“What you’re doing”—Ruby snuffled—“or not doing. It’s just … it’s simply indefensible. If P.J. were here, he’d insist you help.”
“P.J.?” Mary said, blinking like she was trying to remember the beat of some tune not heard in years.
“Yes. Your husband. Do you remember him? Because honestly sometimes it seems like you don’t.”
Mary shook her head. She looked at Ruby with downcast, sorrowful eyes.
“P.J. would agree with my decision,” Mary said resolutely, as if she’d consulted him directly. “Once again, I’m sorry. I truly am. And it was nice to see you. The dinner is my treat.”
She reached for her handbag.
“Some treat,” Ruby steamed, her sadness morphed to fury.
Such quick changes were frequent phenomena these days, her emotions a real mystery prize of sentiment. Ruby never knew what might come up next.
“Ruby, don’t be cross,” Mary implored.
“Don’t be cross? Sorry, sister, I don’t see how I could feel any other way.”
Seventy-five minutes. A full hour-plus of niceties and how-do-you-dos, not to mention a wretched meal of what they called steak but was canned meat. They couldn’t even have coffee at the end. When Ruby asked for a cup, the waitress glared at her like she’d requested a sack of nylons. Had Ruby anticipated this outcome, she would’ve skipped Washington altogether and rode straight on through to Portsmouth, directly to Sam’s bedside.
“I can’t put myself in that situation,” Mary said as she handed some bills to the waiter. “It just cannot be done.”
“A nurse can’t attend to a war-injured man? A naval lieutenant who’s battled it out in the South Pacific for nearly a year? I don’t know how they’re training you in Washington, but it sounds like you might need a repeat course.”
“I refuse to take offense,” Mary said, “as your emotions are running high.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“But as far as ‘war-injured,’ that is a matter of interpretation.”
“You think so, do you? Well, all I know is that my Sam was sent off one way, and is currently in another state altogether. He had a physical and was deemed fit to serve. So if his health is compromised it can only be due to this war.”
Mary gave a partial shrug and crammed the change into her coin purse.
“I despise that you’re in this predicament,” she said. “But I have no choice. Shall we go?”
“Fine,” Ruby said, and stood. “I suppose good manners dictate that I thank you for my meal but I’m quite lacking in gratitude.”
“I understand and was pleased to share a meal with you nonetheless.”
Ruby was agog. The nerve! Mary snubbing her and acting gracious at the same time. Pick a doggone personality and get on with it already.
“Good night, Mary,” Ruby said, trying to sound secure, assured, outright unbreakable despite all the cracks.
No, Ruby would not collapse. She would get through this. They would get through this. Her love for Sam would bolster her, toughen her once more.
The U.S. Needs Us Strong.
“I’ll see you again one day,” Ruby said, flip as a coin. “Presumably.”
She turned to leave.
“Are you sure you really want to go?” Mary called out when Ruby was halfway across the room.
Ruby spun back around, even as her good sense told her to forge ahead.
“Beg pardon?” she said.
“What you might see and hear…” Mary shook her head as Ruby stepped closer. “I’ve visited that hospital. That ward. The very floor Sam is on.”
“Well, bully for you.”
Of course, Ruby already knew this. It was the first thing Mary said when Ruby called with the news, when she described Sam’s condition, hoping for a sympathetic ear and some explanation as to his prognosis. Mary provided neither the ear nor the would-be nurse’s impression of Sam.
“I’m only trying to tell you,” Mary said, “that seeing him could change the way you view things.”
“How I view things?” Ruby said with a snort. “My dear, how I ‘view things’ changes by the week. One year ago I had a mom, and a little brother, and a baby on the way. Nothing could change the way I view the world more than losing all of that.”
Mary frowned.
“I know,” she said in a whisper. “It’s just…” Mary exhaled. “Sam is ill. Remember that, even if he looks the same to you.”
May 10, 1943
Dear Hattie,
I saw your article in the Herald Tribune. It was fab! A real gumshoe piece. I didn’t know the black market for food in New York City had grown so large. You must’ve spent scads of time chasing down the details. I suppose it’s good the Yanks don’t play baseball year-round!
Well, my friend, I write to you from the Hay-Adams hotel in good old Washington town. The city’s a swampy pit just as promised, and the hotel (and the restaurants and people) a tad stuffy for my tastes. But there’s a sense here, knowledge that, nearby, decisions are being made that will change the world.
Speaking of changing worlds, tomorrow I will venture down to the naval hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia, where Sam is recuperating, another victim of war, though compared to others he is in decent shape. That’s what I tell myself. As I mentioned the other day, his injuries aren’t life-threatening. Whether they are naval career–threatening I cannot begin to speculate. Mary was no help there, surprise, surprise. It’s up to me to find out for myself.
Golly I’d love to see you on the ride back to Boston. Might you have a free night to step out and do the town? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a bit of fun. Send a telegram to my attention at the Hay-Adams and let me know what you think.
Well, my friend, time to hit the percales and get some shut-eye. I trust you are well. I think of you often, always with great fondness, particularly in these dark times.
Your friend,
Ruby Packard
*
Ruby woke up the next morning a stitch before dawn.
It took several minutes to make out where she was. The Hay-Adams, a reservation made by Daddy so that Ruby could bypass some dreadful women’s hotel like the Grace Dodge or, God forbid, the YWCA. She ran darn Cliff House without a man involved. Ruby could certainly manage an average-size bedsit.
Ruby surveyed the clothes she brought, a couple of one-piecers, and some two-piecers, before settling on a lilac rayon and wool jersey dress with sash. After securing her hair into an omelet fold, Ruby applied a light dusting of makeup and then put on a small, trim hat. She swooped up her fingertip coat and hoofed it out onto Sixteenth Street, but not before posting a letter to Hattie to be mailed out that day.
The journey used up the entire morning and a good chunk of afternoon, too. Ruby brought a book to keep her occupied—Mrs. Parkington—plus some magazines recommended by Hattie. In the end she only read a sentence or two in favor of staring out at Virginia’s green countryside.