Page 34

When George called to say she was getting married, Adele wondered if Frank Bridlemile had slipped the leashes of both the US Army and Helen. But it was that Tom fellow George had started seeing after Charles’s funeral. A boy Adele had never even met.

“He’s shipping out,” said George.

Adele bit her tongue to keep from saying they should wait. She bit her tongue about them holding the wedding in North Carolina. She hid her hurt that George had flown so far from home, that she hadn’t asked her mother to attend her wedding.

And now George was whispering on the phone from Otis Field, telling Adele she had big news. Hinting four different ways at pregnancy without ever actually saying the word expecting.

In an instant, Adele was standing in the rain, watching Pauline’s casket disappear into a muddy hole. “Come home, Georgeanne. Come home right now,” she urged.

“Nonsense, Mother. They’ll kick me out if I do. I won’t be commissioned.”

Who cares? thought Adele. She wanted her daughter home where she could take care of her, protect her.

“I’ve never felt better. Not a bit ill, morning or night,” said George. As if morning sickness were the worst of it.

When George told her they were disbanding the WASP, Adele tried again. But George stubbornly insisted on staying at Otis. If she believed they’d change their minds and give the few flying jobs that remained to women, she was delusional.

Then she went and moved to New York City with Vivian Shaw.

Adele spent a fortune on phone calls. She wrote letter after letter. Georgeanne, once such a malleable child, refused to listen to reason. “I’ll come to you, then,” said Adele.

“No!” The ferocity, the finality, of it brought Adele to tears.

“I mean,” George continued, her voice calmer, “I’m fine. I’m healthy. I feel good. Barely even tired. And Vivian’s with me. I’ll come to you as soon as they’re born, as soon as we can travel. That’s when I’ll need the help.”

“They?”

A long pause before George spoke again. “Twins. The doctor says it’s twins.”

In the garage, Adele hurled every wrench and screwdriver, every pair of pliers, against the wall. Her face was wet with tears and snot. Twins meant twice the danger, she was sure of that. Her daughter was blind. Worse, her daughter didn’t want her.

Panting hard, she collected the tools, one by one, and returned them to their rightful places. Then she did the only thing she could think of to help herself feel better: lifted the hood of Charles’s car and began to disassemble the engine.