On a blisteringly hot day in early March, Frankie began her shift, tired and jittery from a lack of sleep.
The OR hadn’t been especially busy in the past week—there had been lots of time for games and movie nights and writing letters home. Frankie had even jumped on a slick ship—a Huey stripped down for transport—and gone to Qui Nhon for an afternoon of shopping. Even so, she was on edge, peevish, demanding too much from the people around her. It didn’t help that they were short-staffed. Frankie knew she should reach out to the newer nurses, especially Margie, and mentor them, but she was worn out. And lonely.
“Lieutenant McGrath.”
She turned, saw Captain Miniver, the new, by-the-book chief nurse of the Seventy-First, holding a clipboard close to her chest, her body stiffly upright. “Lieutenant McGrath?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I’ve been informed that you have failed to take an R and R this tour. And your new tour starts in two weeks.”
“Who ratted me out?”
“Someone who cares about you, obviously. A little bird.”
“Barb.”
“Barb who?” She smiled. “Anyway, I’m ordering you to go. I have your itinerary right here. A beach hotel on Kauai sounds ideal. It’s a farther flight, but there will be fewer soldiers looking for boom-boom there.”
“I’m needed—”
“None of us is irreplaceable, McGrath. I have been watching you. Getting reports on the level of bitchiness you’ve recently achieved. It’s impressive.” Her expression softened. In it, Frankie saw understanding. “You need a break.”
“You think a little hula time will fix me?”
“It won’t hurt. Either way, you leave tomorrow. Here’s your itinerary. Go. Rest. Drink cocktails that come with umbrellas. Sleep. I could be saving your life, McGrath. Trust me. I’ve been where you are. We all can break.”
Sixteen
After more than twenty-two hours of travel, Frankie stumbled into the lobby of the Coco Palms Hotel on the island of Kauai, and checked in. Once in her room, without bothering to shower, she yanked the curtains closed and collapsed onto the softest bed she’d ever felt and fell asleep.
When she woke, she heard birds singing.
Birds. Singing.
No mortars exploding or shells hammering the walls, no smell of blood or shit or smoke in the air, no screaming, no Dust Offs whirring overhead.
The captain had been right; Frankie needed this respite.
She lay in bed, feeling drowsy in a lovely way and listening to the unexpected birdsong, surprised to see that it was well past noon. Refreshed and revived, she got out of bed and pushed the heavy gardenia-print yellow-and-white drapes aside and saw Kauai for the first time.
“Wow.”
The California beaches were magnificent, powerful, endless, and awe-inspiring, but this … this was an intimate kind of beauty, drenched in jewel tones—golden sand, vivid green grass, deep blue skies, vibrant purple bougainvilleas.
She opened the window and leaned out into the bright, beautiful day. The air smelled of a sweet floral fragrance mingled with the sharp tang of the sea. Palm trees grew on a flat patch of lawn, singly and in groups.
She took a long, hot, luxurious bath, using soap that smelled of coconut, and washed and dried her hair, seeing for the first time how long it had grown. She’d spent months pruning it as she would a runaway weed, cutting away whatever impaired her view, which left her with an uneven fringe of bangs. Thankfully, she had her boonie hat. It wasn’t fashionable, in fact was the opposite, but the olive-drab hat had become a favorite possession in ’Nam, almost a companion, and it kept the sun out of her eyes. A dozen pins and patches decorated the crown, gifts she’d gotten from her patients. Each bore the insignia of some unit. The Screaming Eagles, the Seawolves, the Big Red One.
She put on her faded two-piece knit bathing suit and SKI VIETNAM T-shirt and shorts, noticing that everything bore the pink-red tint of the Vietnam soil. For the first time in months, she bothered with makeup—mascara and lipstick and blush. Slipping into sandals, she put on sunglasses, grabbed a hotel towel, and went down to the lobby.
Although she was hungry—her stomach was grumbling loudly—she needed fresh air more. Fresh air and the sound of the sea. A little sand between her toes, a little floating in salt water.
She left the hotel and walked through the manicured grounds, palm trees swaying all around her. She crossed the quiet street and stepped out onto the sand. Tomorrow she would bring her camera and take pictures of the beauty around her.