Larry was leaning toward her, smiling his boyish smile, taking her hand in his.
“You’ll never guess what’s happened, Cathy. I’m going overseas.”
It was as though a filmy curtain descended, giving everything an unreal, hazy look.
Larry was sitting next to her, his lips moving, but his face was going in and out of focus
and Catherine could not hear any words. She looked over his shoulder and the walls of the
restaurant were moving together and receding. She watched, fascinated.
“Catherine!” Larry was shaking her arm and slowly her eyes focused on him and
everything came back to normal. “Are you all right?”
Catherine nodded, swallowed and said, shakily, “Great. Good news always does that
to me.”
“You understand that I have to do this, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand.” The truth is, I wouldn’t understand if I lived to be a million years
old, my darling. But if I told you that, you’d hate me, wouldn’t you? Who needs a nagging
wife? Heroes’ wives should send their men off smiling.
Larry was watching, concerned. “You’re crying.”
“I am not,” Catherine said indignantly and found to her horror that she was. “I—I just
have to get used to the idea.”
“They’re giving me my own squadron,” Larry said.
“Are they really?” Catherine tried to pump pride into her voice. His own squadron.
When he was a small boy, he probably had had his own set of trains to play with. And now
that he was a tall boy, they had given him his own squadron to play with. And these were
real toys, guaranteed to get shot down and bleed and die. “I’d like another drink,” she said.
“Of course.”
“When—when will you have to leave?”
“Not until next month.”
He made it sound as though he were eager to get away. It was terrifying, feeling the
whole fabric of her marriage being torn apart. On the bandstand a singer was crooning, “A
trip to the moon on gossamer wings…” Gossamer, she thought. That’s what my marriage
is made of: gossamer. That Cole Porter knew everything.
“We’ll have plenty of time before I leave,” Larry was saying.
Plenty of time for what? Catherine wondered bitterly. Plenty of time to raise a family,
to take our children skiing in Vermont, to grow old together?
“What would you like to do tonight?” Larry asked.
I’d like to go down to the County Hospital and have one of your toes removed. Or
have one of your ear drums pierced. Aloud, Catherine said, “Let’s go home and make
love.” And there was a fierce, desperate urgency in her.