Now they lay on a deserted beach beneath a cliff that had taken resolve to descend. The locals called it Secret Beach, and the name was apt. They were the only people on this stunning white sand beach. Waves crashed along the shore, made a roaring sound, while shorebirds wheeled overhead, white specks against the cloudless blue sky. The water looked too rough to swim in, so they just lay near it.
They had fallen asleep in the shade for a while, holding hands, their bare feet touching. She already couldn’t sleep without touching him.
Frankie didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but when she woke, the sun was beginning to set.
She rolled over, rested her chin on his chest.
Rye kissed her and they made love again, in the way that had already become familiar to Frankie, slowly at first, building desire to a fever pitch, and then in a pounding, gasping, shattering fury that left them both breathless and depleted.
Afterward, she stared at him, unable to look away, still a little breathless. Sand speckled his tanned cheeks, clung to his dark lashes. Every moment with him coalesced at once into this heaviness in her heart, and she realized suddenly, sharply, how much passion changed things. He could break her heart in ways she couldn’t even imagine.
“Is this real, Rye?” she asked. “It happened so fast. I’m not experienced enough—”
“I’ve never felt this way before,” he said. “Honest to God. You … destroy me, Frankie.”
“Thank God,” Frankie said softly.
True love. She hadn’t known until now, this second, that she’d been waiting for it all her life, saving herself for it, believing in it even in the midst of war.
* * *
On their last day on island, Frankie and Rye stayed in bed all day. When night finally began to fall, they showered and dressed for dinner and went to the restaurant, where they tried to keep up a steady stream of conversation, but time and again, each lapsed into silence.
After dinner, they carried cocktails to the beach and sat down.
A half moon, draped in diaphanous gray clouds, shone silver light on the sand. A pale, foamy surf crashed up and back, whooshing toward them and retreating.
“I want to see you as much as I can before you go,” Rye said.
“Go?” She looked at him.
“You’re going home in a few weeks, right? On Christmas Eve, you told Coyote your DEROS was in March. I knew we wouldn’t have long together.”
“I re-upped,” she said.
He drew back, let her go. “What? You’re not going home? The war is escalating, Frankie. The U.S. can’t admit it’s losing, so it’s going to get worse—”
“I know all of that, Rye. It’s why I re-upped. They need me.”
“No. No.” He actually looked angry.
She loved him for worrying about her. “That’s not how this is going to work, Rye.”
“Not how what is going to work?”
“Us. I was raised to do as I was told and it’s bullshit. So, no telling each other what to do. Okay?”
He was clearly struggling with this. “Can I say it scares me? Does it make me a chauvinist to want you to be safe?”
“We’ll be together.”
“Together in Vietnam,” he said harshly. “It’s hardly Kauai.”
“C’mon, Rye. This is who we are. We’re believers, following our beliefs. I believe in you, your duty, your honor. Do you believe in me?”
She saw how the question crumpled his resistance. “Of course.”
“Okay, then. We will be a great wartime love story, the pilot and the nurse, holding hands while dodging bullets.”
“You’ve seen too many movies.”
“Just tell me you love me. We’ll make it through and go home together.”
He stared at her, looking sad and afraid and proud and still a little angry. “There’s no getting rid of me now, McGrath. I guess I’ll have to re-up, too. I’m not leaving my girl over here without me.”
Seventeen
On the way back to Pleiku, in a helicopter, flying over the Central Highlands, Frankie heard the familiar pop-pop-pop of gunfire. The chopper swooped and swerved, leaned so far to the left, she slid into Rye. He put an arm around her, held her close. “Hold on, baby. Charlie doesn’t like our bird,” he yelled to be heard over the noise. He took his helmet out of his bag and put it on her, tightening the straps beneath her chin.
She grinned at him. “Oh, that will save my life.”
He laughed. “Let me be a hero, willya?”