In Perfect Time Page 11

  Then on May 1, an abrupt change.

  Roger scanned the airfield again. Kay Jobson had been saved? Of all people.

  He chuckled. When he’d been saved, everyone said the same thing. Roger Cooper? Of all people.

  Despite the warm day, goose bumps poked up against his khaki shirtsleeves. He’d argued with God about giving Kay his Bible, and look what happened. “Well, Lord,” he muttered. “Guess you knew what you were doing.”

  “Hi, Roger.”

  Kay. He spun around. There she stood in her blue trousers and white blouse, smiling, her hair gleaming in the sun.

  “Hi.” That’s all he could say?

  “I heard you fellows were back. I—”

  “Listen.” He held up one hand. “I only have a few minutes before takeoff, so let me talk. I need to apologize.”

  “Apologize?”

  He motioned with his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of Sicily. “Just got back from India yesterday. They didn’t forward our mail. You must think I’m—”

  “I must think it takes a horribly long time for mail to get to India and back. I thought nothing of it.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “I read your letters last night.”

  “You did?” Her gaze wavered and flitted away.

  “I’m real sorry for everything. Your dad, that jerk in Quartermasters—I want to beat up both of them.”

  She wouldn’t look at him, but one corner of her mouth flicked up.

  “You did the right thing. I’m happy for you.”

  She turned back to him, green eyes bright. “Now I can give you back your Bible.”

  “No, no, no.” He waved his hand back and forth like a windshield wiper, sweeping away her concerns. “It’s yours. I got a new one shipped from stateside.”

  Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I hope it has big margins.”

  He laughed. “It does.”

  “Lieutenant Cooper?” The sergeant in charge of loading saluted Roger and handed him the invoice.

  “Thanks.” Roger scrawled his signature, returned the bottom copy to the sergeant, and added the top copy to his clipboard. He gave Kay a sheepish smile. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have to get this bird in the air.”

  “I’m on your flight.”

  “You are?” He flipped to the flight manifest. “I thought—”

  “Alice and I switched places. I hope you don’t mind. I figure you owe me some answers.” That mischief again—but not a hint of flirtation.

  Roger’s heart thudded into his rib cage with strange anticipation. “About ten pages’ worth of answers.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “I overdid it, didn’t I?”

  “Hardly. You should have heard me batter poor old Lou with questions back in the day.” Tonight he’d write to Lou. Who would have thought the same Bible Lou used to lead Roger to Christ had now led Kay to Christ?

  Kay hoisted herself through the cargo door without waiting for assistance.

  Roger followed her inside and down the aisle past crates of bullets and artillery shells. He made sure each crate was secured, then headed for the cockpit. Kay sat in a folding seat on the right side of the fuselage.

  He almost passed her by, but his conscience dogged his steps. He braced his hand against the bulkhead leading into the radio compartment and drummed his fingers on the metal. “Say, listen, Kay. We’ve got almost a two-hour flight to Grosseto. If you want, you can come up front. We can talk.”

  She studied him for a long, nerve-wracking moment.

  His finger drumming accelerated.

  Kay nodded.

  “Swell.” He escaped to the cockpit. What on earth was he doing? Why was he inviting conversation with the most attractive woman he knew?

  He settled into his seat and put on his headphones. Why was he fussing? If God knew what he was doing when he told Roger to give away his Bible, then he certainly knew what he was doing today.

  Mike Elroy joined him in the cockpit and ran through the preflight checklist. Roger trained his mind on his actions. With all that ammunition on board, he couldn’t afford any mistakes.

  He and Elroy started engines, taxied into position, and took off into a clear blue sky. Should be a good flight. If Pettas lost his way, Roger could just follow the coast. And they’d pass Rome. Maybe the brass would give the boys from the 64th TCG a pass. After two months in the jungle, they deserved it.

  He felt Kay’s presence behind him.

  She stood with arms crossed and an uncertain look on her face. Had the woman ever been uncertain of anything in her life?

  Roger slid his headphones off his right ear so he could hear both her and the radio. The first months after he’d given his life to the Lord had been an uncertain time too, as if he floated between two worlds, not belonging in either. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” She sat with her knees hugged to her chest and leaned against crates in the small cargo space between the cockpit and the radio room.

  He returned his attention to the instrument panel. “Got a question?”

  “Sure. How was India?”

  “India?” A quick scan of the gauges, then he sent her a questioning look.

  She cast a glance at the back of Elroy’s head.

  Understood. Personal spiritual questions wouldn’t be appropriate. “Yeah, India.”

  While he flew over Italy’s rugged hills sprinkled with olive trees and vineyards and tile-roofed homes, he told stories about bashas and jungles, about downing Zeros and drumming with little boys.

  When was the last time he’d had a normal conversation with a young woman who wasn’t his sister or cousin? Years and years, and it felt good.

  Kay laughed at his stories and told about her trip to Rome.

  Thank goodness he had instruments to watch and headings to mind, giving him an excuse not to look at her too often.

  “So what do you think?” she asked.

  What was the question? He faced her. The brassy glint in her eyes had been replaced by a golden glow.

  What did he think? He thought she was beautiful. He thought she was fascinating. And now they had an unbreakable bond because of his gift.

  “Well?” She gave him one of those “you weren’t paying attention, were you?” looks.

  He cocked half a grin. “I think it sounds great.”

  A smile revealed neat white teeth, and she chattered about an orphanage and her friends and a plan. He’d actually chosen the right answer.

  He veered his attention back to his job. Good thing he hadn’t told her what he really thought—that he hadn’t been in such a dangerous situation since high school.

  Kay strolled across Grosseto Airfield in the sunshine toward the tent hospital by the flight line. Artillery boomed in the distance, competing with the noise of the engineers’ bulldozers and graders. Maybe Mellie’s Tom was here.

  “Glad we’re on the move again.” Sergeant Dabrowski walked alongside, gazing north as if he could see the US Fifth Army chasing the Germans up Italy’s boot.

  “Me too. It’s—”

  “Kay! Wait up!” That was Roger.

  Her heart lurched in a way it had never done in all her dating years. “Did I forget something?”

  He thumped to a stop a good ten feet from her. “I want to apologize.”

  “Apologize? Again?”

  Dabrowski tapped her on the arm. “I’ll go on ahead.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant.” After he left, she returned her attention to the pilot. “Why do you want to apologize?”

  His square jaw worked from side to side. “You see, I promised. I said I’d answer your questions, but I didn’t think about Elroy being there. I still haven’t given you a single answer.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it isn’t. Maybe . . .” The expression in his eyes froze. His Adam’s apple slid down to his open collar and back up to that strong jaw.

  Maybe later. Only two months ago, she would have given him a coy look and said,
“Maybe over dinner tonight.”

  But that was the old Kay. Not the new Kay. “I’ll see you around.”

  His eyebrows arched in appreciation, then a smile spread. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.” He waved and trotted back to his plane.

  She chuckled. Yeah, she’d see him on the return flight.

  Kay headed for the hospital. What a strange day.

  Roger had always fled her presence. At best, he was guarded. But today, he seemed genuinely glad to see her, and their conversation in flight was comfortable and easy. She’d never seen him so relaxed and animated, one square hand leaving the control wheel to emphasize his stories, one leg jiggling as if playing the pedal for a bass drum.

  The man never stopped moving, and she liked that, liked the colorful way he told a story, his down-to-earth wisdom, even liked his lack of attraction to her.

  He kept his eyes on hers, his hands to himself. Once that would have bugged her, but now it made her feel safe, special, as if she were good enough not to make a pass at.

  And it completely unraveled her inside.

  Kay drew a deep breath to clear her head.

  A dozen patients lay on cots outside the tent, and Dabrowski waved her over. “Lieutenant Jobson, this is Captain Arnold.”

  Kay shook hands with a balding man in his fifties with the sweetest grandfatherly smile. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

  “I’ll warn you, young lady.” The physician leaned closer. “That fellow on the far right is a screamer. I gave him half a grain of phenobarbital about thirty minutes ago, but it didn’t sedate him much.”

  The patient moaned and writhed on his cot.

  “What happened to him?”

  “Nothing worse than the other fellows. Bullet to his upper thigh, avoided the major vessels, no bone damage. He had minor surgery, needs a few weeks to recuperate.”

  Kay made a note on the flight manifest. “Anything in your records about an indulgent mama who honored his every boyish whim when he was sick?”

  Captain Arnold laughed. “The X-ray failed to detect that.”

  “A little fussing over, and he’ll be fine. Why don’t you introduce me?”

  “Kay! There you are.” Grant Klein approached from the airfield.

  “Hi, Grant.” She squelched a grimace, gave him a polite wave, and followed the doctor to the patient.

  Grant jogged up behind her, settled his arm around her shoulders, and kissed her cheek. “Hi, baby. I sure missed you.”

  Kay shrugged him off. “I’m working. And I’m not—”

  “Excuse me, Captain.” He tipped his cap to the physician. “I haven’t seen my girl for three months.”

  “Well then, I’ll give you a few minutes to catch up.” The doctor’s eyes hardened and erased the grandfatherly image.

  “I’m sorry, Captain. This will only take a minute.” She marched about twenty feet away and faced Grant.

  “I heard your good news.” He reached for her hand, his smile gentle.

  She crossed her arms over her clipboard. Good news? Since when would he care about her relationship with God? He reserved the Almighty for Christmas, Easter, and flight emergencies. “My good news?”

  “I heard you broke up with all your other boyfriends.” His eyes turned smoky. “I’m honored.”

  Kay could only stare. When she met Grant Klein, she’d been attracted to his self-assurance. Now she saw it as pure arrogance. “You think I did that for you? Did you forget I broke up with you first?”

  His dark eyebrows met in the middle. “If not for me, for whom?”

  “No one.”

  “I saw you talking all cozy with Cooper.”

  She huffed. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends. I’m not dating anyone.”

  He stepped closer, suspicion and curiosity mingling in his eyes. “Why’d you do it?”

  Kay pressed her lips together. He deserved an honest answer. “All right. I started reading the Bible, going to church, getting to know God. I realized I was dating for the wrong reasons—to get back at my father by controlling other men. I had to start over.”

  Grant peered at her, one eyebrow high. He probably thought she was crazy.

  She lifted her chin. “I owe you an apology. I used you, led you to believe there could be more between us when I had no such intention. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does.”

  He gave his head a quick shake. “You’re not making sense.”

  Kay’s shoulders slumped. “No, I suppose not. But let me make one thing clear. I’m not going out with you again.”

  Grant’s gaze darkened and shifted over her shoulder toward Roger’s C-47. “What’s Cooper have to do with this?”

  “Grant, jealousy is never attractive.”

  He glared at her. “Neither is deception.”

  “For heaven’s sake, we’re just friends. He gave me his Bible, answered some of my questions about God, that’s all.”

  Grant chuckled. “So he’s responsible for you getting religious?”

  “Hardly. Now, excuse me. I have patients to see.” She strode past him.

  “That man’s smarter—and more devious—than I gave him credit for,” Grant said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you see?” He spread his hands before him. “You’re his pawn. He can’t stand me. He can’t beat me as a pilot, so he plays stupid pranks on me. Now he’s turned my girl against me.”

  Why on earth had she ever found this man attractive? “Turned me against you? Oh no, Grant. You did that all by yourself.”

  17

  Ciampino, Italy

  July 13, 1944

  Roger flailed his arm in the darkness. What was that racket? The alarm clock. He shoved aside the mosquito netting, swung his bare legs over the side of the cot, and stood.

  Swaying, he pried his eyes open. Where had he hidden the clock last night? Oh yeah, under the cot. Down to his knees, he fumbled on the tile floor. There it was. He slapped the fool thing off.

  What time was it anyway? He held the clock to the open window in the house serving as officers’ quarters.

  Pale moonlight illuminated the dial. One o’clock? That couldn’t be right.

  His head sagged back. Yeah, it was right. He and Bill Shelby and Bert Marino had volunteered for a night mission dropping supplies to Italian partisans behind German lines. Veerman lifted a proud, satisfied smile when Roger volunteered.

  But why did Roger decide to catch a few hours of shut-eye rather than stay up late like the other fellows?

  He scratched his bare chest. Too hot to sleep in anything but skivvies. He grabbed his flashlight from the desk and found his trousers and khaki shirt draped over a chair. Felt nice and civilized to live in a house again after so many months in tents. A few days ago, the 64th had transferred up to Ciampino Airfield outside of Rome.

  Someone rapped on the door. “Coop? Coop? You awake?”

  “Barely.” He opened the door.

  Lt. Gerald Singleton stood in the hall. “Veerman sent me over from Operations. Seems the weather up north hasn’t cleared. They canceled the mission.”

  Roger leaned against the doorjamb, and a tired smile crept up. Not bad. He’d get to sleep all night, but he’d still impressed Veerman by volunteering. “Thanks, Singleton. Appreciate it.” Decent of the fellow, considering Singleton and Klein were pals.

  “See you in the morning.”

  “Yeah. Morning.” Roger shut the door and slipped under the mosquito netting over the cot. His bedroll had never felt so good.

  “Coop! Coop!”

  A light blazed in Roger’s face, and he covered his eyes with his forearm. “What . . . ?”

  “Coop, what’re you doing in bed? We got a mission.” That was Whitaker’s voice. “Get your lazy tail moving.”

  “What?” He sat up and batted the flashlight out of his face. “What time is it?”

  “It’s 0145. Briefing started fifteen minutes ago. Veerman’s fit to be tied that you�
�re not there.”

  “Briefing? But the . . .” He shook the fog out of his head. “The partisan supply drop mission?”

  “Yeah. Did you forget?”

  “No.” He tried to rub consciousness into his eyes. “Singleton. He came by. Said the mission’s canceled.”

  “You must have been dreaming.” Whitaker thrust Roger’s trousers at him.

  Sitting on the edge of the cot, he poked his feet into the trouser legs, then stood to yank up his pants. Singleton. Should have known better than to trust Klein’s copilot.

  Roger shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering to put on socks. The feud had quieted down lately. Sure, a few weeks ago, Klein had interrogated him about his relationship with Kay. Ridiculous. Roger told him he knew better than to get involved with a dame like her.

  That was only partly true. Roger was involved, just not in the way Klein thought.

  “Let’s go.” He snugged his cap onto his head, grabbed his shirt, and headed out the door.

  His feet pounded down the stairs, and he dashed outside into the warm darkness. He and Whitaker jogged down the pathway, past spindly little trees toward the house they used for Operations, all lit up inside. For a briefing.

  Old swear words knifed through Roger’s head, but he shoved them aside.

  Was Klein that big of a jerk? Or was he jealous?

  Sure, he and Kay talked. He tried to keep his distance, but the connection of his old Bible and her new faith acted like a rubber band. Every time he tried to get away—boing!—there she was again.

  He still didn’t quite trust her. What if she reverted to her old ways? What if she bent with the first wind? People did that.

  Roger tripped on the rough path, and his shoe almost came off. He hadn’t bent. He hadn’t reverted. But he remembered everyone eyeing him, suspicious, certain he’d slip.

  Lou had been there for him, guiding him, encouraging him. Trusting him.

  Today, after the mission and a nap, he’d write Lou for advice. He’d written Lou more in the past month than he had all of 1943.