Significant Others (19 page)

**

XVIIIth MISSION

BORDEAUX, FRANCE

JUNE 19, 1944

Hit this target four days ago. This time it was really rough. A few fellows I know went down. No one got out. We had trouble keeping up—Tail-End Charlie as usual, which is the best position, contrary to popular belief. Amazing that we came back. Flak thicker than ever before—flew through overcasts for hours. Very tired. But not too tired to dream of you again.

**

XIXth MISSION

HAMBURG, GERMANY

JUNE 20, 1944

Six missions this week alone! When I first got here, if you flew 25 missions, you could come back home. After Jimmy Doolittle came over to run the 8th Air Force, he raised the requirement to 30 missions. I just heard that we have to do 35 missions now. So, I guess I’m in for 35. It didn’t help morale. They gave me credit for three under the new pro-rated plan. The more you have, the more you get. This was my first mission with another crew. I was pretty busy watching instruments most of the time. The pilot got hit in the face with flak—the worst I’d ever seen—but it was really splintered glass. We destroyed Hamburg. It will burn for a week, I’m sure. No enemy fighters. No letters from you. I hope nothing has happened to you or
your family. You have no idea what goes through my mind over here. Have you met someone else? If you have, I don’t want to know. But I need to know. Not knowing is hell.

I skimmed over the next few missions. I couldn’t afford to read them all. I would have to get these letters back to Daniel’s condo as soon as possible before he discovered them missing.

**

XXVth MISSION (28TH)

TOURS, FRANCE

JULY 4, 1944

I just got back off a 48-hour pass. That just makes me lonelier for you because there’s time to think. I went to a club. There was dancing, but all I could think of was you and how it felt to hold you in my arms. Sometimes I can hear snatches of the music playing that last night. But everything’s so far away. I can see your face but then it’s gone, and I can’t dance with anyone else.

The weather was miserable and we felt sure that there would be no mission, but we got up about an hour after hitting the sack. We were after the same bridge. When we got there we couldn’t see the target—it was no go. We brought the bombs back, but it counted as a mission.

My eyes were blurry but I continued to read.

**

XXVIIth MISSION (30th)

LEIPZIG, GERMANY

JULY 7, 1944

I got my “air medal” today. It’s a beautiful gold-toothed emblem of an eagle. Can’t wait to show it to you. Five missions to go. Got to make it. Got to get home to you and start our life together. That’s all that’s keeping me going now.

I wondered if that medal was still on his jacket. Wouldn’t Donny love to see that?

**

XXVIIIth MISSION (31st)

RELY, FRANCE

JULY 8, 1944

We made a run over the target, but it was overcast, too hazy—I saw one Fort blow up from flak in the Group in front of us. Coming off the target, we ran into more flak. We got a few hits—one in the bomb bay. Since we couldn’t find a target of opportunity, we returned to England with all the bombs. We were coming over our airfield at 3,500 feet, when it happened.

The ship on the right was thrown out of formation by prop wash. Our pilot put the ship into a vertical dive to miss the plane and saved us from certain death in a collision. But the big dive knocked several of our bombs loose and pinned the tail gunner to the bomb bay doors with a 250-pound bomb on his lap.

In the dive, the bombardier, navigator and radio operator were thrown to the top of the plane. The waist gunner also hit the top of the plane, and his gun hit him in the eye. I was hit in the back by my chain of bullets from the top turret. The control cables were strained, and the plane struggled to come out of the dive.

The ball turret gunner called me to the bomb bay and hollered for me to do something for the tail gunner. When I got there, he was white as a sheet, pinned by the weight of a bomb, with another bomb loose and partially stuck in the slightly opened bomb bay door. I straddled the space above the open bomb bay door and lifted the 250-pound bomb off him so he could crawl out. My knees buckled a few times. I don’t know where I got the
strength. Then I crawled out and began to slowly crank the doors open to get rid of the bombs. I’m ready for the flak house. Four more missions to go.

We got a write-up about today’s mission. They called it “Bomb Scare in the Air.” The bombardier gave it to Public Relations. He made me out the hero. So, one day you can tell our son his dad was a hero.

I couldn’t control the tears that were streaming down my face. I hadn’t known a thing about this incident, but Donny had grown up thinking his dad was a hero and it turned out he really was. I wept softly for a while, with the covers pulled over my head so Honey wouldn’t hear me.

**

Then I forced myself to continue reading. By now, though, I was desperate for Daniel’s expressions of love and loneliness. Feelings that mirrored my own all those years ago. I began skipping over the rest of the missions—the 32
nd
over St. Omer, France, and the last two to Munich, Germany, and counting down, three missions to go, two to go, one to go and the final mission.

XXXIInd MISSION (35TH)

MUNICH, GERMANY

JULY 16, 1944

I’m happy to be writing this. I’m finished. I’m trying to get a nine-day pass. Signing off and thanking all who prayed for me. I felt your prayers even though I haven’t received a letter. I was lucky.

I’m in London now. I’m enclosing a picture of me in my uniform. Don’t be shocked. Your “big bear” looks more like a ghost. I think I weigh 150 pounds. I’m absolutely worn out. How these people lived under the bombardment I don’t know. But I did my missions, and
now that I’m done, I’m kissing the ground because I’m alive and in one piece and, before you know it, I’ll be coming home to you. I tried to keep my spirits up. I haven’t heard from you in all this time. It was rough when all the other guys were getting letters from their wives and sweethearts, but we’ll be together soon. I’m bringing home presents. I am coming to pick you up the minute I get home, but I don’t know yet when that will be. So your mother better be prepared.

I’m sending this ring as a token of my commitment to you. It’s not very big, but I promise you someday I’ll get you a bigger one. I intend to marry you as soon as I get back. So start doing whatever it is women do to prepare for their weddings. We can talk about where we’ll live. I’m partial to South Florida where I did my basic training. Florida’s a place where you can walk along nice clean streets and reach out and grab an orange right off the tree. It really sounds like a nice place to live. No snow! But we’ll make that decision together. I love you and can’t wait to hold you in my arms again on the dance floor and off. It’s been so long.

Chapter Twelve: Something’s Wrong with Mom

The condo was entirely too quiet. I finished my phone conversation with my client and knocked on my mother’s door.

“Mom, are you okay? How was breakfast?” I could hear her mumbling, but I could barely make out what she was saying.

“I’m lying down,” I thought I heard her say. “I have a headache.”

“Want some aspirin?”

“I’ve already taken some. I just need some sleep.”

This wasn’t a good sign. It was almost noon. She was regressing. Something must have happened with Mr. Moore. Something disappointing.

“Can I fix you something to eat?”

“Later,” she snapped, then she was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Honey. Maybe later.”

“Okay.”

I wandered aimlessly around the living room. I didn’t care what Donny said, I was going to let some light into this mausoleum. I pulled back the drapes and turned on every light in the room, overhead and lamps. Enough light to vaporize a vampire. I walked out onto the patio and looked down at the tree. Okay, this was insane. I could see Jesus now. I looked away. What was this world coming to? I decided to give my mother a little more alone time and then I was going into the bedroom to check on her. That’s when I heard the sound of muffled crying, almost like a keening, and then I heard my mother screaming, “Noooooo!” And she wouldn’t stop screaming.

“Mom, what is it?” I knocked on her door. “Open up or I’m going to bust the door down.”

She was still screaming. I grabbed my cell phone and called Donny at the hotel.

“Get over to Mom’s fast. Something’s very wrong with her.” I jiggled the lock to her bedroom door.

“Let me in, now,” I insisted. The door was flimsy. I kicked it open. There was my mother, doubled over on the bed, surrounded by a pile of yellowing envelopes. She raised her head and turned her tear-stained face toward mine. She had finally calmed down. I think she was in a state of shock. I vaulted onto the bed and wrapped her in my arms.

“Mom, what’s wrong? What are all these old letters?”

She hugged me back and wouldn’t stop crying, but she wouldn’t talk about the letters. She just sifted them with her hands and clutched them to her heart.

“Okay, what happened at breakfast?” Daniel Moore was the obvious culprit. She had left the condo a happy woman, walking on air, and now she was hysterical and depressed. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but I finally got her calmed down and settled under the comforter. I gathered up the pile of letters and turned off the light.

“Take care of my letters,” she said softly.

“I will,” I assured her, confused. “You go to sleep now.” Sleep seemed to be my mother’s life work.

When Donny arrived, he was frantic.

“What’s wrong with her?” he demanded.

“She just started screaming and she wouldn’t stop. I think she’s having another episode, like when Dad died. She was reading these letters. I’ve never seen them before. They must be old letters from Dad.”

“I thought she was getting better,” Donny grunted.

“Me too. Obviously she’s not. She went to breakfast with that new guy I told you about on the phone this morning, the one she met at the dance last night, Daniel Moore. And then she ran into the condo and locked herself in the bedroom.”

“If he tried anything with her, I’ll kill him,” Donny ranted. “Can’t he see how fragile she is?”

“I know. I can’t imagine what else could have brought this on.”

He grabbed the letters from my hand.

“What are these? Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“It’s not Dad’s,” I said after examining them.

He opened one. And began reading. After a few minutes he looked over at me.

“Jesus, Honey. I think these letters must be from my real father,” Donny said in disbelief.

Stunned, he collapsed on the couch.

“What would they be doing here?” I wondered.

“I’m going to read them,” Donny announced.

“They’re private. They’re Mom’s letters. Maybe you should ask her first.”

“You said she was sleeping,” he reasoned.

“Well, okay, maybe you can figure out what’s going on, why they made her so upset.”

I looked over at Donny, who was sagging on the couch. He was still reading his letters and tears were streaming down his face. As old as he was, he looked like a lost little boy. I had never seen him look like this—enthralled and defeated at the same time.

“Donny, what’s wrong?” I walked over to the couch.

“She said she’d lost them,” Donny said, looking up at me, looking lost himself.

“Lost what?”

“Their love letters.” He kept reading, and every once in a while he’d make a comment.

“They weren’t married. It says he was looking forward to their life together, to their marriage when he got back to Pittsburgh. Maybe that’s why she never talked about him. She wasn’t married when she had me. Maybe she was too embarrassed to tell me I’m illegitimate.”

“You’re not illegitimate,” I argued. “Stanley Palladino adopted you. He was your legal father. And even if you were ‘illegitimate,’ it’s just a word, Donny. It doesn’t define the man you are.”

“Look at the date on this one, Honey,” he frowned. “This was written after my dad was supposed to have died. That’s not possible. Could my father still be alive? I’ve got to wake Mom. I don’t understand any of this.”

I tensed at the knock on the door and left Donny reading his letters. When I opened it, Daniel Moore was standing there with a grim look on his face.

He acknowledged me but did a double take when he saw Donny. When I saw the two of them together I had to take a step back. They looked so much alike I thought I was seeing double.

“You must be Dee Dee’s son, Donny Palladino,” Daniel said, extending a hand. “I’ve followed your career.”

“What the hell did you do to my mother?” Donny accused, springing from the couch and flexing his fists. Daniel lowered his hand. If I didn’t interfere, Donny was going to throw a punch.

“Do? What do you mean?” Daniel was bewildered and just a little leery. Donny Palladino riled up was a frightening sight.

“My sister said my mother came home hysterical after she saw you. I want to know what the hell you did to her.”

“Nothing,” Daniel said. “We were having a nice breakfast and she just took off. I wanted to make sure she was all right. We had plans to go Christmas shopping. Where is she?”

“She’s resting now,” I said, trying to remain calm.

“I think you’d better leave,” Donny glared. “You’ve done enough damage for one morning.”

“I just want to make sure your mother is all right.”

“My sister told you she was asleep,” Donny said, barely able to control himself. “Just go before I do something we’ll both regret.”

“Mr. Moore, maybe you’d better—”

I followed his eyes to the letters on the couch and I could sense his agitation.

“My letters! My God, what are my letters doing here?”

Daniel went to the couch and started gathering up the letters as if they were precious gems.

Donny shoved him.

“These letters are from my father,” he shouted. “Leave them alone.”

“Your father? I don’t understand. These letters were in a dresser drawer in my bedroom. Dee Dee must have found them when I went out for donuts, and she took them. This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she do something like that? Why would she go through my private things?”