THE SECRET
Two days later, on their first day off since the raid, the girls woke to find their lingerie missing from the clothesline again. Daisy’s new underwear—which she’d found at Liberty House—Betty’s fancy Love bra and Fluff’s girdle. Why a twenty-year-old woman needed a girdle, Daisy had no idea, but Fluff claimed it improved her shape.
“What kind of lowlife would do this? What if he’s a Peeping Tom, too?” Fluff said.
“How do you know it’s a he?” Betty said.
Fluff frowned. “No way a female would do this.”
The young guard who Fluff had questioned claimed ignorance, though assured her he would keep an eye out. Nothing had ever come of it.
Betty shrugged. “You never know. Maybe someone doesn’t like us. Or they’re jealous. Maybe they want to spook us. As if we need any more spooking.”
No matter how you sliced it, it was an invasion of privacy. And Fluff was right, what if someone was out there sneaking around in the bushes watching them dress and undress, or listening to their conversations? The run-in with Johnny Boy had left her with an extra dose of caution. “It gives me the creeps. We ought to tell Vivian.”
Vivian at Headquarters handled the barracks. She smoked her cigarettes using one of those elongated holders and seemed far more sophisticated than the rest of the girls. Ten minutes later, they were sitting in front of Vivian, telling their story through a haze of smoke.
She laughed at first, then said, “I’ll call the FBI.”
“I’m not sure it warrants the FBI,” Daisy said.
As expected, the FBI said there was nothing they could do, so Vivian insisted they accompany her on a search of nearby quarters. Betty and Daisy both refused, but Fluff volunteered to go. After an awkward hour of searching, a procedure Betty claimed was highly illegal, Vivian and Fluff returned empty-handed.
“Well, that was awkward,” Fluff said.
Vivian peered out the back door and said, “You need to set a trap. Hang out a bunch of bras and panties and wait in the dark for them. Then, when the culprit shows up, blind ’em with your blackout flashlight.”
It was worth a shot.
Later that afternoon, Fluff and Daisy had just returned from the Fort Shafter pool—the chlorinated water a sorry substitute for the ocean—when a knock came at the door. Daisy was still in a towel, so Fluff answered. A man’s voice floated in.
“Lieutenant, what a nice surprise. I’m Fluff Kanahele. I heard you talk at Little Robert that day.”
Daisy’s ears perked up.
“A pleasure, ma’am.”
“Oh please, call me Fluff. Come in!”
Bold of Walker to show up here, but Daisy was happy to see him. She darted into her room and slipped into a sleeveless yellow dress with big bold flowers printed on it, something Fluff had talked her into buying. Smoothing down her wet hair, she walked into the living room. Walker stood just inside the threshold with his hands in his pockets. When he saw her, he swallowed hard.
“Sorry to drop in unexpected like this, but I was at Pearl and...well... I had no idea when you were coming back to Waialua,” he said.
She felt a sudden case of jitters. “Did they clear you to fly?”
He smiled. “Got the green light today. Doc says I’ve made a remarkable recovery.”
“I’m happy to hear. We need our crack pilots in top shape,” Daisy said.
Fluff jumped in. “Did you hear about the fiasco the other night?”
“Boy did I ever. I would have liked to see our fighters ambush them in the Kaua‘i Channel, but at least the weather kept them from hitting their targets. How was it for you ladies?”
Daisy and Fluff looked at each other. “Daisy here directed that Warhawk like an old pro–”
“That is pure exaggeration!” Daisy said, cutting her off.
Walker seemed amused. “I told her from the beginning she had the brains and talent.”
“Nixon was right there by my side. Nor did we intercept. Maybe someone better would have been able to make that happen.”
“Not with those clouds. It was thundering at the ranch and flooding the riverbanks. It would have been hard to see anything even during the day,” Walker said.
Fluff excused herself, leaving Daisy and Walker face-to-face, though still an arm’s length apart. This was new territory, and she had no idea whether to hug him or kiss him or invite him in for something. Juice? Beer? Necking? She could hardly think straight. Walker, though, seemed to know exactly what to do. He stepped toward her, tilted her chin and kissed her square on the lips. Daisy felt the kiss in the tips of her toes.
“I hope it’s not a bother I just did that,” he said, afterward.
“Did I seem bothered?”
He smiled. “Look, I know you aren’t supposed to have men in your quarters, and my car out there is liable to stir talk, so I’ll get to the point. Would you go on a date with me?”
Daisy had never been on a date. Not really. While she was still in school, Buddy Ah Sing had walked her home a few times, then later, at sixteen, she spent many an afternoon kissing Charles Kini in an abandoned sugar shack on the river, but his hands liked to wander and she finally tired of it. At nineteen, she had developed a crush on a cowboy named Cousin visiting from Texas. He walked her down the beach one night, asked her to touch my member, and then stormed off when she refused. Proper dates had not been part of her experience.
Walker mistook her silence for hesitance. “The timing couldn’t be worse, but I’m not going to wait until the end of this war to take you out.” He paused, eyes searching. “Say yes?”
“Of course I will.”
They decided on the following Wednesday, the only day they both had off. It seemed so far away, she considered telling him she was free this afternoon and would he please take her to a secluded beach and kiss her some more. Though Fluff would scold her for appearing too eager. The woman sure had a lot of rules when it came to men. Never kiss them first. Let the fella do the asking. Turn them down every now and then. It makes them want you more. Don’t give them too much on the first date.
“It’s settled, then,” he said, his mouth curving up on one side.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“That makes two of us.”
Walker stole another kiss and then was gone.
Signs of spring began showing up everywhere. Mango blossoms adorned the trees, butterflies floated through the streets, and Blanche, it turned out, was pregnant. Spring had always been Daisy’s favorite season. She appreciated the warm weather and calming seas, and loved watching the foals run around the field on their tentative new legs. Now, spring was a reminder that the world kept on spinning. Even in the midst of war.
“We aren’t even supposed to have animals in here. How are we going to deal with a whole litter of kittens?” Betty asked.
“We’ll give them away,” Fluff said.
Daisy knew better. “You can’t just hand out new kittens to people. They need to nurse until they’re at least a couple months old.”
Fluff clasped her hands together. “Then we’ll raise them ourselves and keep them a secret. I can’t think of anything better than a bunch of kittens to boost morale. Maybe they could help us get Nixon to smile.”
“Be serious,” Betty said.
“Animals can melt even the coldest hearts. Everyone knows that.”
Daisy agreed. “She has a point. Having kittens around could lift all of our spirits.”
Betty was the one who needed her spirits lifted the most, but Daisy didn’t want to say it to her face. On the surface, she seemed to be coping well, keeping busy and tiring herself out so she could sleep, but anyone could see that half her heart was missing. She had lost weight and her uniform hung where it used to hug.
“Y’all, we are employed by the United States government. They pay us to follow the rules,” Betty argued.
Daisy could not afford to lose the job, but how could she turn her back on Blanche? “As long as we keep them inside, no one will know. I say we keep them.”
“Majority rules,” Fluff said.
Betty sighed. “Fine, but you two can take the heat for it if we get caught.”
“Speaking of caught. We need to set the trap for our lingerie thief. I thought I could have my camera and flashbulb handy, and stun ’em with the light. That way, we’ll have proof,” Fluff said.
After much debate over how to organize the trap, they decided to split the night into three shifts, and Fluff showed them how to use the camera. “How are we going to know when our shift is over?” Betty asked.
“The moon, silly. Daisy, when the moon is straight overhead, come get me. And I’ll get Betty when the moon is forty degrees or so above the horizon,” Fluff said.
They had recently learned that you could use your fist as a sextant, and Fluff had been thrilled with the news. Daisy thought that staying awake was hopefully optimistic, but she kept her mouth shut. The best vantage point was under the mock orange hedge, where they made a comfy nest out of blankets and pillows. At first, she was alert and reactive to every broken branch or whisper of wind, but soon found her eyelids kept closing. Eventually, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she opened her eyes, there was no sign of the moon and the sun had sent up early morning feelers of light. She bolted up, rubbing her eyes.
The lingerie still hung on the line.
At work, air traffic was slow, and Daisy went to the break room to grab a piece of the banana bread that Lei had brought in. She had a sore spot on the side of her head from her camping experience, and was rubbing it. To her surprise, Nixon was in there, cutting a slice for himself. Nixon never came into the break room.
“Good stuff,” he said, wiping a crumb from his mouth.
“Lei’s maid is the best cook in Honolulu. I’d put money on it,” Daisy said.
“Are you a betting girl?”
She laughed. “No, but I stayed at their house long enough to know it’s a fact.”
He looked at her, then down at the banana bread, then back at her. “You gals stick together, don’t you?”
“It’s in our nature.”
In just a couple of short months, Daisy had gone from loner to member of the herd. Bands of horses had a dominant mare, and she pondered who in the group would have that role. “Back in Indiana, my wife had a group of friends who called themselves the mermaids. No ocean around for miles.” He shook his head at the thought. “But they loved the lake and met there for a few weeks every summer. No men allowed. I gave her a hard time for it, but she always came home glowing.”
“Sounds like she was lucky in the friend department.”
“She was lucky in a lot of departments...but one,” he said.
Daisy could hardly believe she was standing here having a personal conversation with Nixon. “What happened?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to answer, when Thelma walked in. Instead, he wiped his chin with a napkin and said curtly, “Another time.”
Then he left.
Thelma pretended to be cheery, but her eyes told another story. “Did I interrupt something?”
“We were just chatting.”
She let out a sour laugh. “Chatting? With Nixon?”
“Trust me, I was just as surprised as you,” Daisy said.
Thelma smacked her freshly painted lips. “Want to know what really surprised me? Seeing Walker’s car outside of your house yesterday. He’s not right in the head, you know that don’t you?”
“So I’ve heard.”
Daisy was tired of tiptoeing around the fact that she and Walker Montgomery had evolved into something more than just friends. What exactly that meant still remained to be seen, but they were two adults who at least enjoyed each other’s company. Not to mention kissing.
Thelma persisted. “Why was he there?”
“Really, Thelma, is that any of your business?”
Her nostrils flared. “We were supposed to get married, so yes, it is.”
“From what I understand, you two were never officially engaged. Sure, your families wanted it, but did anyone ask Walker? He’s a grown man with his own opinions and feelings and desires. I heard it straight from the horse’s mouth that marrying you was never his intention,” Daisy said.
Thelma stepped back as though slapped. “Have you ever asked yourself why a man like Walker would have any interest in you?” She paused a beat, raising her chin for effect. “My theory is he feels guilty about your father and thinks he can somehow make it up to you.”
All the blood swooshed out from Daisy’s face. She reached out to steady herself on the table, blackness closing in from the sides and pinpricks running across her skin Had she heard correctly? “What did you say?”
“I said he feels guilty,” Thelma said.
“Why would he feel guilty about my father?”
“Because his father was responsible.”
Daisy grabbed her by the upper arm and twisted. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Hey, let go of me!”
“Not until you tell me.”
Her fingers dug into Thelma’s flesh. Poor woman’s arm was squishy and weak. Daisy gripped even harder, probably cutting off blood flow. She didn’t care.
“I meant how Walker’s dad shot him by accident on the hunting trip. Don’t act so surprised,” Thelma said, blue eyes watering.
Every cell in her being prickled. Thelma was wrong. “My father slipped down a hillside and shot himself accidentally. You have your story mixed up.”
Thelma looked confused. “I thought you knew.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Something like shock washed over Thelma’s face. Daisy let her go. Her mind searched for threads of connection. Where would Thelma have heard that? It was not the kind of thing someone made up. Even someone as unpleasant as Thelma.
“This is news to me. Just a minor detail that no one ever mentioned,” Daisy said, bent over from the force of the words.
“I’m sorry,” Thelma said.
Daisy turned to leave. “I don’t need your pity.”
Unable to breathe or concentrate or stop shaking, Daisy went into the back office and told the shift supervisor, Tippy, that she believed she had food poisoning. She then slipped out the door of Little Robert without a word to anyone else. All she wanted to do was jump in the ocean or hop on the back of a horse and disappear. She had to think. But there were no beaches within walking distance, and even if there had been, they’d be blocked off with barbed wire. No horses, either.
Sweat trickled down her spine as the noonday sun cooked the asphalt. She walked along in a fuzzy haze, thinking back to the early days after the accident. Never quite understanding why her mother blamed herself. This changed everything. And if Thelma knew, then Peg knew, which meant Walker knew. And Louise.
Peg was not on shift, but Daisy knew where she lived. A big house on the corner that she shared with Thelma and two other WARDs. In recent months, Daisy had come to see that most of the women at Little Robert were friendly, no matter their age or background or color. There was an ironclad sense of togetherness that permeated their ranks. The only ones who viewed themselves as above the others were Peg and her housemates. High makamaka, Fluff liked to say.
Daisy marched up the front steps and banged on the doorframe. Voices and cinnamon floated out from the kitchen.
Mary Morgan walked over, wearing an orange apron and licking a wooden spoon. “Can I help you?” she said through the screen.
“I need to speak with Peg.”
“Peg is at her folks’ place for the night. Is everything all right?” Mary said.
“No, everything is not all right.”
It was only Saturday. Waiting until Wednesday was an impossibility. At home, Blanche sensed something wrong and wove herself between Daisy’s legs in a figure eight pattern as Daisy downed a tall glass of water.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Daisy told her.
In a manner of minutes, she had changed out of her uniform, left a note for Betty and Fluff, and was speeding across the island in Betty’s Oldsmobile. With Chuck gone, they had inherited the vehicle. Betty hated to drive, so Fluff and Daisy had been taking turns chauffeuring the group around. She hoped Betty wouldn’t mind.
Daisy had no plan. No idea what she was going to say. Only that she was heading to the Montgomery house with her soul on fire. Walker’s dad shot him. I thought you knew. What kind of lie had she been living her whole life? Going to Montgomery ranch every day, working for the man who shot her father. Being treated like a second-class citizen by a killer. Why would her mother play along? Storm clouds swirled in her head.
At the junction, she stopped the car. Ranch first or house first? If Walker was at the ranch, she could bypass seeing anyone else in his family. But maybe that was what she needed, to confront these people face-to-face. Taste the poison. She turned left toward the house and drove slowly through the coconut grove. A family of mongooses crossed in front of her. Her last time here had not gone over well, and this time was bound to be worse.
A strong west wind blew in, bending trees and stirring up dust and buried emotions. She stood at the front door for a full five minutes before she knocked. When the door swung open, Peg stared up at her through bleary eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Peg asked.
“I need to talk to Walker,” Daisy said.
Peg started to close the door in her face. “He’s not here, sorry.”
Daisy held the door. “Then I want to talk to your father.”
“My father is not feeling well. He’s not seeing anyone,” Peg said, trying to shut the door again.
Daisy couldn’t hold it in any longer and blurted out, “Is it true that your father killed my father?”
Peg froze, something shifting in her eyes. “Is that why you came to see Walker, to ask him that?”
“Thelma told me in no uncertain terms that Walker feels sorry for me because his father shot my father, which was news to me, but apparently this information has been circulating for some time. Answer me. Is it true?” Daisy said, terrified to hear the answer but needing to know.
“You’re supposed to know. Your mother knows. I mean, I think she does,” Peg said, fingers playing with the top button on her dress and eyes bouncing from the floor to the wall to the high ceiling.
Daisy had no words. She turned and bolted. The whole world had betrayed her, simple as that. She made it home and into the ocean, swimming until her arms burned. Underwater, no one could hear her cries. Nor did the fish care. The loss was bad enough—of both her father and her mother—but throw some betrayal on the flames and you had an inextinguishable fire.
Still wet and salty and spent, she sat at the kitchen table and began to draft a letter to her mother. At first she scrawled out every awful thought in her head, filling two sheets with questions and accusations and rantings. But after rereading, she tore them up. Starting over, she took her time in printing block letters, since her cursive was scratchy at best. She kept this one short and direct. Sending the letter was one thing, but whether or not she’d hear back was another story.
Dear Louise,
My heart is broken. I learned today that Daddy did not shoot himself, rather Mr. Montgomery did. You knew but did not tell me. I have so many questions for you, but the main one is: How could you lie to me all this time? As you can imagine, I feel like my life has been turned upside down and scattered to the wind. I would appreciate an honest answer promptly.
Your daughter,
Daisy
No sooner had she finished the letter, when she heard the dull thud of boots in the grass. In two seconds flat, she was standing behind the door with a butcher knife in hand. “Daisy, you in there?” Walker called, knocking on the wall and pressing his face against the screen to peer in.
She stepped away from the wall. “Go away.”
He glanced down at the knife. “Peg told me you came by. And she said that somehow you didn’t know what happened.”
“I know now, so please just go.”
“Not until we talk. I’ll set up camp in the yard if I have to, but we need to talk this through. Would you put the knife down and come outside? Please?” he said.
She had no energy left. “Trespassing is against the law.”
“Daisy, please.”
“We can talk like this. Me in here and you out there,” she said, setting the knife on the counter and folding her arms over her damp shirt, an old button-up that used to be her father’s.
He spoke through the screen. “All these years, I thought you knew. There were a few times when I almost brought it up, but it never seemed the right time.”
“How would I know? Your father told us and everyone that my dad slid down an embankment and his gun went off. A most unfortunate accident were his exact words. And now I’ve just heard from three people that they thought I knew,” she said.
Walker softened his voice. “My father is the one who slipped and whose gun went off. He panicked, swore everyone to secrecy, even paid the ranch hands for their silence. Over time, it started eating away at me. I began to hate my father for making us hold on to this huge lie, and hated myself even more. Finally, I told my father he had to come clean or I would. We fought about it and I ended up leaving. But he told your mother, Daisy, I know he did.”
As much as the truth hurt, what stung even more was the fact that Louise hadn’t told her. And Walker. Walker was an accomplice. “In case no one noticed, my mother had gone off the deep end by then. I wonder why no one thought to tell me.”
She could not look him in the eye, consumed with a twisting, suffocating shock. The idea that she could never be with Walker slammed down hard. Here was a man whose father killed her father and asked him to lie about it. And he had.
“Get out of here, Walker. And don’t come back,” she said, shutting the door in his face.
She listened for him going down the steps. Pressed her forehead to the knotted wood, imagining him doing the same on the other side. So close. Though the door, he said, “I’m not giving up on us.”
“There is no us, Walker. There never has been.”