Lovely War(57)

It took all he had not to pull her close and hold her tight. “I wish, when it happens, I could be there to comfort you.”

He realized what he’d just said. I wish I could be there with you in the middle of the night. When and where you sleep.

Good one, Aubrey, his mother’s voice said.

Love you too, Ma.

He tried again. “I wish I could be the one to help. If I can.”

The sweetness of it was too much. That purity. That hopeful innocence, to think taking on a raging mess like her would be worth it. To tantalize her into building a dream of somebody beautiful and wonderful, somebody like him, only to see the dream die when the ugly truth of grief and trauma took off its clothes and stood naked before him.

“There is no helping this,” she told him. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Mademoiselle Fournier,” he said, “you’ve got me confused. First you won’t let go of my hand, and now you’re telling me to run away.”

Aubrey tried to think. She was leaving tomorrow. Would she return? Would he be here when she did? No knowing. There was only now, and he was determined to make the most of it.

“I don’t want you to let go of my hand,” he told her. “I don’t want you to push me away.”

Her eyes fell shut. When she spoke, it was in a whisper. “I don’t want to push you away.”

“Colette,” he told her. “I can love Stéphane. I can honor his memory. I can love your parents, and your brother, your uncles, your cousin. I can love them beside you, and I will, if you let me.”

He wished he could say it now with music instead of words. The best words he could find just then didn’t feel like much.

“Please,” he told her. “Be with me. Be you, with me. All of you.”

With a quiet breath, she let her fear float away upon the night, and leaned against his chest. He pulled her close and pressed his cheek against hers. Shoot. He should’ve shaved.

“When I’m with you,” she told him, “it doesn’t hurt as much.”

He kissed her hair. “Then here is where I plan to stay.”

More voices, and louder ones, clanged most unwelcomely upon them.

“Come on,” he said at last, “we’d better get you indoors.”

They made their way as far as they dared toward the door. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him.

“I’ll be back soon,” she told him.

He grinned. “I’ll be here, waiting.”

She kissed him.

Not a thank-you kiss. A kiss that said, There’s more where that came from.





APOLLO


     Trouble with Joey—February 11, 1918





AUBREY HAD WALKED in the shadows for an hour before deciding it was safe to sneak into his barracks. If his feet were cold, his brain didn’t notice. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He, Aubrey Edwards, the King of Ragtime, the Emperor of Jazz, was the luckiest dog in the world. The heavenly Colette Fournier had kissed him tonight! Kissed him like she meant it.

When the lights in the barrack windows had been out for a while, Aubrey used the latrine, then crept to his quarters. Quiet as a cat, he jimmied the flimsy lock and let himself in. He relocked the door, untied his boots, and tiptoed to his bunk. No point taking off his coat, so he crawled under the blanket.

The bed above him creaked. Joey Rice hung his head down over the edge.

“You got a death wish, Edwards? Is that what you’ve got?”

“Shh!”

“You’re gonna get your butt kicked all the way back to Harlem, if they don’t send you home in a box.”

“G’night, Joey.”

“Don’t think they’re not onto you. The officers know.”

Aubrey sat up at that. “Why, were you wagging your tongue about it?”

“That’s right. Blame me.”

The sounds of other soldiers stirring in their sleep made them pause.

“You think you’re so smart,” Joey went on, when it seemed safe. “These other boys ain’t blind and dumb, jackass. They know you’re stepping out. I sure hope you’re getting something good out of it, for the price it’s gonna cost you.”

“Good night, Joey. And you watch your mouth.”

“Defending his lady’s honor. Ain’t that sweet.”

“Mind your business,” Aubrey told him.

“You make it my business, every time you’re stupid, which is all the time.”

Aubrey snuggled down under his blanket. Maybe if he ever thawed out, he could get some sleep. If sleep was even possible on a night like tonight.

“Now you got me wide-awake,” complained Joey. “I gotta take a leak or I’ll never sleep.” He swung himself off the top bunk, stuffed his feet into his boots, and made his way to the door.

“Don’t fall in,” Aubrey said.

Warmth had begun, and his eyes closed. He couldn’t possibly sleep, but maybe, maybe he could remember Colette, and compose a perfect dream.





HADES


     Vertigo—February 11, 1918





AUBREY WOKE. It was still dark. Had he slept through a whole day? No, it was still night.