It took about an hour to make a dent in the bottle they’d started last time, back before she’d gotten sick, but now Miriam Boudreaux was feeling no pain. She’d been restless and a little shaky while she’d waited for Whit to show, and the aspirin they’d grudgingly given her after she’d complained three times about her headache hadn’t helped much. But she’d held her temper, knowing it might make a difference if someone read whatever they were writing on her chart. When Whit finally slipped in, checking behind her as she’d closed the curtain around the bed, Miriam was torn between wanting to slap her for taking her damn time and wanting to kiss her when Whit slid the bottle out of her coat. Now it felt almost like old times, except that Whit wasn’t even trying to keep up with her, drinking-wise, and she wasn’t laughing at her jokes like she used to.
“What’s with you, pal?” Miriam asked. “Trouble in paradise?” When Whit’s jaw clenched, it dawned on her that referencing Kathleen Hartley might not have been a good idea. She wondered what, if anything, Hartley had revealed about their little encounter. The redhead may have been less than satisfied, but that was her own fault, given that she hadn’t given Miriam the chance to demonstrate the full range of her expertise. Or maybe Hartley had already shown Whit the door and was just waiting for the opportunity to finish what they’d begun. Boudreaux shifted on the bed, trying not to look overly interested in the subject.
Whit sniffed. “Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Boudreaux suppressed a smile. Like all amateur card players, Whit had a tell. Hers was that sniff, or a rub of her nose. Something was up, and Miriam looked forward to figuring out exactly what. But not now. Acting completely disinterested, she changed the subject. “You bring me the miniature size for tomorrow’s morning shot?” Whit pulled the flask from her other pocket. Miriam shook it and gave a half-smile, apparently satisfied. “Anyone in my situation could use a little liquid courage,” she muttered, half to herself. “But I gotta take it easy tomorrow so they won’t smell it on me.”
Whit followed her movements as she tucked the flask under her pillow. “You never did say what you decided to tell them,” she remarked, her casual tone sounding noticeably forced as she took a sip from the remaining whiskey.
Imagining how many WACs that were anxious for her answer, Boudreaux laughed. “Well now, since I wasn’t able to attend the earlier meeting, I don’t know exactly how it’s gonna go with little Miss Spillman. And since I don’t know what my options will be, I don’t know how many bargaining chips I’m gonna need.”
“How many do you figure you have?” Whit asked, leaning forward slightly.
Their eyes locked and Miriam waited a beat, wondering if Whit would flinch first. When she didn’t, Miriam knew she was all in. Perhaps it was time to put her own cards on the table. Getting violently sick like that had really scared her, and even though she had no actual memory of her parents’ illness and untimely deaths, that such a thing could happen to her too was like a bad dream. Increasingly, the idea of going home had become a lot more appealing. She’d begun to consider that despite her carefully crafted story, her days in the Women’s Army Corps might be numbered. And it was probably just as well, since taking orders and following regulations was getting old anyway. The trick would be to leave with as much as she could get. “Depends on what they offer me. If they pay per name, well, there could be lots of broken hearts.”
Whit’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think they pay at all. I think you’re expected to testify on your honor and that’s it.”
“Maybe so, or maybe they want to know what I know enough to bend the rules. Just this once, you know?” Miriam winked, expecting Whit to laugh like she usually did. Instead, she stood and began putting on her coat.
Miriam hurried to finish off the whiskey. Whit tucked the empty back into her pocket, saying, “I’ll stop by late tomorrow night and make sure you’re raring to go.”
Something in Whit’s tone made Miriam’s nerves twitch. But before she could say anything, there was a light knock and a nurse came bustling in. “Can you excuse us for a moment, Lieutenant Whitman? We need to collect a urine sample.”
“Another one?” Miriam groaned.
Whit grinned at her and ducked out into the hall. She returned after the nurse had left, and once Miriam emerged from the bathroom, she pointed to where the flask was hidden. “Remember not to start on this one till Friday morning,” she cautioned. “You okay with that?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Boudreaux waved her hand casually as Whit turned toward the door. “See you tomorrow night.” Whit could be a pain, but her company was better than none, which was what she’d had after the guys heard she was sick. She hoped Whit was wrong about the money, though. She couldn’t very well go home after three years in the Army with nothing to show for it but a few extra pounds and some good stories.
* * *
Whit had slept fitfully on her cot, and getting up at 0500 didn’t help her mood. Her anxiety grew as she made her way to the hospital in the gray, pre-dawn light, hoping things had gone according to plan. When she saw the commotion of nurses and attendants around Miriam Boudreaux’s room, she fought to hide her smile.
She grabbed one of the few male attendants, hoping he would respect her rank and medic designation. “What’s going on in there?”
He grimaced. “That lieutenant has relapsed. She’s puking all over the place.”
“When did that start?”
He shrugged. “I just came on, but I think it was late last night or early this morning.”
Just as she’d expected, Miriam hadn’t waited to get into her flask. Whit put on a stern expression. “But she’s due to testify at 0900 tomorrow. Will she be recovered by then?”
Looking back toward the private room, he shook his head. “I’m not a doctor, but if you ask me, it would take a miracle for that to happen.”
Whit nodded and he walked quickly away. She lingered one more minute, hoping Boudreaux had been able to hide the flask before the nausea had hit her. She doubted the episode had come from the ipecac she’d slipped into the water pitcher, but the morning shift should have switched that out in any case. Glancing at her watch, she hurried out and toward the parade grounds. She’d find Kat after reveille and confirm their date for tonight. Hopefully, the guilt she was accumulating would be overshadowed by the promise of the evening to come.
* * *
Kathleen Hartley couldn’t seem to manage her nerves. She’d hosted formal dinners for eight on several occasions and held numerous parties attended by dozens and dozens of friends and strangers and had never been this anxious. It’s just Vic, she told herself, but something inside her rejected that just part. Two hours from now they would either have a new start or the beginning of the end, and both options seemed equally terrifying.
Lying alone for yet another night in what had been their bed, she’d tossed and turned, unable and unwilling to escape the images of Victoria Whitman as partner, lover, confidante, and friend. As she searched her mind and her heart for what she really wanted, her mad crush on the unattainable Gale Rains began to feel almost juvenile. Had she foolishly succumbed to the thrill of a chase because there was something irresistibly exciting in the unknown? Had her ego simply wished to succeed at a challenge, having been spoiled by years with reliable Whit, who had been available to her from the start? She’d considered and discarded several similar explanations before coming back to a familiar suspicion—despite Vic’s sweet declarations, she knew she wasn’t worthy of love. She’d known it since she was a child. Had she pursued someone who would never love her in order to push Vic away before her lover realized Kat’s flaws would always outweigh any virtues she might think she’d seen?
From a young age, she’d wondered about this hollow feeling, this intuition of lacking she’d had no words for. As she grew older, she’d begun to see as well as sense the difference between her own mother and other women with children. Marion Hartley never showed her any affection, tenderness, or even pride. There were expectations—demands, even—but no warmth or closeness of any kind. She’d wondered many times about the reason for this forsaking of motherly devotion that had influenced so much of her own past behavior…and maybe her present as well? Had she used a meaningless mental affair to push away the person she cared most about because disconcerting childhood experiences had festered, making her unable to believe she deserved what Vic gave her?
Determined to confront her mother once and for all, she went to the phone and dialed their familiar number as she glanced at the clock. Almost 5:30—her mother should be home from her errands or whatever club she’d attended. But her father answered, his hello a bit unsteady.
“Dad, it’s Kathleen. What are you doing home at this hour?” Kathleen blurted out. “Don’t tell me you finally hired someone you actually trust to manage the office?”
She’d worked for her father for years, both before and after her marriage, and his approval of her performance there had been wonderfully gratifying. He’d been the mainstay of support for her during her adult years at home, and she was much closer to him now then she’d ever been to her mother, though they never spoke of it.
Her father chuckled. “No chance of that since all the good ones are in the service.”
She felt a rare flash of cheerfulness as she smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
“No, I had to close up shop early today to take your mother to the doctor.” His tone had turned serious.
That was odd. Her mother was perfectly capable of getting herself anywhere in the city. She must be very ill. “What’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, some…uh…female problems. The doctor thinks it may be related to the trouble she had years ago. Before you were born.” He hesitated for a second. “After the other one.”
Amusement at her father’s embarrassed reference to gynecological issues gave way to confusion. The other one? What was he talking about? She was an only child. “The other one what? I don’t understand.”
“Oh, I thought you two might have discussed it. Before you got married, perhaps.” At her negative murmur, he sniffed. “Well, there was another baby before you, but he only lived a few hours. A heart issue, they told us. Something not formed right inside. I don’t know the medical term for it, but anyway, your mother took it hard. Very hard.” He sighed. “She’d been quite excited about the whole process and then afterward she—she was almost inconsolable. It took me a long time to convince her to try again, because…” He trailed off but Kat was incapable of making a sound to fill the gap. Everything seemed to have stopped inside her. “Well, she just wasn’t the same after that,” he finally added. “Even after you were born so healthy, I’m not sure she ever really believed you were going to stay with us.”
“I—I didn’t know any of this,” Kat finally managed, when she realized her father had stopped talking.
He sighed. “I suppose I’m not surprised. We haven’t spoken of it since. And after we came home empty-handed from the hospital that time, part of her seemed to just…shut off. I got her some help for the house and encouraged her to start seeing her friends again, but I never saw the same kind of life in her that she used to have. I’d hoped another baby would bring her back to herself, but I’m not sure…”
Kathleen waited, her thoughts spinning wildly. When another silence began to stretch out, she thought to ask, “What did the doctor say this time?”
“Oh, apparently he talked about some kind of operation. I don’t think your mother was too pleased about the idea. She’s lying down right now. You know.”
Kathleen did know. And yet she didn’t. She was quite familiar with her mother’s histrionics, but this new insight gave her pause. “Please tell her I hope she’s better soon. And you’ll let me know what you decide about the operation?”
“Of course, dear. And you’re doing fine, right?”
“Fine, yes,” Kat lied. What else could she possibly say? After their goodbyes, she didn’t move from the chair near the phone. All of her energy was focused on grappling with the sudden knowledge that her mother had carried a baby before her. One that had died after she’d given birth. Had the price of that loss been handed down to her, along with hair and eye color? Or had she also inherited a damaged heart, but hers malfunctioned emotionally, rather than physically, the symptoms revealing themselves gradually over the years?
Dimly, she heard the sound of the back door and Whit’s voice moving toward her, calling her name. She blinked and stirred, clearing her throat to answer. Before she could get a word out, she caught the familiar scent of Whit’s cologne, spicy and warm, and felt a hand rest lightly on her shoulder.
“Am I here on the wrong night? That kitchen is cold and dark.” Whit’s tone was teasing, but when Kathleen turned and looked at her, she squatted down, her expression concerned. “What is it, Kitty? What’s wrong?”
“Whit, I…” It was too much. Kat’s throat closed up, emotions overwhelming her. Whit moved closer and Kat found the perfect place for her weary head—on Whit’s chest. Whit helped her stand, murmuring, “Come on. It’s okay. Come with me now,” and they made their way to the bedroom. As Whit eased her onto the bed and slipped out of her WAC jacket, Kathleen realized she was still in her dressing gown. She hadn’t cooked or cleaned or dressed and done her makeup, none of the things she needed to do to get ready for Whit’s visit.
“I’m sorry,” she began, hating the quaver in her voice. “I haven’t…everything is—”
“Shh.” Whit lay beside her, stroking her hair. “Just let me stay for a little while. Then I’ll go if you want me to.”
“No, I don’t want that. I never wanted you to go.”
Whit’s hand stilled and she was quiet for a long minute. “Yeah well, I thought maybe you wanted to go, Kat. I mean, you’ve seemed so far away lately. But I know you love this house, and then it came to me that maybe you didn’t want me here.”
“No.” Kat shook her head, but Whit stopped her with a hand.
“Look, I didn’t intend to bring it up this way. There are things we need to talk about, but I could tell from the minute you looked at me that there’s something else on your mind. I’m here for you, okay?”
They lay quietly for a time, and Kathleen saw it all quite clearly. Vic had sensed her detachment, and whether or not she completely understood it all, Kat’s behavior had hurt her badly. Badly enough to believe that she wasn’t wanted in their home. Telling her lover how deeply sorry she was would only be a first step. She needed to convince her that something like this would never happen again. And to do that, she needed to decide in her own mind and heart that she was truly ready to make a commitment and to honor it for as long as Vic would have her. Oddly, it was the last part of that thought that scared her the most. What if she pledged to stay forever just as Vic was ready to tell her that she’d had enough, that she no longer wanted her at all? It would be like her to let me down easy, Kat knew.
Whit hadn’t imagined that she’d be on the bed with Kathleen five minutes after arriving. Well, she might have imagined it, but she certainly hadn’t expected it. She had fully intended to keep things cool, as Rachel had suggested in her letter. It had been a shock to find it in her mailbox, but the contents were even more surprising. Rachel was seeing a woman named Beth, who was a baker there in Daytona Beach, Florida. It was hard to imagine the tough, no-nonsense Dr. Milligan she’d known caring for someone described in her reply as “easygoing and kindhearted.” But when she searched her feelings, Whit found she was happy for her friend and hoped Beth would be good to her. Even more intriguing was the last paragraph, which contained the advice she’d asked for.
Whit, Rachel had written, I know you to be very determined when it comes to going after what you want. But may I suggest that in this instance, it might pay off for you to play a little more hard to get? Let her chase you for a change. And it might help if you gave her reason to think she has a little rivalry for your attention. You may use my name if it helps, though I know I was never any competition for her. In any case, I hope things work out in whatever way is best for you.
So Whit had planned to be a bit reserved. Pleasant, yes, but not overly warm. But when Kat had looked at her with her expression full of sorrow, she reacted as she would have if things between them were normal and she’d just come home from work. Now, realizing her mistake, she drew back slightly, putting space between them. “Would you like me to see if I can pick up something for us to eat? That diner is probably still open.”
Kat turned her face into the pillow without answering. Whit was sure her reaction was partly shame for being unprepared as a hostess. Or was it that she’d said or done the wrong thing and Kat was upset with her? Again? Still? As the silence stretched out, she felt her anger rise as she thought how tired she was of walking on eggshells, trying to gauge Kat’s mood and always trying to please her. Maybe Rachel was right, and it was her turn to be pursued.
She stood and reached for her jacket. “Well hell, Kat. If you’re not going to talk to me and we’re not even going to eat, then I’m leaving. Clearly, hoping for some conversation and a little chow is me asking for too much from you. As usual.”
She was almost out the bedroom door when she heard Kat’s voice, muffled by the pillow. “I called home earlier and talked to my father.”
Whit paused. She knew Kathleen was close to her father, and his thoughts and opinions mattered a great deal to her. She turned back and leaned against the doorway. “Is everything all right at home?”
Kat sniffed and faced her. “I’m not sure. I mean, my mother is having some problems, but Father’s all right. He told me—” She stopped and frowned as she sat up. “Please don’t go, Vic. If you’d pour me a glass of wine, I’ll join you in the kitchen in a few minutes.” Scrubbing her hands over her face, she took a deep breath, adding, “And I’m sure a resourceful Army medic like yourself can find something for us to eat.”
An hour later, Kathleen’s wine glass was empty and the sandwiches Whit had made for them were just crumbs. Whit finished her beer and shook her head, still pondering the effect this revelation was having on Kat. “So, do you think you’ll discuss this with your mother the next time you go home?”
Kat looked away, her green eyes focused on something far away. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I’m going to have to think about it some more. And I suppose it will depend on how she’s doing physically.”
Whit waited, hoping Kathleen’s attention would return. When it didn’t, she stood, carrying their plates to the sink. “It’s getting late. I’d better head back to the base.”
Kat blinked. “Wait. I was going to ask you about how things were going.” She stood also, clearly flustered. “I mean, I heard that Miriam was sick again and they probably wouldn’t hold the hearing. Have you heard anything more?”
For a few wild seconds, Whit thought about telling Kat everything. What would her reaction be if she knew Whit’s actions were responsible for Miriam Boudreaux being too ill to testify? Would she appreciate Whit’s dual motives of revenge and protection? Or would she be horrified at the idea that Whit had broken her medic’s oath? Should she gamble on the hope that Kat would understand her intentions or keep this secret from her, adding another gap to the distance between them? Faced with two negatives, Whit shook her head again. “I’m going by there now. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more.”
Kathleen took a step toward her. “You could stay here tonight, you know.” At the lift in Whit’s eyebrows, she added, “And sleep in the guest room if it makes you more comfortable.”
In two strides, Whit was in front of her. Taking Kat’s face in her hands, she looked into her eyes with an expression so intense, Kat felt it in her very core. “If I ever stay here again, it won’t be in any damn guest room. And there won’t be much sleeping, either.” And to hell with hard to get, she decided, and kissed Kathleen Hartley in a way she rarely did unless they were in bed—hard and fierce, with all the passion she could muster. She didn’t wait to see Kat’s expression when she pulled away, only turned on her heel and walked out the door.
* * *
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Whit had still been thinking about that kiss when she walked into Miriam Boudreaux’s room. It was late, and she’d half expected her to be asleep. The angry tone in her accusation snapped Whit back to reality. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about me puking my guts out because you slipped me a mickey.”
Whit managed a short laugh. “You’ve obviously lost your mind along with your dinner. I’m one of the few friends you’ve got left in this place. Why would I do something like that?”
Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t figure that out either. But I had a visitor earlier and she helped me understand a few things.”
Whit held out her arms, gesturing for Miriam to continue. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Apparently Sara hasn’t really gotten over me.” She flashed Whit a cocky grin. “You know how it is. Once you’ve had the best, there’s really nowhere else to go.”
Whit held her expression steady, forcing images of Boudreaux fondling Kat out of her mind. Instead, she tried to guess at Sara’s motivation and prepare for what she might have said. Miriam seemed to be waiting for some kind of response, so she shrugged. “And?” she asked impatiently.
Miriam’s grin faded. “She told me that you’d switched sides, buddy.” That last word was entirely sarcastic. “She said that you and the little woman were thick as thieves with the redskin and her pretty dolly.”
Frantically, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen Sara. “Why? Because they were at our New Year’s party? Look, a lot of other people were there, including some we didn’t know very well.”
“Yeah, but your woman didn’t kiss all of them, did she?” Whit flinched and Miriam pressed her case. “And apparently plans were made for phone calls later. Some kind of action needed to be taken, Rains said. Did you have that little chat with all your guests?”
Whit recalled that Sara had left just after Gale and Bett. She must have overheard their conversation. “God, Boudreaux, it was New Year’s and I was drunk. How do you expect me to remember every little detail of what happened and who said what?” She thought of another angle and rubbed angrily at her eyes, trying hard to sell it. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Sara’s threatened by our friendship, and she’s saying things to make you doubt me?”
Boudreaux sat up, leaning forward in the bed. “I’ll tell you what did occur to me, with Sara’s help. Every time you’ve come to see me, I’ve been sick after. Every time. And a medic like you would know about that kind of thing, wouldn’t you? Yeah, and it would be easy to get your hands on something that would do that, right? Was that the action you planned?” She clucked her tongue. “You thought I was going to tell on you to our big, bad colonel so you made it so I couldn’t testify, is that it? And here I thought we were friends.”
Whit felt almost paralyzed. Nothing would move, including her mouth. She forced herself to breathe, and tried to think of anything she could say to allay Boudreaux’s suspicions. Maybe she needed to turn the tables, go on the offensive. “A real friend would have given me some assurance that you wouldn’t name us. Every time I brought it up, you acted like you hadn’t decided yet.” Her voice sounded weak, and she swallowed, adding more intensity when she continued. “This isn’t a game for us. Our lives are at stake here.”
“And what about my life, huh?” Boudreaux whined. “I don’t have my own place or some fancy lady to pay my way. I won’t have nothing to show for myself when I get back home but a blue ticket and the clothes on my back. You know I’ve been sending most of my paycheck back home. I’ve got next to nothing in my PX account. You would have done something for me, or at least helped me figure out a way to get some money out of this deal, if you were really my friend.”
Whit took a step closer, her fists clenched. That unjustified grievance in Miriam’s petulant tone had all but snapped her control. Through her gritted teeth, she muttered, “If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have touched Kathleen the way you did. For that alone, you deserve everything you get. I should have gone with my first instinct and put something else in the booze you’re so fond of. Something that you wouldn’t wake up from.” She leaned closer and her voice dropped to a growl. “And that could still happen, you know. I have lots of friends, lots of real friends, on this base. So every time you take a sip or a bite of something, you’d better think twice about what you plan to say to our big, bad colonel.” After opening the door, she turned back and added, “And I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow, friend.”
Though she felt real satisfaction at the fear in Boudreaux’s eyes, by the time she reached the medic’s office, she’d begun to regret every word. Well, not regret exactly, but wish there was a way to take it all back. Because once Miriam got over being scared, she’d be angry. And there was no telling what she would do in that condition. Whit sighed, knowing she’d blown her chance to solve this problem herself. She was going to need help now.