morning? No, we haven’t landed on the moon or captured a Caribbean island. School started and those cries were the happy voices of mothers all over the land. At least, that’s what Sandy and Mary and several of the other navy wives told me today. I’ve gotten to be good friends with several of them. Did you know that Sissy Crawford’s real name isn’t Sissy? It’s something completely different, like Angela or Georgia. The other wives started calling her that because she hates it so much when Bill’s at sea, and she’s so sure everything’s going to go wrong that the women started calling her Sissy in a friendly, teasing way. The name stuck. I don’t know if I should tell you what they’ve been calling me. Actually it’s kind of embarrassing, but by the same token it’s true. Randy. Don’t worry. Susan made them stop. Good grief, we could all call each other that.
As for taking time off in December, you’ve got it, fellow!
It’s been over three months since you sailed…were deployed. Are you impressed with the navy lingo I’m picking up? Three months since we kissed; three months since we made love; three months since I’ve slept in your arms.
And another three to go.
I’ve got good news. I got a raise, which was a pleasant surprise. I’m working out well with Boeing and they seem to appreciate my obvious talents. I decided to put the extra money in a savings account so we’ll have a little something to fall back on when it’s time for me to give up working to stay home with the children. It’s difficult for me to imagine myself a mother when being a wife is still so new. I don’t think we need to rush into this parenting business—do you? I wish we’d talked about these matters before you left. I have no idea how you feel about starting a family. When you asked if I was pregnant, it didn’t exactly sound as if you’d have been pleased with the prospect if I had been.
Anyway, we’re halfway through the tour and we’ve both managed to survive thus far. Susan and I and a bunch of other navy wives are celebrating Halfway Night this weekend. I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you this, so keep it under your hat because the other husbands are going to get insanely jealous. You, on the other hand, are sure to be cool-headed, mature and reasonable about this sort of thing, and I’m confident it isn’t going to bother you.
The nine of us are carpooling it to a Seattle nightclub to see some male strippers. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Susan and I have been looking forward to this night for weeks. In fact we’ve had the reservations since the first week in August. As you’ve probably guessed, this is a popular club.
Believe me, Rush, you’re not going to say anything that will frighten me anymore than I already am about what’s happening in the Middle East. Reports are on the news every night. All I ask is that you take care of yourself.
Steve left Monday for a week of sea trials, so it’s really been lonely around here. It’s the first time I’ve been in the apartment completely alone since I arrived in Seattle. It gives me lots of time to write to you so I don’t mind.
I suppose you know by now that Susan is pregnant. She’s feeling surprisingly good, especially after the doctor confirmed that there’s only one baby. Susan’s hoping for a girl this time.
I’m going to mail this off since I don’t want a repeat of what happened last month. Remember, I love you. Please don’t take any crazy risks.
Lindy,
What the hell do you mean, you’re going to see a male strip show! You’re damn right I didn’t tell the others. Good God, they’d stage a mutiny. As for me being mature and coolheaded, you couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t like it. Not one damn bit.
My dearest, darling Rush,
The male strippers were sexy as hell. What gorgeous bodies! What cute buns. What attractive…never mind. We had a fantastic time, but, quite honestly, it was too much for us men-starved navy wives. We talked it over and agreed this kind of entertainment would be better served later in the tour when we could count on our husbands being home soon. We decided to go back for a Final Fling the week before the Mitchell is scheduled to arrive home.
I love you, Rush Callaghan. Take care of yourself.
Love,
Lindy
* * *
P.S. Would you ever consider wearing spurs and a cute little cowboy hat to bed?
“Line 314,” Lindy murmured absently, answering the phone at her desk.
“Lindy, it’s Steve.”
Something in the pitch of her brother’s low-modulated voice, something in the way he said her name instantly alerted Lindy. Goose bumps shot up and down her spine. Not once in all the weeks that Lindy had worked for Boeing had her brother telephoned the office. She didn’t even know where he’d gotten her work number.
“What’s wrong?”
Steve hesitated. “I just heard a news bulletin over the radio. There’s been a report of an accident aboard the Mitchell.”
“Oh, God.” The words were wrenched from her heart. “Rush…. Did they say anything about Rush?”
“No, but it’s much too soon. Don’t panic, Lindy. There are nearly four thousand men aboard the carrier. The chance of Rush being a fatality is minute.”
Lindy closed her eyes and cupped her hand over her mouth as terror gripped her. Her heart roared in her chest so loudly that it nearly drowned out her brother’s words.
“I think it would be a good idea if you left work and met me at the apartment.”
She nodded, unable to find her voice.
“Lindy?”
“I’m on my way.” Already she was clearing her computer terminal, doing only what was absolutely necessary so she could leave.
“Lindy, can you drive? Do you want me to come get you?”
“No…. I’m fine. When did it happen? How?”
“They’re not exactly sure, but the preliminary reports are mentioning a plane crash.”
“How many are dead?”
“Sweetie, listen. The only reason I phoned was so you wouldn’t hear the news yourself or from someone at the office and panic. I’m telling you everything I know. I called the base and they’re setting up an information center for wives and family. Once you’re home I’ll take you there.”
“I’ll meet you as soon as I can.” Worry had already clogged Lindy’s throat by the time she replaced the receiver. Her supervisor was just walking into her office when Lindy scooted her chair back from the desk.
“You heard? Someone just told me there was something about the Mitchell on the radio. Take whatever time you need.”
“Thanks.” Lindy grabbed her purse, her legs so weak she could hardly walk.
The drive from Renton to the apartment normally took fifteen to twenty minutes. Lindy made it in ten and had little memory of the ride. She dared not turn on the radio for fear of what she’d learn. The entire time she was driving, she prayed, mumbling the same desperate plea over and over again.
