said, rolling her eyes. “Also, Vera Lynn and Barbara are definitely the stupidest pet names in the entire ETO.”
“Here, give her to me,” Dottie said. “I think you’ll be a great addition to the team, Barbara.” She gave the dog a hug and arranged the blanket on one of the shelves on the opposite side of the Clubmobile from Vera.