Honey, it’s been less than three months and I’m already keeping track of how many days until I see you again. Try to arrange some additional time off in December, if you can, will you? I’m going to take you to bed and I swear it’ll be a full week before we venture out of the bedroom. I guess that tells you how I’m feeling right now.
Before I met you I was this sane, ordinary man who was content with his life and sure of his goals. Two weeks after I meet you, and I’m a completely different person. There’s a wedding band on my finger and I’m thinking about how nice it would be to become a father. I’ve even been toying with the idea of buying a house. What do you think? You can bet I do a lot of thinking about making love to my wife. Mostly I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing on the other side of the world.
I saw something yesterday that drove that point straight through my gut. We got orders to lend assistance to a Saudi oil tanker that had been hit by a Harpoon-type missile. One of our frigates pulled up alongside to help control the fire, and we sent a couple of Sea Kings with fire-fighting equipment and took their injured aboard. It really hit home that there could be trouble here, and this part of the world isn’t sitting around enjoying crumpets and tea. I’m not telling you this to worry you, Lindy. I needed to see that burning tanker to take care of some business matters I should have done a long time before now. If anything happens to me, I want you to know you’ll be well taken care of financially.
I’ve got to close this letter for now, but I’ll write more later. Lots more. I love you, Lindy. It frightens me how much.
Dearest Rush,
Reading your latest letter was the best thing that’s happened to me since our wedding. I’ve been feeling so confused and blue lately. After your letter, I felt like singing and dancing. I love you, husband. I don’t have a single lingering doubt.
Did you hear the shouts of glee all across America this 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 coolheaded, 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. An aircraft carrier was a huge ship, a city unto itself, able to house as many as six thousand men. The possibility of Rush being a fatality was infinitesimal. He was the chief navigator. The bridge was possibly the safest place of all. He would be free from harm. At least that was what Lindy kept telling herself.
Steve was waiting for her when she burst in the front door. "Did you learn anything more?"
He looked terribly pale, and nodded. "Lindy, sit down."
"No!" she screamed, knotting her fists. "Tell me! Is he dead? Is he?"
Steve raked his hands through his hair. "I don’t know. Apparently an Intruder was landing and a wing caught on the arresting gear. It cartwheeled on the flight deck, spewing wreckage," he hesitated. "They haven’t released any names yet. Five are known dead."
"Dear God."
Her brother placed his hands on her shoulders and his eyes revealed his own personal torment. She knew in that minute that he would have given his soul not to be the one to tell her this.
"What is it?" she asked, in a voice that was as calm and as accepting as she could make it.
"The latest information reports that part of the plane careened into the bridge."
Lindy shut her eyes and it was the last thing she should have done. Instantly she felt her legs give out as her mind conjured up the worst possible scene of bodies being hurled through space and men screaming in agony. Fire seemed to have erupted everywhere. Lindy gasped and her hands shot out.
Steve managed to catch her, pressing her head against his shoulder. "Rush is going to be all right," he murmured, while his hand smoothed her hair.
"No," she said, in a whisperlike sound. "He isn’t." If there was any action or any trouble, Rush would be there right in the middle of it.
Steve escorted Lindy to the naval base, where an information center had been set up. The first person Lindy saw was Susan. The two women looked at each other and started sobbing. Timmy and Tommy, not knowing what to make of everything, were soon crying, too. Lindy took Tommy and attempted to comfort him, but the youngster wanted his mother and squirmed in Lindy’s arms.
"Jeff?" Lindy finally managed to ask.
"I don’t know. What about Rush?"
Lindy heaved in a calming breath. "I haven’t heard."