The Wish(70)

We had lunch at his house, then climbed in his truck. I thought he was taking me back to my aunt’s, but he turned onto a street I’d ridden down dozens of times but never really noticed.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“We’re taking a quick detour to Great Britain.”

I blinked. “You mean England? Like the country?”

“Exactly,” he answered with a wink. “You’ll see.”

We passed a small cemetery on the left, then another on the right before he finally pulled the truck over. When we got out, he brought me to a granite memorial located near four neat rectangular graves surrounded by pine bark and bouquets of flowers, all encircled by a picket fence.

“Welcome to Great Britain,” he said.

“You’ve lost me completely.”

“In 1942, HMT Bedfordshire was torpedoed by a German submarine just off the coast and four bodies washed ashore in Ocracoke. They were able to identify two of the men, but the other two were unknown. They’re buried here, and this spot has been leased to the British Commonwealth in perpetuity.”

There was more information on the memorial, including the names of everyone who’d been on the trawler. It seemed impossible that German submarines had patrolled here, in the waters of these desolate islands. Wasn’t there someplace else they should have been? Though World War II was a topic in my history books, my views of the war had been shaped by Hollywood movies more than books, and I found myself visualizing how horrible it must have been to be on board as an explosion ripped through the hull. That only four bodies were recovered out of the thirty-seven on board struck me as terrible and I wondered what had happened to the rest of the crew. Had they gone down with the ship, entombed in the hull? Or washed ashore elsewhere, or perhaps floated farther out to sea?

The whole thing gave me shivers, but then I’d never been really comfortable in cemeteries. When my grandparents had died—all four of them before I was ten—my parents would bring Morgan and me to their graves, where we’d leave flowers. All I could ever think about was the fact that I was surrounded by dead people. I know death is pretty much unavoidable, but it still wasn’t something I liked to think about.

“Who put the flowers here? The families?”

“Probably the coast guard. They’re the ones who take care of the plots, even though it’s British territory.”

“Why were there German submarines here in the first place?”

“Our merchant fleet would pick up supplies in South America or the Caribbean or wherever, and then follow the Gulf Stream north, then over to Europe. But early on, the merchant ships were slow and unprotected, so they were easy targets for the submarines. Scores of merchant ships were sunk just offshore. That’s why the Bedfordshire was here. To help protect them.”

As I studied the neatly manicured graves, I realized many of the sailors on board the ship probably hadn’t been much older than I was and that the four people buried here were an ocean away from the relatives they’d left behind. I wondered if their parents had ever made the trip to Ocracoke to see how they’d been laid to rest, and how heartbreaking it was, no matter what the answer might be.

“It makes me sad,” I finally said, knowing why Bryce hadn’t suggested that we bring the camera. It was a place better remembered in person.

“Me too,” he offered.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

He brought his lips together and after a while, we walked back to the truck, moving more slowly than usual.

*



After he dropped me off, I took a long nap and then called Morgan. I’d done that a couple of times since my mom and dad had visited, and we chatted for fifteen minutes. Or more accurately, Morgan did pretty much all the talking and all I had to do was listen. After hanging up, I started getting ready for my date. Clothing-wise, I was limited to the stretchy jeans and the new sweater I’d received for Christmas. Thankfully, my acne had receded, so I didn’t need a lot of foundation or powder. Nor did I go overboard with blush or eye shadow, but I did put on lip gloss.

For the first time, I could really tell I was pregnant. My face was rounder and I was just…bigger, especially my bust. I definitely needed larger bras. I’d have to get them after church, which didn’t quite seem appropriate somehow, but it wasn’t like I had another option.

Aunt Linda was at the stove; she was planning on making beef Stroganoff and I knew Gwen would be joining her. The aroma of her cooking made my stomach rumble and she must have heard it. “Do you want some fruit? To tide you over until dinner?”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. I took a seat at the table.

Despite my answer, she dried her hands and grabbed an apple. “How was today?”

I told her about Photoshopping and the trip to the cemetery. She nodded. “Every year on May eleventh, the anniversary of the sinking, Gwen and I go there to leave flowers and pray for their souls.”

Figures. “I’m glad you do. Have you ever been to Howard’s Pub?”

“Many times. It’s the only restaurant here that’s open year-round.”

“Except for yours.”

“We’re not a real restaurant. You look pretty.”

She quickly sliced the apple into wedges and brought them to the table.

“I look pregnant.”