“We served together,” he whispered as he wiped his eyes, his left knee quickly bobbing up and down. “Dang it. I never cry.”
“I didn't know you were in the service,” I said.
“It's not something I tell everyone about,” he said with a sigh. “I don't want any trouble.”
I recalled the anti-war protests and the violence that followed, and I understood. “Why did Charles smoke marijuana?” I asked, still trying to recover from the shock of that discovery. I had never smelled it coming from his apartment and he always seemed to have his wits about him.
“Nightmares,” Wayne replied. “It helps with the nightmares. The crap the doctors give us don't work but weed does.”
“Nightmares?”
“War is ugly,” Wayne muttered, then swore again. “We've seen things no one should have to see. It stays with us.”
I couldn't imagine the atrocities. The news always gave us a fairly sanitized version of the war, and I didn't even like watching that.
“I'm... I'm sorry, Wayne,” I said, at a complete loss for words for the crying man in my living room.
“Me, too,” he said, standing. “I guess I'm out my money and my weed.”
He seemed to have aged a decade as he walked over to the door. His shoulders hunched and his feet shuffled against the carpet. The sound of the panel closing seemed to reverberate around the room like a gunshot.
As I stared into space and replayed my conversation with Wayne, my sympathies for the man, and for Charles, rose. Obviously, the nightmares were the mental issues he'd spoke of—his memories terrorizing him as he tried to sleep. I wouldn't have heard it as our apartments were mirror images, putting our bedrooms far from each other. However, I wondered if the neighbor on the other side of Charles heard him often. I’d have to pay Mrs. Wilson a visit and get her take on the sad situation.
I rose from the couch and teetered on my crutches as I struggled to find my balance. “Darn things,” I muttered as Ringo sauntered back into the living room. “Hopefully I won't need them more than a day or two.”
When I heard the key in the door, I turned to see Donna sauntering in carrying a bottle of wine and her overnight bag. “Lucy, I'm home!” she yelled in her worst Desi Arnaz accent, then kicked off her heels. When our gazes met, she furrowed her brow and her smile faded. “What the heck happened to you?”
Chapter 6
“I tripped over a Mr. Pig on the plane and took a spill,” I said, limping my way over to her. “How was your flight?”
“Oh, my goodness,” she replied, drawing me in a tight embrace. “Did you kick him between the legs?”
“Of course not,” I said with a laugh. “I wanted to, but I refrained.”
“Your resistance is impressive. Nice rug burn on the chin, by the way. Let me help you over to the couch. Good thing I brought home some wine.”
Even though it was barely noon, she poured us both a glass and sat down next to me. She smoothed a hand over her blonde bob and her blue eyes twinkled with happiness and mischief.
If I had to describe Donna in a word, it would be something like tornado, or whirlwind. A party stew to her core, she lived for laughter, drama, and men. I loved being with her simply because she was so different from me, and we giggled like no one's business. She was the trailblazer, the one who garnered the spotlight wherever she went, and I was the one in her shadow who basked in pieces of her glory as she took over a room. I was fine being second fiddle when we ventured out together because l always thought living Donna's life would be absolutely exhausting.
“Where have you been?” I asked as she handed me mine.
Her eyes widened and she grinned ear-to-ear. “Patty, I got to go to France.”
I gasped and envy washed through me. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. I saw it all. The Louvre. The Arc de Triomphe. Le Eiffel Tower! All of it!”
“Oh, my gosh. Was it as amazing as it looks in the brochures?”
“Mais oui! Très belle!”
I shook my head and sipped my wine. “How in the world did you land a spot on a plane to Paris?”
Both of us had graduated from stewardess school around the same time and started where all the newcomers do: in the back of the plane. International travel was something reserved for the more senior stews. While I longed to be promoted to the front of the plane, Donna traipsed around the world. It didn’t seem fair in the least bit.
“How do you think I did?” she grinned mischievously. I rolled my eyes, knowing the answer.
“You slept with a captain?”
Donna threw her head back and laughed, then reached out and touched the tip of my nose. “Bingo, my dear! After, I just happened to mention how much I wanted to see Paris, and he pulled some strings for me. Next up, I'm heading to see Big Ben! Or maybe the elephants in Africa!”
I did envy her, but I wasn't like her. I’d wait until I'd done my time in the rear of domestic travel and move up the ladder without compromising myself.
“If he asked, I'd marry him in a heartbeat,” Donna said with a sigh. “He's such a gentleman. When we were in Paris, he took me to a few fancy restaurants and walking through the streets with him was so romantic. The weather was beautiful… sunny with a slight breeze. The food, the wine… it was such a great trip. I was sorry to have it end.”
“Where does your captain live?”
“Seattle. We met in the airport in Utah a couple of weeks ago and hit it right off. I kept running into him during our travels, and in Boston… well, you know the rest. It's been magical.”
Donna would love nothing more than to find the right man and settle
