“Don’t go in there, man!”
Frankie opened the recruiting station’s doors. Inside she saw a desk beneath a sign that read: BE A PATRIOT. JOIN THE NAVY. A sailor in uniform stood at the end of the table.
Frankie closed the door behind her and went to the recruiting desk.
Protesters banged on the window. Frankie tried not to flinch or appear nervous or afraid.
“I’m a nurse,” she said, ignoring the sounds coming from outside. “I’d like to join the Navy and volunteer for Vietnam.”
The sailor glanced nervously at the crowd outside. “How old are you?”
“Twenty, sir. Twenty-one next week.”
“The Navy requires two years of service before they send you to Vietnam, ma’am. You’ll need to do two years stateside, in a hospital, before you ship out.”
Two years. The war would be over by then. “You don’t need nurses in Vietnam?”
“Oh, we need them.”
“My brother is in Vietnam. I … want to help.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Rules are rules. It’s for your own safety, believe me.”
Dispirited but not discouraged, Frankie left the recruiting office—hurried past the protesters, who yelled obscenities at her—and found a nearby phone booth, where she consulted the Los Angeles yellow pages and found the address for the nearest Air Force recruiting station.
Once there, she was told the same thing, that she needed more stateside experience before shipping out to Vietnam.
At the Army recruiting station, she finally heard what she wanted to hear: Sure, ma’am. The Army Nurse Corps needs nurses. We could ship you right out after Basic.
Frankie signed her name on the dotted line, and just like that, she was Second Lieutenant Frances McGrath.
Three
By the time Frankie got back on island, the streetlamps were coming on. Downtown Coronado was dressed for the holidays with streamers and lights; white-bearded, red-coated Santas stood in front of several shops, ringing bells. Illuminated snowflakes hung from lines strung above the street.
At home, Frankie found her parents in the living room, dressed for dinner. Dad stood at the bar, flipping through the newspaper, while Mom sat in her favorite chair by the fire, smoking a cigarette and reading a Graham Greene novel. The house was decked out for the holidays, with an extravagance of lights and a ten-foot tree.
At Frankie’s entrance, Dad closed the newspaper and smiled at her. “Heya, Peanut.”
“I have news,” Frankie said, practically bursting with excitement.
“You’ve met a boy you like,” Mom said, putting down her novel. “Finally.”
Frankie came to a stop. “A boy? No.”
Mom frowned. “Frances, most of the girls your age—”
“Mom,” Frankie said impatiently, “I’m trying to tell you something important.” She took a deep breath and said, “I joined the Army Nurse Corps. The ANC. I’m now Second Lieutenant McGrath. I’m going to Vietnam. I’ll get to be with Finley for part of his tour!”
“That’s hardly funny, Frances,” Mom said.
Dad stared at Frankie, unsmiling. “I don’t think she’s joking, Bette.”
“You joined the Army?” Mom said slowly, as if the words were a foreign language that she was trying to sound out.
“I’d salute but I don’t know how. Basic Training starts in three weeks. Fort Sam Houston.”
Frankie frowned. Why weren’t they congratulating her? “McGraths and Alexanders always serve,” she said. “You were thrilled when Finley volunteered.”
“The men serve,” Dad said sharply. “The men.” He paused. “Wait. Did you say the Army? We’re a Navy family, always have been. Coronado is a Navy island.”
“I know, but the Navy wouldn’t let me go to Vietnam until I’d served two years in a hospital stateside,” she said. “Same with the Air Force. They said I didn’t have enough experience. Only the Army would let me go right after Basic Training.”
“Sweet Jesus, Frankie,” Dad said, running a hand through his hair. “There’s a reason for rules like that.”
“Take it back. Unvolunteer.” Mom looked at Dad. She got to her feet slowly. “Good Lord, what will we tell people?”
“What will you…” Frankie didn’t understand. They were acting as if they were ashamed of her. But … that made no sense. “How many times have you gathered us in your office to talk about this family’s record of service, Dad? You told us how much you wanted to fight for your country. I thought—”
“He’s a man,” Mom said. “And it was Hitler. And Europe. Not some country no one can find on a map. It is not patriotic to do something stupid, Frances.” Tears filled her eyes. She dashed them away impatiently. “Well, Connor, she’s what you taught her to be. A believer. A patriot.”
At Mom’s rebuke, Dad left the room, trailing smoke behind him.
Frankie went to her mom, tried to hold her hand, but Mom stepped adroitly aside, not letting Frankie touch her. “Mom?”
“I shouldn’t have let your father fill your head with all that history. He made it sound so … epic, those family war stories. Although none of them were his, were they? He couldn’t serve, so it became … oh, for God’s sake, none of it matters now.” She looked away. “I remember when my father came home from the war. Broken. Stitches holding him together. He had nightmares. I swear it’s what killed him early.” Her voice broke. “And you think you’ll go over there and see your brother and have an adventure? How could you be so stupid?”
“I’m a nurse, Mom, not a soldier. The recruiter said I’ll be stationed at a big hospital, far from the front. He promised I would get to see Finley.”
“And you believed him?” Mom took a long drag off of her cigarette. Frankie saw how her hand was shaking. “It’s done?”
“It’s done. I report to Basic Training in January and then I ship out for my tour in March. I’ll be home for my birthday next week and for Christmas. I made sure. I know how much that matters to you.”
Mom bit her lip, nodding slowly. Frankie could see that her mother was trying to corral her emotions, trying to look calm. Suddenly she reached out, pulled Frankie into her arms, hugged her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.
Frankie clung to her, buried her face in the teased, sprayed hair. “I love you, Mom,” she said.
Mom drew back, wiped her eyes, and looked hard at Frankie. “Don’t you be a hero, Frances Grace. I don’t care what you’ve been taught or what stories men like your father have told you. You keep your head down and stay back and stay safe. You hear me?”
“I promise. I’ll be fine.”
The doorbell rang.
It was a distant sound, barely audible above the combination of their breathing and the unspoken words swirling in the silence between them.
Mom glanced sideways, toward the foyer. “Who on earth could that be?”
“I’ll go,” Frankie said.
She left her mother standing in the living room, alone. In the foyer, Frankie stepped around the gleaming rosewood table that held a large potted white orchid, and opened the door.
Two naval officers in dress uniforms stood there at attention.
Frankie had lived on Coronado Island all of her life, watched jets and helicopters roar overhead and sailors run in lines along the beach. At every party or gathering, someone told a World War II or Korea story. The town cemetery was full of men Coronado had lost in wars.
She knew what officers at the front door meant. “Please,” she whispered, wanting to back up and close the door.
She heard footsteps behind her, heels on hardwood. “Frances?” Mom said, coming up beside her. “What—”
Mom saw the two officers and let out a quiet gasp.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” one of the officers said, taking off his hat, tucking it under his arm.
Frankie reached for her mother’s hand, but Mom pulled away. “Come in,” Mom said in a husky voice. “You’ll want to speak to my husband…”
* * *
Sorry to inform you, ma’am, that Ensign Finley McGrath has been killed in action.
Shot down … in a helicopter …
No remains … all hands lost.