5 September 1945
En route to Allen Field, Terminal Island, California
The formation droned northwest at five thousand feet through a clear and moonless sky, the air soft and smooth as velvet. The interval between the six Avengers was loose, about one hundred feet, and they flew with their running lights on, something forbidden in the war zone. Off to his left Ingram counted the running lights of five ships at sea, also forbidden until a few weeks ago. Looks like Christmas time.
Ingram and Hitchcock were quiet for most of the trip, each lost in his thoughts. But their attention was soon drawn by pools of light that grew larger and larger as they flew up the coast. Laguna Beach, Newport Beach, and Huntington Beach slid beneath the Avengers’ wings like scattered diamonds. By 9:30 the ground was ablaze with a solid carpet of lights as Seal Beach became Long Beach and Terminal Island, and San Pedro beyond. To the northeast, the dazzling lights of Los Angeles beckoned.
Ingram marveled that there were still places in the world not wrecked and darkened by day and completely lifeless at nightfall.
“What do you think, Commander?” asked Hitchcock.
“Todd.”
“Well, what do you think, Todd?”
“Where’s the flak?”
Hitchcock laughed. “None tonight. No blackouts. No Japs. No Nazis. Nobody punching twenty-millimeter holes in your airplane. It’s hard to get used to.”
“You married, Leonard?”
“Leo. No, sir.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine acclimating yourself to this strange land.”
Hitchcock laughed. He cut back the TBF’s power as the formation slid into a shallow dive to the left. “About five minutes, Todd.”
“Boldt Hall, that’s pretty good.”
“What kind of law, Leo?”
“Me? Well, I’ll tell you.” Hitchcock leaned forward and flipped levers. Ingram heard a whirr and the landing gear started down. “I had sailors in my squadron getting screwed by these 4-Fs and their finance companies. They repossess cars and foreclose on houses while our guys are out there getting their asses shot off. One of my radiomen had his house taken away with his ninety-year-old mother living there. No mercy. They wouldn’t answer any letters, even one signed by the captain. These people are snakes, and I’m going after them. So I like public service to start. Maybe later, sit on the bench.”
“Wow. I’m sure you’ll do very well, Leo.”
“I hope so.”
Gradually, they dropped to two thousand feet until they reached Allen Field, its runway outlined in white lights. Just over the middle, the TBFs did what carrier pilots do; they peeled off every five seconds, each doing a 180-degree turn to line up for their downwind leg, engines at low rpm. The lights of Terminal Island looked like jewels mounted in ebony.
Ingram thought he should ask. “It’s late, Leo. You have a place to stay tonight?”
“I share . . .” another pause and whirring noise as the flaps came down “. . . a pad with a buddy in Belmont Shore, another zoomie. Trouble is, it’s kind of crowded.”
“Oh?”
“Three WAVES from the Long Beach Naval Shipyard live there too, so space is tight.”
“I’m so sorry. Life is hard.”
“Yes, sir, it is, but we all have to sacrifice. You know, the war effort.”
“Ah, yes, the war effort. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Hitchcock asked, “How ’bout you Todd, you okay for tonight?” He eased the TBF into a gentle left turn and onto their final approach. Tower and terminal were off to the left, a green “permission granted to land” light flashing from the tower.
Welcome home, sailor.
“Todd?”
“Pardon?” Suddenly, Ingram felt very tired. He hadn’t slept well on the PB2Y even though they let him stretch across two seats. The occasional bouncing and anticipation of home had kept him awake. Now a sudden urge to sleep overwhelmed him as if he were enclosed in a warm blanket. “Say again?”
“You good for tonight, or would you like to bunk with us at the snake pit?” The runway threshold flashed beneath. Hitchcock chopped the power.
“I’m okay, Leo, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Leo, I believe my wife is getting pregnant tonight, and I’d like to be there.”
“Ahhhh. Sure thing.” Tires squeaked as Leo painted the TBF on the runway.
She wore white, she was warm, she was lovely, she was smooth, she was coy, she was provocative and yet very, very tender. To this she added a touch of Chanel No. 5. He took everything she had, and still she gave more with a laugh and sometimes just a wink. And always, they gave each other a closeness and singularity one could never put into words. It was just there, for them alone, as if it had always existed.
Exhausted from their lovemaking, Ingram rolled over and reached for the alarm clock. His hand brushed against it and it fell to the floor with a crash. “Damn!” He fumbled for his watch and read the radium dial: 2:08.
She ran a hand over his face. “Happens all the time.”
“Think it’ll still work?”
“It’s bulletproof. Like you.”
He pulled her close.
Her arm was still around him when he awoke at 4:25. The night was dark and still and moonless. Fred must have figured things had quieted down, because he slept at the foot of the bed.
He turned toward Helen and found her watching him.
She said, “Good morning. You ready for breakfast?”
“It’s already right here with me.”
She smiled. “So, what do you think?”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
This time she laughed. “You must have noticed.”
He had noticed, but he wasn’t ready to get into it yet. “Noticed what?”
“Come on, hon, it’s what people don’t say that worries me.”
Yes, he had noticed almost instantly, the first time he kissed her: cigarettes. But rationality had gone out the window when he burst through the front door. Only the bedroom light was on, and it drew them like moths to a flame. The light went off almost immediately as passion consumed them.
“Lucky Strikes?”
“How did you guess? All your girls must be smoking Luckies.”
Now he realized why the clock went on the floor. His hand had hit an ashtray, something that hadn’t been there before. That plowed into the alarm clock, and everything went crash.
He sighed. “I hate to think what your mom will say.”
“She already knows. She was here last weekend. Dad too. I was scared at first. But they were pretty level about it. Mom knows how I tick, and so does Dad. By the way, Dad wants to know when you’re getting out. He needs help at the ranch. I didn’t tell him that you’re in for life.” Her voice held the slightest question.
“Going for thirty if they’ll have me.”
“Well, I hope the next twenty-two years are easier than the first eight.”
“Sorry. Is it okay with you? I’ll probably end up with a desk job in East Overshoe, Nebraska.”
“I’m not surprised. Sort of expected it. Yes, it’s okay with me. But rest assured, I’m getting out of the Army. I have kids to take a care of.”
“Kids?”
“We weren’t too careful last night, were we?”
Ingram grinned. Then he tried, “What got you going?”
“Smoking?”
“Ummmm.”
“I saw an Ingrid Bergman movie.”
Ingram nudged her. “You can do better than that.”
“ ’Scuse me.” She reached over, her arm gliding across his chest like an electric current as she fumbled with cigarette package and lighter. The cigarette lit, she lay back and blew smoke in the air. The effect, he admitted, was soothing.
But his chest still tingled where her arm had touched it. After two puffs, Ingram couldn’t stand it. He grabbed the cigarette, stubbed it out, and took her in his arms.
A truck rumbled by at—he checked the clock—6:25 a.m. Outside, a few birds sang in spite of the overcast. He reached for Helen but she was gone. Where was she? Like him, she should be dead tired. “Helen?”
Something stirred. It was a strange noise. Almost a rattle. It was—directly beneath him! “Jesus!” He sat straight up.
Another rattle and he jumped out of bed and looked underneath.
“My God.”
Helen stared back at him, all curled up.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m cold.”
“Come on, baby.” He reached. “Let’s get you warm.”
“Okay.”
He slept until 9:45 this time, waking refreshed, sunlight streaming in the window. Helen handed him a cup and saucer. The coffee aroma wrapped around Ingram well before he raised the cup. “Ahhh, wonderful,” he sighed, then took a luxurious sip.
“I didn’t answer your question.”
“Sorry?” His mind swam. She was under the bed!
“About smoking.”
“Oh.”
He sipped while she lit a cigarette and told him about Eddie Bergen. Five minutes later she was crying in his arms. What do you do with someone crawling under the bed? Oh, God.
She calmed after ten minutes or so, and he left her resting as he rose, pulled on a T-shirt and a tattered pair of gym shorts, and padded to the kitchen to renew their coffees.
A knock at the back door. A face at the window. Mrs. Peabody. He stepped over to yank open the door. She held his one-year-old son. “Welcome back, Commander.”
“Emma! Jerry!” He opened his arms and took the boy in. The child was in his bathrobe and he burbled, his fists thrust straight out. “God he’s grown.”
The boy looked up at Ingram, his gray eyes wide.
Ingram smiled. “I’ll be damned. Kid’s a tank.”
“No Navy talk in front of that child, if you please.”
“He’s really big.”
“Twenty-four pounds.”
Ingram held the boy close. To his surprise, Jerry relaxed his arms and settled his head on Ingram’s chest, smacking his lips.
“He likes his daddy.”
“Ummm. Hey, come on in, Emma. I’m making more coffee. Then breakfast.”
Emma Peabody took a step back. “Maybe later.” Pointedly, she looked over his shoulder. “Everything all right?” she asked softly.
No doubt she knows about all this. He rolled his eyes and said, “I’m getting my arms around it.”
She exhaled loudly. “Very good. It’s really wonderful that you could get here so soon. With you here and Helen on furlough, maybe we can make some progress.”
“Furlough?” He darted a glance over his shoulder.
“Oh, well, sounds like you two haven’t talked much. In any case, welcome back, Todd.” She stepped up and kissed him on the cheek. “Let me know when I can help.” With a nod to Jerry she said, “Unlike you, he has had breakfast.”
“Now, wait a minute. I just—”
“And he’s in clean diapers. So you should be good for a while.” She handed over a paper bag of baby clothes. “And these are washed.”
“You’re the best, Emma. Thanks for everything.”
“Toodle-loo.” Emma Peabody walked off.