At the bottom of the ramp, he saluted again.
The camera closed in on Rye’s gaunt, smiling face.
Frankie stood up, stared at the television, at Rye. The thudding of her heart was so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.
“Babe?” Henry said. “Frankie? What’s wrong?”
“I’m not feeling well. Nausea.” An excuse that always worked for a pregnant woman. “I’m going to take a bath.”
Henry stood. “I’ll start it for—”
“No.”
Had she shouted it? Was she crying? She wiped her eyes, felt tears. She looked at him. “No,” she said more gently, as gently as she could, anyway, when all she wanted to do was get away. “Stay. Watch the broadcast. I’ll go … calm down and relax in a nice hot bath.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek—almost a headbutt, because she was off-balance—and lurched toward the kitchen.
He’s alive.
Those two words shifted the world off its axis, upset the precarious balance she’d found in the last year.
The phone on the kitchen counter rang.
“I’ll get it,” Henry said.
“I’ve got it,” Frankie shouted, diving forward to pick up the phone. “Hello?”
Barb said, “Frankie?”
“You saw him?” Frankie whispered.
“I saw him,” Barb said. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Frankie said, dragging the phone as far as she could, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m pregnant, my wedding is this weekend, and the love of my life just came back from the dead. How could I be okay?”
She heard Barb’s sigh slip through the line. “What the hell are you supposed to do now? I mean, engaged is one thing. Pregnant is another.”
“I know, but … it’s Rye,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“I have to see him, at least,” Frankie said. As she said the words, she knew they were a half-truth. She wanted more than just to see him. She wanted the future that belonged to them. “I have to be on the airfield in San Diego when he lands.”
There was a long silence. Then Barb said, “I’m calling Ethel. We’ll catch a red-eye.”
* * *
All the next day, Frankie was so nervous, she couldn’t sit still, not even when Barb and Ethel showed up to rally around her. All she could think about was Rye … landing in San Diego … being alive.
“You should tell Henry,” Barb said. They were in the bungalow’s living room, she and Frankie and Ethel. Frankie’s new wedding dress—a lacy white prairie-style gown—hung from a hanger on a kitchen cupboard hook, reminding them all of the wedding scheduled for Saturday.
“I can’t,” Frankie said. She knew it would break Henry’s heart to learn that Joseph Ryerson Walsh, recently returned POW, was the Rye whom Frankie had loved.
Still loved.
She glanced nervously at the kitchen clock. It was 8:10 A.M. The plane full of POWs was scheduled to land in San Diego at 9:28. Frankie had called Anne Jenkins and gotten permission to be there. It had been easy to do on a day when Anne was busy with a thousand other details. “Sure,” she’d said. “Of course. Thanks again for all your help, Frankie.”
Frankie twirled her engagement ring on her finger, staring down at it, and then slowly took it off. She didn’t want Rye to see it until she had time to explain.
“If we’re going, we should go,” Ethel said.
They piled into Frankie’s Mustang and drove off the island and onto the mainland and arrived at the gates of the Air Station Miramar at 8:45.
There was already a crowd of people and reporters on the tarmac. Women, children, men, all holding up welcome-home signs. Wives and family and reporters were in front, friends and service personnel in the back.
“I forgot to make a sign,” Frankie said. She was so nervous, she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stand still. In the front of the line, reporters held out microphones, threw out questions. Barb and Ethel stood on either side of her like bodyguards, giving her time to collect herself.
Would Rye forgive her for Henry, for being weak enough to say yes? For carrying another man’s child? While he’d been held and tortured, she’d been having a relationship with someone else. How could she make him believe she’d never stopped loving him?
“It’s landing,” Barb said.
Frankie glanced up, felt fear and joy in equal measure.
Would he still love her—a different version of him meeting a different version of her?