CHAPTER 33

The wall clock over the front desk read 12:55 when Alice-Ann stepped into the cool interior of the hospital. She quickly calculated that, if she could find Mack and get out of the hospital by two or two thirty, she could catch the three thirty bus heading from Savannah to Bynum. That would put her into Bynum at five thirty. Six o’clock at the latest.

She’d simply have to bypass Statesboro altogether. If Mr. Melson saw her getting off the Savannah bus and started rumors, so be it. Carlton would already be at the house by the time she arrived. He’d already know she hadn’t been at work. He’d already be —well, furious.

Furious and hurt.

“May I help you?” the woman behind the desk asked.

Alice-Ann wet her lips with her tongue and tasted the lipstick Janie Wren had sold her. “I, uh —I’m here to see Mack —I’m sorry. Boyd MacKay.”

The woman —all business and no smiles —looked down at her register. “M-c or M-a-c?”

“M-a-c.”

“Here he is,” she said, pointing at one of the thick blue lines.

Alice-Ann read it easily. Working with numbers over the past few years had made it possible for her to read digits from every direction.

Four-zero-one.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said then, looking up. “Are you family?”

Alice-Ann opened her mouth to lie, then thought better of it. After all, she’d come here because —she believed —God would deliver her from her distresses. She surely didn’t want to complicate matters by falling out from under God’s grace umbrella.

“No,” she said. “I’m an old friend. I came all the way from Bynum to see him.”

The woman pursed her unpainted lips. “I’m sorry, dear. He’s in a restricted area. You have to be family to see Mr. MacKay.”

“Oh. Well, then. I understand. That being the rules and all, but —I came all the way from Bynum.”

A shake of the head said it all. “I’m afraid we have a few people behind you who need my attention.”

Alice-Ann glanced over her shoulder to see two men and two women. “I’m sorry,” she said to them. Then, back to the woman, she asked, “I won’t keep you, but is there a restroom somewhere?”

The woman finally graced her with a smile. “Just over there,” she said, directing Alice-Ann to the left side of the box-shaped entryway.

And blessedly away from eyeshot.

Alice-Ann thanked the woman again, said, “Excuse me,” and made her way quickly into the tiny restroom, where she closed the door and peered into the oval mirror above the sink.

She prayed out loud as she opened her purse and removed her comb. “Okay, Lord. We made it this far. And I figure if you can get the Hebrew children all the way from Egypt to the Promised Land —albeit in forty years —you can get me from this bathroom to the fourth floor.”

After removing her hat —the only one she owned that perfectly matched the emerald-green skirt and long-sleeved jacket she’d chosen to wear —she ran the comb through her hair, which was silky smooth thanks to Janie Wren and the potions she’d sold to her.

Janie . . .

“I’m just going to go up there and see how he is,” Alice-Ann continued speaking out loud, her voice barely above a whisper. She dropped the comb back into her purse, then took out the tiny tube of seaside coral lipstick and applied a new coat across her drying lips.

She wished she had something to drink. And eat, though she wasn’t altogether sure she could stomach food right then.

After she finished in the restroom, she opened the door slowly and, leaning, peered out. The hospital’s official gestapo —from the looks of things Germany had nothing on St. Joseph’s —remained at the desk, now speaking to a rather intimidating-looking man who wore a thick gray coat and wide-brimmed fedora.

Alice-Ann eased out without closing the door fully, then slid along the wall until she was completely out of sight. Within a minute she located a stairwell and, turning the doorknob, found it open for use.

She hurried up the stairs, gasping for breath by the time she reached the fourth floor. She inhaled deeply, pressing against the flat of her stomach, then exhaled slowly. “‘The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O bring thou me out of my distresses,’” she said aloud. “Help me, Lord. Let there be no one to stop me as I look for room 401.” Alice-Ann placed her hand on the round brass knob. “Oh. And help me find room 401.”

She eased the door open, unsure where she’d be exactly, knowing it could be anywhere from near the patients’ rooms to the broom closet. But she smiled as she stepped into the hallway, room 406 directly across from her, room 404 to the immediate right. She was in the vicinity of Mack’s room. She had to be.

Alice-Ann grasped her purse strap in both hands and turned, keeping her steps purposeful and her expression as though she belonged on this floor as much as the nurses she spotted farther down the hall. Nurses who, gratefully, did not even notice her.

The door to room 401 sat half-open. She tapped on it with a still-gloved knuckle.

“Come in,” Mack’s voice —clearly Mack’s voice —called from inside.

She pushed the door slowly, spying Mack sitting up in a typical hospital room, in an ordinary hospital bed. White wrought-iron headboard and footboard. No elaborate carvings on any of the posts. The walls were white and unadorned, like the sheets and blankets. The only spray of color was in the light blue of Mack’s pajamas, the dark shock of his hair, and the wine-colored cover of the book he held between his hands.

“Well, I wish you’d look at who just walked in this room,” he said, his eyes round with surprise. He closed the book and placed it on the bedside table to his right.

“Hi,” she said from the doorway, too scared really to go farther in.

But he waved her in nonetheless. “How in the world did you —did you drive here?”

“Me?” She laughed nervously. “I don’t have a car.” Nor did she know how to drive. She could steer a tractor up and down rows of crops till the cows came home. But drive a car? No. “I took the bus.”

“Close the door. If they find out I have a visitor, they’ll run you out on a rail.”

She closed the door quietly behind her, then took a few more steps in, her hands continuing to grip the purse strap. “I know,” she said finally. “I had to sneak up.” She glanced out the single window, peering through the venetian blinds at the dying green of the grass outside and what little she could make out of the city beyond that.

Mack laughed. “Gracious goodness. Look at you, Alice-Ann Branch. By golly, you did it. You grew up on me.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks and she wondered if, along with the rouge she’d applied that morning, she might look a little like a clown. “What about you?” she said. “You don’t look half as bad as —” She’d almost said, “As Carlton did” but stopped herself. “As I expected you would.”

And he didn’t.

“You should have seen me a few months back. But now most of the remaining damage is on the inside,” he said. “I’m here because they’re worried about things like blood clots and other nonsensical things like that.”

Alice-Ann took a step forward. “That’s hardly nonsensical, Carl —” She shook her head. “Mack.”

He blinked several times, mischief playing in his eyes. “Did you almost call me Carlton?”

This was it. This was the moment she would be able to tell him that yes, she had almost called him Carlton. And why? Because she and Carlton were engaged and she said her fiancé’s name several times a day, so almost calling another man by Carlton’s name was a natural slipup. And oh, my! Where has the time gone?

But instead, she waved her right hand in the air and said, “Slip of the tongue. You’ve heard about Carlton, I assume? About his injuries and . . . ?”

He patted the side of the bed. “Come sit. We’ve got a lot to talk about, Alice-Ann, and right now Carlton Hillis —much as I love the ole boy —is way at the bottom of the list.”

Alice-Ann spotted a chair in the corner of the room. “Maybe I should sit over —”

“Don’t be silly.” He patted the side of the bed again. “Come on now. It’s not like we’re strangers. Give a soldier a break. After all, I’ve made it back from death’s door. The least you can do is sit next to me and hold my hand.”

Alice-Ann started toward the side of the bed closest to her, then thought better of it. If he reached for her hand, it would be her left he held. And he’d possibly feel the ring. Or see the impression of it. Or even worse, remove her glove and have it staring him in the face.

She walked to the other side of the bed and eased down, sitting near the slight bend of his knees. Close enough to be civil, but far enough away to be proper. Sure enough, he reached for her right hand, turning it over in both of his. “Look at you,” he repeated. “Wearing grown-up gloves, no less.”

She squeezed his hand in the hope of making him stop teasing her, and he did. “What do the doctors say, Mack? When can you come home?”

“Home? Hmm.” He chuckled. “No. As soon as the doctors release me from here, I’ll go to the Camp Stewart hospital and then, when the good docs release me from there, I’ll rejoin what’s left of my squad.”

“Mack . . .”

“I know, sweetheart. But this is war. I got beat up, yeah, but not as bad as —well, I hear ole Carlton —since you brought him up —got it worse than me.”

She wasn’t altogether sure, not having seen Mack in the beginning. “He was blind for a while. He couldn’t walk. He’s okay now, though. Except for some minor problems with his legs from time to time.”

Knowing Carlton, more often than he let on.

“Yeah. My parents told me. Gosh. Can’t imagine what it was like for him.”

“He got an honorable discharge. Couldn’t you get an honorable discharge too?”

“Not if they give me a choice. My plan is to return and make the military my career, Alice-Ann. Even if they only put me behind a desk, I’m going back.”

“You seem determined.”

“I am.”

“Can you —do you mind telling me —what happened?”

He squeezed her hand, then released it. She eased it back into her lap, joining it with the left, which she kept turned palm side up.

“I’ll be honest with you, Alice-Ann. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“When you were in the water?”

“Then too. But when I saw those Japanese planes coming at us.” His eyes darkened as though hooded by the memory. “I knew we were done for. There were more of them than there were of us.”

“What kind?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of planes were the Japanese flying? Fighter? Bomber? Reconnaissance?”

Mack chuckled, and the dark mood lifted. “How do you know about such things?”

Because Carlton and I read about it. Talk about it. She shrugged. “I just know.”

He leaned over a little. “Well, I’ll be honest. I don’t know. Those little details are gone. But I’ll assume fighter, all things considered.”

No doubt about it. Really. “So then what happened? I mean, as best as you can recall?”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t remember, exactly. I remember seeing them coming at us. I remember yelling something to my men, but I honestly don’t even remember what. I know there was a lot of screaming over the noise of the engines. Screaming from out of my mouth and in my ear.” He paused, looked toward the door, then back at her. “I remember hearing my name, but I don’t know who screamed it exactly. Like . . . like . . .” His lips pinched. “Like this is it, you know? Like we’re going down and we’re dying and this is the last thing we’re ever going to see. Ever going to hear.” He took a deep breath and it shuddered in release.

“Mack . . . Don’t keep going if you don’t want —”

“I don’t remember the explosion. I can almost put my finger on the feeling of falling, though. You know?”

She nodded, although she had no idea what he meant. She could imagine, but she didn’t know.

“Next thing I can fully remember is being in the water, holding on to a piece of the plane. Body parts and plane parts all around me and a Japanese ship close enough I could have spit and hit the side of it.” He shook his head. “Not really, but . . . I kept —I kept my face down. If they did see me, let them think I was dead, I figured.”

“And then the submarine.”

“Yes.”

“How did you —how did you manage to get on it?”

He shook his head again and smiled. “No idea. They said when they periscoped up, they saw me and I looked right at them, so they knew there was at least one survivor. But they couldn’t take a chance of surfacing until dark, so —who knows how long I was out there. I’m more surprised I didn’t end up as a snack for some shark than I am that I survived the air attack.”

This time, Alice-Ann reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

He swallowed. “I’m not even sure . . . You know, Alice-Ann? I can be pretty carefree at times.”

She knew. She knew, and Nelson and Irene knew, and Aunt Bess and Papa knew. Everyone knew. No gumption, Aunt Bess had said, igniting fury in Alice-Ann.

“So I often wonder if I did something to cause this. Did I —was I acting careless? Did I cause —those men, my brothers in this war —?” He stopped. Looked down at his hands, then back up to her. “Do you remember me telling you about Horace?”

She had to think a moment. “The boy from Idaho?”

“Yeah. Did I cause his death? Their deaths? All of them?”

Alice-Ann paused before answering, her mind going over some of the things he’d said to her in his letters while factoring in the guilt she knew overwhelmed the young man who’d never committed to much of anything before December of ’41. “I know you can be carefree, Mack. You said so yourself. But careless? No. That’s not like you. Especially when lives are at stake.”

He looped their hands at the thumbs, the size of his hand swallowing hers, and she felt the heat of it through her glove. “Thank you for that.”

Her breath caught in her chest. “You’re welcome.”

They didn’t speak for a moment; they only stared at each other. Sizing each other up, Alice-Ann figured. Mack looked as though he had much more to say. She knew she did. But where did she begin now? If she’d only taken the opportunity when she’d first entered the room to tell him that she and Carlton were engaged. Finally she straightened her shoulders and said, “Everyone in town wants to know why you called me, Mack.”

He chuckled again, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Ah, I bet they do. Good ole Bynum, Georgia.”

“It’s home.”

“That it is.”

“And what did Dorothy say about home?”

He tilted his head, confused by the reference to the L. Frank Baum novel. Never mind the movie. And never mind that Carlton would have understood without missing a beat. Carlton would have said, “There’s no place like it, doodlebug.” And then he would have kissed her and added, “Especially when that home is with you.”

A cottage, really.

She slipped her hand from Mack’s. “She said there’s no place like it.”

Mack nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

“So then? Why did you call me?”

“Ah-haaaa . . . ,” he drawled, as if he wasn’t sure he had the answer. “Well, it’s like this, Alice-Ann. I told you how I reread your letters over and over in my head during those long weeks of recovery?”

Not to mention months.

“Yes.”

“I realized . . .” He chuckled again, the sound of it almost painful. “I realized you loved me. Really loved me. And that I —Boyd MacKay —would be the stupidest man alive —praise God, alive —if I didn’t grab you up and call you mine.”

The room seemed to spin, then stop. She had to tell him. She had to say it then and there. Blurt it out. I’m-engaged-to-Carlton-Hillis. Just like that. Quickly, in the same way Aunt Bess removed Band-Aids from boo-boos.

She opened her mouth to speak.

But at that very moment, the door to room 401 opened, and in a flash, she jumped from the bed.