The mai tai was sweet and sour and strong. Frankie toyed with the pink umbrella, lifted it, ate the sweet, sweet maraschino cherry and chunk of pineapple. She knew this dinner with him meant something, maybe everything, but she felt awkward. She could reach into a man’s chest and hold his heart in her hands, but she had forgotten how to make small talk.
Rye stared down into his glass, rattled his ice cubes around.
“Ice,” Frankie said, just to be talking. “I’ll never take that for granted again.”
“Or a hot bath.”
“Or dry sheets.”
The waitress appeared, took their orders, and disappeared again.
Frankie could tell that he was uncertain, too. They knew each other only in the flimsiest of ways, and now he’d broken off an engagement for a chance that might come to nothing.
The waitress delivered two shrimp cocktails.
Frankie dipped a plump, pink shrimp in the spicy cocktail sauce and took a bite, chewing slowly. “You remember the night of Finley’s going-away party?”
“A going-away party for Vietnam,” he said. “Talk about another world.”
“We didn’t know.”
He took a drink. “No,” he said quietly. “We didn’t.”
“Did you ever talk to Fin about Vietnam, I mean really talk?”
Rye looked away just for a moment; in his hesitation, she saw regret. “We were at Annapolis,” he said. “It was all rah-rah Navy. And he believed in it. He wanted to make your dad proud of him. I know that.”
“Yeah,” Frankie said. “My dad. The heroes’ wall. We met there at the party.”
Rye smiled at this shared memory. “Both of us hiding out.”
“What were you hiding from?”
“I’m a poor kid from Compton. I didn’t know how to act at your house, how to dress. Anything. And…”
“What?”
“Well. If we’re telling all our secrets here, I followed you into the office.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wanted to ask you to the Ring Dance in ’65. Did Fin ever tell you that?”
“No.”
“He asked me not to, said you were too good for the likes of me. He was smiling when he said it, but I knew he meant it. We both ended up taking … a different kind of girl, shall we say?”
“The kind who didn’t mind steaming up the windows of a parked car,” Frankie said, smiling. “That sounds like Fin.”
“I knew he was right. I had nothing in common with a woman like you. Still, I followed you into the office that night, thought I’d steal a kiss, but I could tell you weren’t ready. And now…”
“Here we are,” Frankie said in understanding. They had made it through hardship—death all around—to be here, sipping cocktails on a tropical island. Did it mean something?
How would they know unless they dared to begin?
They needed first to get to know each other. So she said, “Tell me about your family. Do you have siblings?”
“Ah. Twenty questions. Good choice. No siblings. My mom was an English teacher. Loved Yeats. The old man still lives in Compton. Bought the place in the thirties, thinks the city has gone to hell around him. He owns a car repair shop. Stanley and Mo’s, although there’s no Mo; no one could stand my old man for long, not even his brother.”
The waitress appeared at their table, paused, then said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a gentleman at the bar. He requests a moment of your time.” Behind her, at the dark lava-rock bar area, an elderly man in an out-of-style suit and tie stood and waved.
“Of course,” Rye answered.
The man who approached them walked in a slow, limping gait. He was tall and thin, wearing an expensive linen suit that seemed sized for a larger man. He had a thin mustache and neatly trimmed hair. “Edgar LaTour,” he said in a lyrical Louisiana drawl. “Captain. U.S. Army. I’m guessing you’re here on leave,” he said to Rye.
“We both are, sir. This is Lieutenant Frances McGrath. Army nurse. I’m Navy.”
Edgar grinned. “Well, I won’t hold that against you, boy. I just want to say thank you for what you boys—and girls, I guess—are doing to fight communism. It’s a tough world out there and you need to know that a lot of us still appreciate your sacrifice. I’d be honored to buy your meal.”
“That isn’t necess—”
“Necessary, no, but my honor. And, ma’am, a woman like you saved my life in France. Bless you.”