The Last Summer at Chelsea Beach (24 page)

Like you did after Robbie died
, I wanted to counter. He was the one who had first broken the silent pact I’d thought I had with the Connally boys to always be there for one another. But I was not ready to rip open that scar, which ran so deep.

“You didn’t come to meet me at the bar that night,” he said. I stepped back as sharp thorns seemed to form a barrier in the space between us.

“I never said I would,” I countered lamely. “I just couldn’t bear it after everything that happened.” I searched for an explanation that would somehow make what I had done better and found none. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his anger ebbing. “I’m just glad to see you. But I don’t want to crash the party.” He tilted his head in the direction of Teddy, who was still talking to Ed Reyes but trying not to stare at us. “I should go.”

“Wait!” My voice rose, swallowed into the din of the gathering. Was he really going to leave, just like that, after we had only found each other again? In Washington, I had not been ready to talk. Now I was hungry for his company, his presence a dream I did not want to end. “I mean, we haven’t even had the chance to catch up.”

“No.” His face brightened a shade. “We haven’t.”

“Perhaps tea tomorrow?”

“No good, Ad. We tried that once, remember, planning a meeting? You stood me up.” I wanted to tell him that would not happen again. But he was right. “Let’s get out of here right now.”

“I can’t.” My eyes traveled to Teddy, who was still watching me. I could not simply walk out with another man right in front of him. But I desperately wanted to talk to Charlie.

“Meet me outside,” I said in a low voice and suddenly we were back home, our fledgling relationship a secret in the shadows of the beach houses.

“Good evening,” Charlie said loudly enough for others to hear. He put on his hat, then started for the door.

I walked over to Teddy, who rose as I approached. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say good-night, Teddy, I’m going home now. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

His brow furrowed as he handed me my coat. “Are you ill?”

Hearing his genuine concern, I felt instantly guilty. “Just the champagne, I suspect. But I’m going to call it a night.”

“I can go with you.”

“Goodness, no. You stay and talk. I’ll just take a cab and see you first thing.” I kissed his cheek and then sailed away before he could argue. Though I did not turn back, I could feel his sadness and confusion at losing what had almost, but not quite, been.

Outside the air had chilled and the streetlights and theater marquees of Shaftesbury Avenue were blackened. I scanned the block, straining to see through the low fog that had rolled in. Charlie was not there. My heart sank. Had he given up on me or had I misunderstood?

I started for the taxi stand at the corner. Charlie appeared suddenly from the shadows of a shop doorway. I looked over my shoulder. We needed to go before Teddy came after me. “Come on, let’s walk,” he whispered.

I paused uncertainly. We had walked often back home during summers at the shore, on the beach while the surf crashed in the darkness or by the calmness of the bay. He had walked me home in the city. But it seemed odd to take to the night streets for no reason. “It’s past curfew, and there could be an air raid.”

He waved his hand, seemingly unconcerned as one who had already touched death too closely. “This way.” He pulled me down a narrow lane, away from the main thoroughfare. I followed him and we traveled wordlessly across the slick pavement, past the backs of shuttered shops, silent except for some rustling around the garbage cans. Even in this city thousands of miles from home, he led me, sure in his path.

The passageway ended at a wide street. Charlie started around the corner, then jumped back, drawing me close against a building. “What is it?” He put a hand over my mouth, skin warm against my lips, as the yellow of a bobby’s flashlight flickered into view. Then he pulled me in the other direction and back down the alley, turning off in a different direction. We ran swiftly and silently, children not wanting to get caught at a game of hide-and-seek.

A few minutes later, the street opened up at Embankment, the panorama of the Thames unfurling before us. Barges glided silently in both directions, skaters on dark ice. I tried to catch my breath as we slowed.

We paused, staring across at the far bank in silence for several minutes, taking in the full scope of the destruction in the cool moonlight, some buildings half-standing or destroyed, still others untouched. I could not help but marvel at the randomness of it all, strikes as happenstance and unfair as Robbie being snatched from us.

Charlie looked back over his right shoulder, where Big Ben and Parliament loomed, standing sentinel. “It’s funny, isn’t it, just a couple of kids from South Philly here in the middle of all this?”

I nodded. “Sometimes I think I stepped into the wrong story.” But right now it was the two of us, just the same as on the dock or in the city back home.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, a note of protectiveness rising in his voice. “It’s too dangerous, with the bombings.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take offense. “You’re here.”

“And I kinda like it,” he admitted. “There’s a realness to it all.”

“I know,” I replied, understanding. Here, the danger was apparent, not hidden as it had been back home. We should not be out though, I thought, casting one eye uneasily to the sky as I had begun to do since coming here.

“Come.” Seeming to read my thoughts, Charlie led me down the Strand, stopping before a pub called The Dog in the Woods. Though the windows had been blacked out and it was well after closing time, boisterous laughter seeped through the cracks. I hesitated. I wanted to be alone with Charlie, not in a place packed with others. But it was too dangerous to stay outside, and I didn’t dare to invite him to my flat.

Charlie opened the door and smoke and noise poured out. “We can go somewhere else,” he offered over the din of male voices, as the smell of stale beer assaulted my nose. “Not much of a place for a girl.”

“Woman,” I corrected. My spine stiffened. “Let’s go in.”

He led me through a mix of GIs and locals to a small table beneath a Boddington’s sign, then left me and squeezed through to the bar. I sat down—the low-key pub was a welcome respite from the club and nightlife where I never quite felt comfortable. Beneath the hum of voices, Glenn Miller played from an unseen photograph.

Charlie returned a few minutes later with a half pint of cider for me and scotch for himself. So the hard drink I’d seen in front of him at the bar in Washington had not been an aberration. I studied his hair again as he sat down, again missing the way it used to roll and dip. But the trim cut gave new definition to his jawbone and cheeks.

He leaned in, one hand beneath his chin. Closer I could see that there were circles around his eyes and his mouth was grimly set in a way that I did not remember. “Tell me everything.” Charlie always had a way of drawing a person out, making him or her feel like the only one in the room.

Looking into his eyes, it would be easy to fall back into the old ways. But there was so much embedded in his request, I did not know where to begin. “I was working for the
Post
and there was a chance to come over here.”

“Right about when I saw you in Washington.” His eyes were challenging.

“Yes, just then.” I swallowed, glossing over the bit about how I’d asked for the transfer after seeing him. His hand was on the table and I had to force myself not to reach out and take it. How could I not, when all that I ever wanted was right here in this very room? The ache was excruciating.

“It’s still mostly secretarial, but Teddy lets me do some copyediting.” I hated mentioning his name to Charlie.

Charlie’s eyebrows rose. “You work for him?”

“Yes.” My eyes met his.

“I mean, I knew he was with the
Post
. I guess I just hadn’t put two and two together.” He frowned, not bothering to hide his displeasure. “You two must spend a lot of time together.”

“It’s not just me. There are about a half dozen or so British girls. They’re not fond of me.”

“That’s hard to imagine.”

“The American and all that.” I could not, of course, tell him that their resentment had as much to do with the fact that I shared office quarters with Teddy as with my nationality.

“Do you mind?”

I shrugged. “Not really.” The lack of company wasn’t so bad. I enjoyed my lunches strolling the streets and peaceful Sundays in my flat, not really speaking to anyone. And I had Claire as a friend now. But the feeling of being disliked took me back to my early days in Philadelphia, trying to fit in with the other kids. “It wouldn’t change anything if I did. Thank you, by the way, for the photograph you sent.”

His brow creased. “I didn’t send anything.”

“Oh.” There was an awkward silence, embarrassment warming my cheeks. His denial and the confusion that accompanied it seemed genuine. But if he hadn’t sent me the photo of the boys, then who had?

“Cheers.” He raised his glass to mine, then downed about half the scotch without grimacing. “You still haven’t said if you and Teddy are together.”

I took a sip of cider. “Not in any real way.” Charlie’s shoulders dropped slightly with relief. “Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, I suppose.” He stared hard at his nearly empty glass, fingers tapping against it. He was jealous. I was pleased and at the same time annoyed.

Had he dated? I suspected again that I did not want to know the answer. “Tell me more about your family. You said Jack’s taking classes?”

“Jack has a friend,” he said bluntly, pronouncing the last word with emphasis. I cocked my head, not understanding. Jack always had friends. “You see, it turns out Jackie doesn’t like women.”

“Oh!” I brought my hand to my mouth. I had heard jokes about gay people—
faegele
, the women on Porter Street called it, referring to odd Saul Scheerson the haberdasher who lived alone in the apartment above his butcher shop.

I wanted to protest that it wasn’t true. Suddenly, though, it all made sense, the way Jack seemed different and a bit uncomfortable and the way he couldn’t really join in the banter about girls with the others. There had been a dance once at school and as I had hung back by the wall, trying not to stare at Charlie and his friends, Jack had come across the gymnasium in an act of mercy and asked me to dance. His hands on my hips had been stiff and formal, in the places they were supposed to be, but immense discomfort which I had chalked up to him thinking of me as a sister.

“I don’t think Mom and Dad have figured it out quite yet. I don’t understand it myself.” He swirled the bit of remaining liquor at the bottom of his glass. To Charlie, Jack’s strange choices were just another part of life that had not turned out the way he had planned.

“You still haven’t told me about your work.”

“Just army stuff.” He shifted. “I was picked for flight school down in Georgia and I did well enough. Now we’re all just waiting for orders. We’ll all be shipping out soon.” The planned American invasion and the opening of the second front was the worst-kept secret in Britain—it had been debated hotly in pubs and cafes for months, the question not if, but when. The conversations had become more hushed lately, though—it was as if everyone knew the moment was drawing near and didn’t want to give anything away.

He gestured toward my cider glass, still half-full. “Another? That has to be getting warm.”

I shook my head. “It’s late. We should go.” Last orders had been called a few minutes earlier and around us the crowd had thinned. The barman was wiping down tables now and sweeping up, gently signaling they were about to close. Charlie helped me on with my coat.

Outside the air had cooled. As I started across the pavement, my foot slipped on a broken pavement stone and I lurched forward. Charlie’s hand shot out as though lunging for a pass at one of the games and he caught me. For all of these months, I had tried to stand on my own. Yet here he was, rescuing me again. His hand lingered on my arm. It felt good—so good—and I hated myself for that.

I pulled my arm away. “What time is the last train back to Duxford?”

“I’ve got a room at one of the soldiers’ hotels, just off Grosvenor Square.” So he was staying. The neighborhood around the American embassy had come to be called Little America because of the thousands of troops billeted there. GIs swarmed the streets, walking in groups of three or four. But Charlie had come to find me alone. “I’ll see you home,” he offered.

“No need. I’ll just find a cab.”

“It’s well after curfew.”

“The Tube, then. I’ll find my own way.”

We stood motionless, staring at one another. “So what happens now?” I could not help but ask. For a few minutes, it had been almost like the old days, or close enough to still feel right. But he was headed his way and me mine, two balls bumping into one another before spinning unstoppably in opposite directions.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I just knew you were in London and came looking as soon as I could.” So unlike Charlie, who had always seemed to live his life by some grand plan. “I had to see you.” There was an odd finality to his words.

“Charlie, what’s going on?” He’d never been any good at keeping secrets from me, but he was tense and strange in a way I had never seen. “Is it your family? Did something happen?”

“No,” he replied quickly.

“Then what?” He did not answer. My voice rose an octave. “What is this all about?”

“My work.”

“Yes, of course. I know the troops are just awaiting orders to go over. It must be so nerve-racking.”

“It’s more than that.” His voice turned low and gruff with new urgency. “I’m part of a special unit that is doing reconnaissance work.”

“I thought you were waiting to fly out of Duxford.”

He shook his head. “I am. That is, I’m not. I can’t say more.”

My frustration rose. He must have had reasons—good reason—for not talking about his work. But my fears grew as I imagined the unknown danger he faced. “Please, I just want to know you are going to be all right.” My words sounded foolish; how could any of us promise that now?