THE DANCE
Something about the interaction with Dickie dislodged something in Isabel. All that pain now reared up and leveled her. She was sick for days, feverish and nauseated, and for the first time since arriving, she told Hudson she couldn’t come into work. He sounded understanding, concerned even. She had made herself more than useful, and had helped decipher one of the biggest messages of the war. But the victory felt hollow in the shadow of losing Gloria in such an unfair manner. Helplessness swarmed all around her. Death, it seemed, had been following her. Creeping in and plucking loved ones from her life at the very moment she started feeling comfortable again. Mom, Walt, Glory.
What was the point of everything, anyway? Living and loving meant dying and losing. The two went hand in hand. And the pain from the losing rattled your bones, squeezed the blood from your heart and turned your world dark. Matteo might be onto something—avoid love at all costs. She was done with it, quite frankly.
In desperation to block all thoughts and feelings, she read. The Hobbit was an unusual book about a little hairy man who unexpectedly embarks on big adventures. The book belonged to Gloria, but Isabel had picked it up after running out of her own. As she turned the pages, fresh and magical words began to seep from the paper, wrapping her in their wisdom. Urging her on. There was only one thing to do: go forward and honor those who no longer could.
When she returned to work, Isabel asked the guys to ask around and see if anyone knew the name of the pilot lost in the Yamamoto mission, which they’d learned had been called Operation Vengeance. No one knew a thing. At lunchtime, she risked a visit to the mess hall to chat with the girls upstairs, and see if any of them had news. But none did.
The following day, Isabel was sitting at her desk at half past three when Jones brought her a handwritten note, folded in quarters. Her name was scrawled across the front. Miss Cooper. She recognized the writing right away.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“Some guy delivered it.”
“Why didn’t you come get me?”
“He said not to bother you.”
“Did he say his name?”
“Negative.”
“Tell me what he looked like,” she demanded.
“Olive skin, about this tall,” he said, holding his hand up.
“Was he in uniform?”
Jones nodded. “Army whites.”
Isabel felt light-headed, breathless. She waited for Jones to go back to his desk, but now Ziegler and Denny were watching her as though she had a bird nesting on her head.
“Carry on. This is none of your business,” she said.
“Everything okay?” Ziegler asked.
No one here knew a thing about her private life. It wasn’t like DC, with the girls, where even in the thickest of circumstances they talked about men and intimate things.
“Fine. It’s just a note from a friend.”
Unable to wait another second, she opened the note.
Do you feel like dancing tonight?
If so, be ready at 1800 hours on the nose.
MR
She stared at the words. But it wasn’t the words so much as the writing itself and the calloused hand that had held the pen. That hand was back on Hawaiian soil, alive and in one piece. Her whole body went slack, casting off layers of worry—and longing.
“Must be some friend,” Denny said.
Her eyes filled with tears. “It is.”
Isabel wore the new dress that Gloria had picked out for her on the one occasion they’d made it to the department store. Orange with pink flowers, it was the polar opposite from anything she would have chosen for herself. And that was precisely why she loved it. The dress would always make her think of Gloria, and she’d wear it until she was an old lady, if she should be so lucky.
Matteo drove up at two minutes past six, in a cloud of sandy dust. The second he turned off the motor, Isabel had no idea how to proceed. She wavered between standing in the kitchen pretending to casually notice his knock at the door, or sprinting outside and throwing her arms around him the minute he set foot on the pavement. Yes, something was definitely wrong with her.
Matteo climbed out. “Hooey!” he called, doing double time toward the house.
At the sound of his voice, all questions disappeared and she rushed to the door and tore down the steps toward him. He opened his arms and she fell into them. A strong force held them together and little by little the fear and hurt siphoned away.
“You made it,” she said, speaking into his neck.
“By the skin of my teeth, but yeah, here I am.”
She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Your letter—”
He cut her off. “Turns out I had some kind of premonition, because wouldn’t you know it, something big did go down.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“I’m not sure you have clearance,” he said, breaking into a sly grin.
She could guarantee her clearance was higher than his, but said nothing. There would be time for more talk later.
Rays of afternoon sunlight slanted around them. Trees turned golden and doves cooed softly to their mates. For now, she was content to have him here by her side.
The officers’ club on the beach in Waikiki was known as Halekai: sea house. A grand white mansion with pillars and columns, decks and fancy railings and lime-green manicured lawns. Like so many other places, the military had taken it over. As soon as they parked, Matteo pulled her by the hand and did not let go. They made it onto the beach just in time to catch the sunset. A few other couples and groups had the same thing in mind.
“I swear the beach and the water and even the sunset have never been so sweet,” he said, looking out at the blue glass ocean.
A coconut tree rustled behind them.
He went on. “Guadalcanal was some mad version of a dream. On one hand, the place beautiful as they come—lush jungle, fruit everywhere, blue lagoons—but on the flip side you had a well-trained enemy messing with your head, mozzies just as dangerous and, in the water, crocs longer than the boat and man-eating sharks just waiting for someone to fall in. Seemed like the whole island was designed to kill you.”
“I had a feeling you were on Guadalcanal,” she said.
It was his first mention of where he’d been. On the drive over, they’d spent the whole time talking about Gloria.
“Did some island hopping, but yeah, mostly. Do you know what the marines call it down there?”
“What?”
“The Green Hell.”
He seemed subdued, altered in some undefinable way. The things those men saw were not something anyone should ever have to witness. They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the sun lay down a yellow path on the water. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. Whatever was going to happen would happen.
“Come on, let’s go get a cocktail,” he said.
On the patio, uniformed men and decked-out women sipped drinks, talking and laughing. It was not Isabel’s scene and she didn’t recognize a soul. They moved past a trio of musicians playing Hawaiian music, and up to a long wooden bar. A few couples slow danced and you could feel the love drifting through the balmy air.
“What are you having?” Matteo asked.
“Surprise me?”
“Two Honolulu Number Ones,” he said to the bartender.
Isabel watched the man pour copious amounts of gin, with a splash of orange and a dash of pineapple juice, into a shaker with ice, and then martini glasses. One would be plenty.
Matteo turned to her and held up his glass. “To ending this damn war.”
She clinked. “I’ll drink to that.”
His eyes shimmered. “And to Walt. Best man I ever knew,” he said.
“To Walt. Lord how I miss him. And to you coming home, Matteo. We can’t forget that.”
He nodded. “And to those who didn’t.”
It felt like they were just getting started.
“To Gloria.”
There were so many people and reasons to toast, she could have kept going until her arm gave in. Or until Matteo kissed her. That was coming, she felt it in the marrow of her bones.
“To you,” he said, finally taking a drink.
Isabel did the same.
Lounge chairs and coffee tables were scattered around the patio. Most of them were taken, and clusters of men played gin rummy and backgammon and chess. Women sat aside them, smoking cigarettes and talking. Their glamorous dresses and feathered hats made Isabel feel underdressed.
“You wanna play? I know you already have it in the bag, but I learned a thing or two while I was away,” Matteo said.
He set up the board, and she let him go first. White. He was going to need all the help he could get, but of course she didn’t tell him that. There was only one way to get better, and that was by playing people better than you. People often got a false sense of confidence with chess and stuck to playing their own level or below. Matteo would never be that kind of player. He’d lose until his hands bled if it meant winning down the road.
“Don’t go easy on me, either. Swear?” he said after opening with the bishop’s pawn moving two spaces.
Isabel glanced up, surprised. It wasn’t a usual opening for beginners. “Swear,” she said.
In defense, she played the symmetrical pawn. Matteo’s eyes flickered and he made his next move swiftly. But as they went back and forth, he began to take longer pauses. He absentmindedly chewed on his pineapple as he frowned in concentration. Isabel already knew exactly where the game was headed, but kept a poker face to spare him. His tenacity was admirable. And adorable.
When she captured his queen, he shook his head slowly and shot her that killer smile. “I’m toast, aren’t I?”
“You might be.”
On the next move, she called checkmate.
“You ruined me. I knew you would,” Matteo said.
Isabel got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the chess game.
When darkness fell, everyone made their way upstairs to a blacked-out ballroom where the music was blaring. The dance floor was already full of bodies. Matteo set their glasses on a table and pulled her onto the black-and-white tile. The song was slow, and he held her close. Isabel was acutely aware of his hip against hers and the heat of his hand on her back. The liquor had gone to her head, making her woozy and a little clumsy.
Matteo danced with confidence and a bit of swagger, and when the music picked up pace, he spun her and dipped her back. The man knew how to move. But even through the dancing, he never loosened up to his predeparture self. He seemed restless and agitated, and on more than one occasion Isabel caught him watching her. She’d thought he was going to say something, but each time he turned away.
The room was stuffy, and they danced until dripping. When Isabel asked to take a break, Matteo led her down to the bar again.
“None for me, thanks,” she said.
But he ordered her one, anyway, and gulped his down as though it were lemonade on a hot summer day. They went onto the lānai and leaned on the railing overlooking the beach. Matteo plucked a flower from the tree and slipped it behind her ear. His hand traced a line of heat down her cheek.
“I’m beat. You ready to call it a night?” he said.
“Sure,” she said, swallowing disappointment.
Isabel had gone through a hundred scenarios of how things would turn out tonight, but this was not one of them. In one imagining, he’d kiss her on the dance floor; another, on the beach under starlight, and yet another on the hood of the car. But maybe she’d been sorely mistaken and reading into things. Lord knew she wouldn’t be the first girl to fall for his charms.
Driving with headlight covers was not much different than driving in the dark, and Matteo had to focus on the road. Still, he seemed unnaturally quiet.
“Can I ask you a question?” she finally said.
“Shoot.”
“What if I told you that I know about what happened on Bougainville.”
She thought she heard him swallow.
“That’s not a question,” he said.
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
“For a secretary, you must have some pretty high clearance.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What if I told you I did?”
They were treading on treasonous ground, and yet she knew that he already knew and now he knew that she knew. No one would be any the wiser.
“Was it you?” she asked.
“I don’t think we’ll ever really know. There were clouds and chaos and one guy says this and another says that. I shot up both of the Bettys, at least I thought I did. Even saw a line of smoke coming up from the jungle after it went down. But our lead guy says he made the kill, so I’m scratching my head. But I’m just thankful we completed the mission.”
“Did they tell you beforehand who it was?”
“Not at first. We knew it was something big, and all Mitchell told us was to have our planes ready at 0500 and it was gonna be a long day. They’d outfitted them with extra fuel tanks and the birds were loaded with as much ammo as they could carry. He told us who we were going after that morning, and that four of us would be the attack team. He said this would be the most important mission of our lives.”
He paused, and Isabel let his story sink in.
“He also gave us an out. Said none of us had to go, it was pure volunteer. We knew what we were getting into. But wouldn’t you know it, every pilot on that island was gunning for the chance, and none of us was willing to give up our seat.”
“Were you afraid?” she asked.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. We knew our chances were a million to one. We had to loop out over open water, flying low and under strict radio silence. We had our course laid out, with airspeed, fuel and weather predictions all specified with no room for error. And if we were lucky enough to make it there and do the job, we still had to fly back. But Mitchell anticipated every possible detail. That man is my hero.”
The car rolled to a stop in front of her house, and he killed the engine. Even in the dim light, Isabel could tell that his hands were gripping the wheel. She reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“You guys are all heroes.”
Isabel might have had a hand in it, but the pilots were the ones with their lives on the line. Matteo’s sacrifice meant everything.
“Yeah, that’s not what the brass says.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ever heard the term shit flows downhill? What you probably don’t know is that one of our guys broke radio silence at the end of the mission, and then two of them spilled all to a reporter at the AP. Our censors stopped the story, but now all of us are in hot water.”
“For completing your mission?”
“The leaks on this mission were all over the place. Truth be told, I don’t blame Nimitz and King for being pissed.”
“I’m sorry.”
A dense silence fell between them. She could have tried to think of something smart or comforting to say, but instead she slid toward him, moving so their faces were almost touching. Before she knew it, Matteo reached up and ran the side of his hand along her cheek, tender as moonlight. Heat swirled around her navel, weakening her limbs.
“You sure you want this?” he asked.
“Very.”
He kissed her with sure lips and hot breath, holding softly the back of her head. Her heart beat madly. Matteo moved his tongue lazily, exploring and testing and sending sparks along her spine. His breath tasted of liquor and peppermint. Isabel rested her hand on his chest. When they finally broke apart, they looked at each other, almost surprised. Neither spoke.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the car. At the front door, he had her pinned to the wall and was kissing her as if his life depended on it. Isabel fumbled to unlock it, and they fell through. With her eyes closed, her head felt a little swimmy, so she kept them open. She’d had too much to drink. Maybe he had, too.
“I thought about you while I was gone. Did I mention that?” he said.
“You did.”
“About every other second or so.”
They were in the bedroom now, on the bed. Window shades down. A candle lit. Matteo on top of her, holding himself up with one arm. Hair tangled in his fingers. His other hand ran down her ribs, slowly circling her breasts and then, light as a feather, tracing over her lower abdomen. He reached beneath her and cupped her rear. Squeezed her toward him. Her heart felt raw and open and full.
He kissed her deeply. Rough with want. Isabel savored his touch. Shivered. He ran his hand slowly up her forearm, stopping abruptly when he got to the watch. His mouth went slack. He rolled off her, laying his head back on the pillow and sighing.
“What is it?” she said.
“Shit,” he mumbled.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this.”
Isabel sat up, confused. “Do what? Kiss me?”
He put his face in his hands, then rubbed his head vigorously until his hair stood on end. “There’s something I haven’t told you and it’s been eating a hole in me. Wouldn’t you know it, I promised myself I’d tell you that first day at the Pali, and then every time after that, but whenever I saw you the words just froze up in my mouth. I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t have any interest in getting to know me.”
A feeling of dread snaked through her. “Please tell me what you’re talking about,” she said.
“It’s my fault Walt died.”
“I don’t understand,” she heard herself saying.
There were tears in his eyes, and he stared at the wall as he spoke, remembering. “On the night of December 6, we went to a dance at the officers’ club. There was no shortage of booze, and no shortage of girls. After the dance, Walt and most of the guys went and played cards, but me and Jimmy Ortiz went to Waikiki with two of the girls.”
Of course he did.
He stopped, looked at her. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Just keep going,” she said.
“We ended up staying over at one of the girls’ houses, a big place on Diamond Head. We were so impressed with ourselves, dumbasses. I woke up to the sound of engines and gunfire and I knew we had blown it. We raced to Wheeler doing ninety and change. Pearl was burning when we passed, you could see the black smoke rising up in columns. When we got to Wheeler, same thing. Hangars and planes destroyed, men down,” he said.
His face had paled. His hands twisted together, fiddling with an invisible thread on the bedspread. Meanwhile, Isabel tried to process this new chunk of information. Still wondering how he was to blame.
“Right away, I went looking for Walt. One of the guys on the field told me they’d gone off to Haleiwa. It was too late to try and catch up, and we needed to save the planes. This all was between the two attacks, mind you. The skies were quiet but you got the feeling something big was coming. No one understood what was happening, where they’d come from. It was spooky as hell.”
He stopped talking, trying to compose himself.
She waited.
“A little while later, we saw two planes shoot by overhead. P-40s. American. They dipped their wings in a flyover and I knew it was Walt. But wouldn’t you know it, that’s when the Zeros came back, those bastards. See, Walt was my wingman, he always had my back. And when it mattered the most, I let him down.”
Isabel felt for him.
Matteo stood. “I should get going.”
“You understand that your logic is faulty, though, don’t you?” she said.
“How do you figure?”
“It was the Japanese that killed Walt, not you.”
Sure, she didn’t like that he’d lied. But had he? Maybe it was more a case of omission. He’d left out a key detail. When she thought back, his account of that morning had been secondhand. How he’d said, I never got airborne that day. She’d never thought to ask why.
“Those other pilots came looking for me that morning, not Walt. They needed one more guy and I was the lead pilot. The one with the most kills, the most experience. I should have been there. If I had been, Walt would never have gone up.”
The guilt had been gnawing away at him, that much was obvious. Now she understood why he’d been so uncomfortable that first day at the Pali, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact as he relived the morning. And tonight, he’d seemed on edge.
“Do I wish you’d told me? Yes. But that doesn’t make it your fault.”
Did it? How might things have turned out had Matteo not been chasing girls around Waikiki?
He looked at her sadly. “Do yourself a favor and forget about me.”
“Isn’t that my decision to make?” she said.
“Actually, it’s not,” he said, voice cracking as he stood. “You’re a good woman, Isabel, and you deserve a better man.”
She was suddenly fuming, and hurt. “You mean to tell me that all those kisses meant nothing? Why would you do that to me?”
“Must have been the gin. And I do care about you, a lot. You’re a good friend.”
Friend? Even he didn’t sound convinced.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
It was human nature to be afraid. And Lord knew he had his reasons. But they had become so close. She loved him, that much was plain as day now. How could things have gone so wrong?
He backed away. “Believe it.”
“Fine. But if you leave now, don’t bother coming back. Ever!” Her voice rose into a fury. “I don’t need any more friends and I have no use for cowards,” she said, whipping her pillow at him.
Matteo dodged it and walked out the door, shoulders slouched, all of his swagger gone. The guilt was going to pull him down and ruin him. Isabel lay back, half expecting him to come running back in, saying he had made a bad mistake. But the motor started up, idled for a few minutes, and he drove off. She curled into a ball and let the tears come.