Mary and Billy walk toward us, their feet kicking up white sand. “You should go in!” Mary plops down next to me. She’s soaking wet, and when she rings her hair out, cold drops of water splatter onto my bare shoulder.
“Are you coming to the movies tomorrow?” Billy asks. He’s standing over us, but he never takes his eyes off Mary. Jinx catches my eye and makes a gagging motion.
“What’s playing this week?” Mary asks.
“Gaslight?” Susie guesses.
Jinx groans. “Not Gaslight again.”
“No, I think it’s Going My Way,” Mick cuts in.
Mary looks confused. “Is that Astaire?”
“Bing Crosby.”
“Ah, Crosby,” Billy sighs. “I’m dreaming of a whiiiite Christmas,” he sings in a comically low voice, waltzing around the beach with an invisible partner.
Mary smiles. “Billy, you’re a dead hoofer.”
“Then get up here with me.”
“All right.” She hops to her feet and puts her arms on his shoulders. He pulls her close, but she pushes him away, giggling. “Now Billy, you know I’m not that kind of girl.” They start to step in a wide square pattern as Mick taps a beat on his leg.
“Oh, quit grandstanding.” Susie laughs.
“We’ll show you how it’s done.” Mick stands up and yanks her to her feet, pulling her into his arms. They start to waltz close together, their heads almost touching.
“Everyone has flipped their wigs,” Jinx says to me.
I laugh. I’ve always pictured the past as this frozen thing, as moments captured in old-fashioned photographs. I never imagined how real life was in 1944. The war makes choices more urgent, more important, as everything could so easily disappear. It makes my old problems—deciding which college to go to, worrying over an internship—feel less real.
I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I went back in time. The thought whispers through my head, a fragment, a lost feeling. I let it float away as I watch the couples dance in the sand.
CHAPTER 11
Mary hands me a piece of cloth and I take it cautiously. “Put that in the bin.” She points to a metal bucket near the door. I carry it across the room and drop it into the pail. As I turn back around, I wipe my hands on the white apron that’s protecting my dress. A rust-colored stain streaks across the side of my hip.
The field hospital at Hero is not how I remember it from a few days ago. Instead of a lovely peach-colored, sun-filled room, I’m standing in a large open space separated into cubbies by white sheets that hang from the ceiling. At least ten soldiers lie on beds that are pushed up against the walls. Most are sitting up and talking, though a few are sleeping, covered by thin sheets. The room smells like rubbing alcohol, body odor, and blood.
I realize now that my room on that first day was a private one—the nurse didn’t want me sleeping around all the injured men. The real hospital is downstairs, and Mary and one other Red Cross nurse flit and buzz around the room like hummingbirds. They serve food, change bandages, and help the soldiers bathe. Thankfully, most of the injuries are minor: small cuts or wounds sustained during training.
“Lydia, I need you!” Mary’s voice cuts through the loud murmurs in the room and I scurry back over to her side. This is a Mary I haven’t seen yet—focused and serious. I join her next to a bed where she’s tending to a boy around our age with a large cut on his shoulder.
“Hold this down on his chest.” She hands me a long, thin cotton bandage. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the soldier’s bare skin. He sees it and laughs.
“I won’t bite, darlin’.” His deep Southern accent reminds me of Lucas, but his dark eyes remind me a little of Wes.
What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about either of them? I put my hand roughly on the boy’s chest. He grunts, and Mary shoots me a look.
I hold down one corner of the bandage while Mary wraps the other end around and around his shoulder before securing it. She sits back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
“You’re all set, Private Marshall. I bet it’ll heal up real quick.” She smiles flirtatiously at the young, dark-haired soldier. Now that the job is done, Mary’s back to being Mary.
Private Marshall leans in closer to her. “It will with such a pretty nurse to take care of me.”
I roll my eyes. “Mary,” I interrupt, “I need to get some air.”
She winks at the injured boy and then stands up. “Go ahead, Lyd, I still need to feed Private Jenkins, and Nurse Linny wants me to sort some supplies. It might be a little while before we can leave. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” I pretend to grimace. “I just can’t handle all this blood.” It’s not exactly true, but I do need an excuse to get outside so I can sneak into the officers’ barracks.
Mary looks concerned. “If you want, I can go get Daddy and we can leave....”
I wave my hand at her. “No, no, it’s fine. Just give me a minute. I guess the hospital isn’t really my scene.”
She laughs. “You say the strangest things sometimes.”
As soon as I’m outside, I scan the clearing. There are four buildings in a wide semicircle. Three of them look almost like houses, with windows and decorative roofs. The fourth is the fake white “chapel.”
The clearing is empty in the late afternoon. In the distance I can hear trucks driving throughout the camp, and every once in a while the sound of gunfire. I put my head down and quickly walk toward the officers’ barracks. Mary pointed it out to me earlier, saying that Dean lives there when he can’t leave
