Page 15 of The Lies We Leave Behind

15

“You’re sitting up!” I said when I saw William.

I’d seen him spot me as soon as I’d entered and he watched me walk from the door to his bed, making me feel a bit self-conscious as I went.

“Not quite,” he said. “But I’m getting there.”

He was propped up on two pillows, instead of just the one, and his color looked better than it had when he’d arrived, and certainly better than the greenish color he’d been when I’d sewn him up on the plane.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Like the luckiest man alive.” His eyes swept over me. “You look like a ray of sunshine.”

I glanced down at my yellow sweater and fidgeted with the cuff.

“It’s my day off,” I said.

“And what will you do with your coveted day?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to rub in the fact that I could get out and about while he was stuck inside. It seemed cruel. But he somehow saw the internal struggle I was having.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll get out there soon enough. Tell me what you have planned.”

I sighed and sat in the chair beside his bed, wondering if it had been left from the day before, or if he’d maybe requested it be put there in case I came to see him.

“Well,” I said. “I already went for a bike ride to watch the sunrise.”

“That sounds magnificent.”

“It was. The countryside here is gorgeous. The land is so gentle. Not like Manhattan with all its cement and hard structures. And then the trees and sheep... It reminds me of—” I stopped, shocked at what I’d nearly said.

“It reminds you of what?”

I searched my mind for something to say, twisting one of the buttons on my cardigan.

“When I was a kid,” I said, my voice taking on a sudden nonchalance. “My family would go out to the countryside every summer. We had a house there.”

I didn’t tell him our country house was a mansion. Bigger than the one I was staying in now. I didn’t mention how lonely I was when we went. How there were no other kids nearby, just me and my little sister and our nanny. How my mother insisted on quiet during the day so we were forced to find daily activities outside, which was fine for the most part because the weather was usually lovely. But sometimes we got bored walking the same length of fence, riding bikes to the same pond, stopping in the same shops in the village, and picking bouquets of wildflowers we’d bring back for our mother and find thrown out with the trash the next day.

“That sounds idyllic,” William said. “We used to go camping every summer. Me, my parents, and my little brother, George. Fishing, campfires, a couple of tents...”

“Where’s your brother now?” I asked.

“He’s a pilot in the Army. He’s probably flying somewhere over France right now. Little brothers...always have to outdo their big brothers.” He chuckled. “Do you have siblings?”

I hesitated. I always dreaded this question, and it always came. The natural course of a conversation when families were spoken about. Aunt Vic, Uncle Frank, and I had long since made our peace with the lie we told, but it still pained me. Not because our version of what happened was false to keep our pasts secret, but because I had to say it at all. Because my sister was gone.

I shook my head, a sad smile on my face.

“I did,” I said. “A little sister. Her name was Catrin. Cat. Kitty Cat.” I whispered the last part, picturing her impish grin and wispy blond hair. “She got sick. It was years ago now. And she died. I don’t like to talk about it.”

William’s hand reached for mine, the warmth of his fingers bringing a calm to my soul I’d never felt before. He was a salve. A balm. And I wondered what it would be like to be held by him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t imagine how hard that was, and still is.”

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. I hated that I’d lied to him about how she’d passed. But some things, I knew, were better kept secret.

I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter, finally looking over at him again.

“Maybe when you feel better,” I said, changing the subject, “you can borrow a bicycle and take a ride around the area. I hear the nearby towns look like they came straight out of a fairy tale. I can’t wait to explore them.”

“Is that what you’re doing today?”

“I think so.”

“You’ll have to come back and tell me about it if you do.”

I nodded, not committing to the idea, but not saying no.

“May I ask you something?” he said and I looked around, wondering what he might say and hoping it wasn’t more about my sister. “I promise it’s nothing untoward.”

I laughed softly. “Okay then.”

“Were you injured?” He gestured toward my leg, which I’d crossed over the other and was running a hand over, gently rubbing the muscle. “You seem like you’re maybe in a bit of pain.”

My hand stopped.

“Not pain,” I said. “Just some tightness every now and again. I was stationed in the Pacific before I came here. Espiritu Santo in the New Hebrides. Our plane crashed and a large metal chest came loose and slammed into my leg. Thankfully, it hit just so, only fracturing the fibula. If it had broken my tibia too I’d still be at home.”

“That must’ve hurt something awful.”

I laughed. “It did. But it’s minor compared to what happened to you.”

He nodded and looked away, sadness washing over his features for a moment before he turned his attention back to me, a small smile masking the emotion I’d just seen a hint of.

“I had called my men back,” he said, his voice soft. “But one guy...a kid really...barely eighteen...he just wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t back down. Wanted to be a hero. I had to go after him. Dragged him by his shirt as he kept shooting until we both got shot. He didn’t make it, and his body falling on mine kept me from getting hurt worse.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“The price of freedom.” His voice sounded light, but I could hear the pain behind it as he looked away from me again.

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I said and he nodded, blinking, his eyes red.

“It’s not easy. We go in knowing not all of us will make it back out. But seeing it...seeing your men and friends fall...it’s terrifying. You want to turn and run. You want to hide. You want—” He stopped, looking around at the men in the beds beside him. The one to his left was reading a book. The one to his right was asleep, a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. Willaim’s eyes met mine again and I reached out my hand and took his, as if to tell him, without saying a word, that I understood.

We sat quietly for a time, and after a while I removed my hand from his and set it back in my lap.

“I should leave you,” I said. “You need your rest, and probably some breakfast soon.”

“Stay,” he said. “Please? At least for a while longer?”

And so I did.

Unlike my days in the Pacific, where the hot sun and humid air made me feel as though I were moving in slow motion, things seemed to move faster in this part of the world.

Thanks to our proximity to France, we often had multiple flights back and forth each day, unlike in the Pacific where it was rare for any one woman to go out more than once. The whole operation here ran like a well-oiled machine as we loaded up with supplies in England, unloaded them on the other side, picked up our patients, and flew back. Only to do it all over again as soon as the plane was cleared and restocked.

Sometimes we took men with us who were returning to the front, their injuries healed, their spirits restored. Other times it was medical supplies, food and kitchen supplies, weaponry, and ammunition. But today, for the first time in my career, our cargo was neither medical nor human. Today we had livestock. Chickens, rabbits, and ducks.

“Don’t make friends with them,” the navigator warned. “It’ll only make you feel terrible later.”

I wrinkled my nose and then glanced beside me at Theodore and tried not to laugh as he swiped irritatingly at the air, brushing away the feathers and hair circulating through the cabin.

At least once a day I made a point to see William. He was healing slowly, the leg wound having gotten infected and needing to be reopened and cleaned out, a round of penicillin administered to clear anything trying to hold on inside his body. His arm looked good though, and his stomach wound was healing nicely, as I’d seen one day the week before when I’d arrived just as the doctor was finishing up looking it over, the nurse standing by to redress it.

“How does it look?” William had asked me.

“Swell,” I’d said. “You’re nearly ready to go out dancing.”

“Really?” He’d looked down at the wound then and cringed. “Oh. Yuck.” Closing his eyes, he’d rested his head back on the pillow until he was rebandaged.

“You can open your eyes now,” I’d said when the nurse left.

He opened one. “I don’t know how you stand it.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think about the wound so much as the life the wound is hurting. It makes it easier.” I grinned then. “But I also find the human body fascinating.”

“Yuck,” he’d said again, making me laugh.

It was mid-July when he finally was able to step outside without being pushed in a wheelchair.

“Where are you off to?” I asked, having hurried in to see him in-between flights and catching him as he hobbled on a pair of crutches toward the front door, a nurse following close behind.

“I’ve been cleared to get some fresh air,” he said. “I heard there was sun and asked if I could see it.”

“It’s a gorgeous day,” I said, moving to fall into step beside him. “I wish I could stay and enjoy it with you.”

“Maybe on your next day off?”

“It’s a date,” I said, and then felt myself blush. “Or—”

“Can’t take it back,” he teased. “Besides, if we’re to be betrothed, we should probably have a date or two.”

I glanced back at the nurse and she looked from him to me, a crestfallen look on her face. I’d seen her several times over the past weeks, always sitting with a soldier, hooking up an IV, or any number of the dozens of tasks needed to take care of the wounded. She was quiet, efficient, and looked to have a crush on William.

“He proposed in the midst of major blood loss,” I told her.

“Oh,” she said, grinning, her shoulders sagging a little in relief.

“I never propose if I don’t mean it,” William said and I met the nurse’s eyes again with a smirk and a shake of my head.

“Looks like I have to go,” I said, noticing Theodore walking our way, his steps quick. “Enjoy your sunshine! And Claire?” I said to the nurse hurrying to take my spot next to William.

“Yes?” she said.

“Watch out for him. He likes to throw around promises of marriage.”

I boarded the plane and said hello to the copilot and radio operator who were putting their gear away, but neither met my eyes, keeping them averted as they gave half-hearted greetings in response. Frowning, I stashed my helmet and gas mask. As I placed a bottle of morphine in my pocket, I watched Theodore climb aboard and glance toward the ceiling, then at me, his eyebrows raised.

“What?” I asked, and then looked up. “Oh.”

I pursed my lips, my face warming, but amused nonetheless. Sometimes it was hard to keep the wounded who were awake for longer flights entertained. They got bored and restless. For those able to hold them, we’d hand out decks of cards or books we kept tucked in a small box near the radio operator. But at some point, whoever had been on this plane previously had decided the men might like something a little different to keep their minds off their injuries, which was why the ceiling had been plastered with nude pictures of women from the pages of magazines. What was more amusing was that clearly one of the other nurses had tried to make the scene a little less obnoxious by applying Band-Aids to some of the women’s naked bits.

“Well,” I said, moving around the crates that had been loaded. “At least I won’t have to worry about them staring at me.”

The men laughed, slightly relieved by my response, but still looking embarrassed, and then the door was shut and we were off.

Summer in the English countryside during a war was strange. It was peaceful, the green sloping hills giving way to sprawling valleys sprinkled with quaint towns we often visited on our days off.

Food was scarce once we were away from base, but sometimes it was worth it to forgo the mess hall for a small meal in a pub, listening to the locals chat. It almost felt like one was on vacation. At least until you heard the sound of planes rumbling overhead.

As August approached, William was able to get up and about more, leading us to finally go for a bicycle ride together on one of my days off.

I dressed in a light blue dress and my oxfords, packed sandwiches and apples, filled my canteen, and met him inside the hospital where he was getting stern instruction from his doctor.

“Take it easy,” Doctor Haddan warned. “The infection may be gone, but if you rip those stitches, I’m not going to let you leave your bed for two weeks.”

“Yessir,” William said, and then limped out the door beside me.

“You sure you’re up to this?” I asked. “We could just walk for a while.”

“I promise. I want nothing more than to see a bit of the countryside that lights up your face whenever you talk about it.”

“Then let’s go.”

We rode side by side, keeping our speed low and sometimes dismounting to walk our bikes when a hill was too much for William. His strength was returning with the daily exercises he did, but not enough that he could ride uphill easily, and we had to be careful he didn’t disturb the stitches on the newly re-sewn wound.

After thirty minutes or so we pulled off to the side of the road, slipped through a section of stone wall, and sat on the blanket I’d brought and placed over the grass.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, staring out at the view.

It was early in the day still and a cloud hung low over the valley before us, sheep grazing here and there, the sun just beginning to warm the earth.

“Did you explore much when you arrived? Before the invasion in France?” I asked, pulling out the food I’d brought and handing him my canteen.

He took a long sip and then shook his head.

“Not really. I was stationed near London and went a few times to pass the time while I waited to ship out, but mostly I stayed in. Kept myself amused on base. Read books, played cards with the fellas, stuff like that.” He handed the canteen back and our fingers brushed, sending a shot of electricity up my arm.

“Do you get scared?”

He looked back out at the view, his chest rising and falling as if in slow motion before he turned to me again.

“Absolutely.”

We were quiet then, each of us with our own thoughts as we stared out over the countryside.

“What about you?” he asked as I unwrapped the sandwiches. “Do you get scared flying into war zones?”

“Of course,” I said. “But I’m more scared of someone losing their life because I’m not paying attention. My focus is on my patients. My job. I imagine it’s the same for you in a way?”

He nodded. “It is. My focus is on my men. Strategizing the best I can to keep them alive. Those are my friends. They’re someone’s son or brother or husband. It’s a lot of pressure and it doesn’t matter how many you lose, each one hurts. Each one is a terrible notch on a terrible belt I will wear for the rest of my life.”

His eyes welled and he looked away. I reached my hand out and slid it into his, inhaling as his fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around my own. We sat in silence once more while he gathered himself, his thumb gently rubbing against my fingers, the sensation bringing me the first real comfort I’d felt since returning to duty.

“How stupid do you reckon it is for a soldier to fall for a flight nurse during a war?” he asked softly.

I considered the question for a moment.

“No stupider than a flight nurse falling for a soldier when she swore to herself she wouldn’t let herself get distracted by such things.”

“So...monumentally then?”

There was a look in his eye, and an all-consuming swell of feeling and emotion sweeping over me, that I knew only death would make me one day forget. And maybe not even then.

“Monumentally,” I said with a grin.