“And by ‘this kind of thing,’ you mean deer hauntings?” My words come out deadpan, but I can’t help but grin. I can never keep a straight face when something’s funny—reason number ten thousand I wasn’t a very good actress.
“Yes. I bet we could even find a two-for-one coupon.” His face remains completely serious at first, then slowly cracks. The full-blown smile that hits me is so powerful it’s amazing it doesn’t light up the room. I’m so dazzled that it takes me an embarrassingly long time to notice I’m staring at him the same way he stared at the sopaipillas at José Napoleoni’s—like he didn’t want to wait another minute to find out what they tasted like.
The realization that dinner was less than twelve hours ago reminds me that I’m way too exhausted to be unproductively lusting over this strange, sweet jerk. “Well, we should get some sleep,” I say.
“Yeah. Good night.”
We both lay in the dark on our backs, our arms parallel to each other, separated by the smallest amount of space. I feel the heat rolling off his skin, like standing in front of an open oven. And even though the thin material of the T-shirt is already making me feel like I’m suffocating, when Hollis’s breathing slows and becomes interspersed with the soft snores that already feel so familiar, I press my arm against his and bask in the warmth of our connection as I drift off to sleep.
Key West, Florida
December 1944
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t allowed. But it wasn’t as if N.A.S. 42 55 K.W.—also known as Bertie—had anywhere else to go. He certainly wouldn’t remain in the loft much longer; he was a nervous bird with a tendency to pluck out his feathers, which meant that he was barred from flight a majority of the time. Even when he did fly, he delivered his messages with only 20 percent accuracy, and at the abysmal speed of thirty miles per hour. After two years of training, it was clear that Bertie was not cut out for service in the Navy.
Maybe it was because Rose wasn’t so sure she was cut out for it either—her frustration with her menial duties and yearning for home still plagued her whenever she was alone—that she decided not to log Bertie’s return to the loft one day. She instead carried him to a small nearby shed she’d noticed no one seemed to use. “This is your new loft,” she told Bertie. “Welcome home.”
Kinship explained why Rose stole the pigeon, but she couldn’t quite put a name to the thing inside her that urged her to trainBertie to fly to Boca Chica Beach. It was a mere mile away—which even a pathetically slow messenger like Bertie could manage—and the simple exercise was good for the bird, Rose told herself. She refused to admit that it had anything to do with Elsie; it was only a coincidence that she could use the tree under which they always rested as Bertie’s destination. And if he was flying to the tree anyway, he might as well deliver a message...
On a cloudless Monday in mid-December, Rose hid within a clump of trees, watching Elsie Brown sitting in the warm sand. Bertie cooed above, then fluttered to the ground beside Elsie’s outstretched legs. He strutted around, bobbing his head and periodically pecking at the sand for food, and Elsie squinted as she noticed something wrapped around the bird’s leg.
“Come here, little fella,” she said in her sweet singsong voice, slowly easing forward so as not to frighten the pigeon. When Bertie did not fly away as Elsie reached for him, Rose saw the moment understanding unfurled in Elsie’s mind like a banner, and she had to stifle a laugh. Bertie allowed Elsie to pull the end of the red thread around his sticklike leg. Along with the tie, a folded piece of paper fell to the ground.
Will be a few minutes late today. —R
“So what do you think?” Rose asked, coming from the tree line to sit beside Elsie.
“You sent me a pigeon!” Elsie said in the way someone else might talk about being gifted a diamond ring.
“I did. I figured it would be a good way to be in touch with you if I can’t meet you for whatever reason. And also it was an easy training exercise for Bertie, here. He’s not a good distance flyer,are you Bert?” Rose captured the bird with skilled hands and ran her thumb down the pigeon’s neck.
“I can’t believe they let you train a pigeon to come to me.” Elsie shook her head, her smile still wide and beautiful.
Rose bit her lip, looking guilty. “Well, he doesn’t come to you exactly. He comes to the beach, this spot specifically. And also, it’s possible that my superiors are unaware of this particular training exercise. And that I... liberated Bertie from the loft. They think he never returned from his last flight.”
“Oh, you naughty girl,” Elsie said. The sensuality of her voice and the way her pale blonde eyebrows raised, creasing her forehead, made Rose’s heart leap. “I didn’t realize you were such a rebel, Rosie.”
For the first time in her life, Rose did feel rebellious. She felt like someone who could steal a pigeon that was property of the US Navy and teach it to fly to the woman she had dreamt of kissing every single night since they had first met. For a moment, Rose almost convinced herself she truly was the rebel Elsie believed her to be. Her fingers loosened around the bird in her grasp, ready to release him and take hold of Elsie’s strikingly square jaw so that she could bring their mouths together.
Bertie’s wings hit the air with a quiet whooshing sound, reminding Rose that she wasn’t brave, just homesick and confused and avoiding replying to Dickie’s latest letter. She should go back to her quarters and reread the pages he’d sent until she felt more like Rose McIntyre of Wisconsin instead of this reckless, fantasizing fool trying to get herself into all manner of trouble, trying to lose the only friend she had here.
“I should probably return to base,” Rose said. “Make sure no one notices his coming and going.”
“Of course.” Elsie stood and reached down her hand to help Rose. The heat between their palms felt like a warning. “I’ll see you soon?”
“Yes, yes. Soon,” Rose muttered, already taking steps backward.
But Elsie kept hold of her hand for a moment, preventing her from running even though Rose’s brain told her she must leave, she must, before she forgot again who she was.
“I really do need to go,” she heard herself say. “I left the shed open and someone might notice, or he might try to fly back to the old loft and...”
“Yes, of course, go. Go,” Elsie said, releasing her.
As she walked through the airfield, back toward the shed-cum-loft, Rose caught sight of Bertie in the air, slowly making his way back as well. Home would be much easier for her to find after the war if it remained a place, and not a woman who swam like a mermaid and made her feel braver than she had any right to be.
9
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