Chapter 26
“Wanna play canasta?” Bill’s roommate asked in a wheezy voice as he shuffled a deck of cards.
“Sure.”
“Gotta do something while we sit around and wait to die.” Despite his smile, the older man heaved with the effort to keep breathing.
“This won’t take me down. I’m not allowed to die. My wife would have words with Saint Peter.” Bill didn’t believe a mere flu could do him in, however nasty. He had too much to live for—a future with Ann. There was no way he could let her down by leaving her all alone in the world a second time.
“Lucky man, having a wife like that. My wife would probably say good riddance if you asked her.” He chuckled as he began to deal the cards. “Name’s Joe.”
“Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Bill.” A coughing fit overtook him.
“Easy there, sonny. You almost dropped your cards.”
Bill righted himself and took his turn. “How long have you been married?”
“Hmm. Let’s see. It must be thirty-six years now.”
Thirty-six years. Bill hoped he got to live with Ann that long. What a life they would have together if he could just get past this minor hiccup. “Congratulations! I can only hope that someday I’ll be able to match you.”
“You will, young fella. Have no fear. You’re young and strong. If anyone can beat this thing, it’s a man like you.” Joe took his turn. “And how long have you been married, Bill?”
“A week.”
“A week?”
“That’s right. One week.” Though with everything that had happened, it felt like it should have been longer.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon, young man?”
“Tell that to the Spanish Flu.” But if he got out of this, he was going to take Ann and Junior on a nice long trip. In their haste, he hadn’t even thought about a honeymoon, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than a long vacation with nothing to do but delight his wife.
Joe shook his head. “Well, if that isn’t the rottenest luck I ever heard of.”
Bill shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it. He could rail against fate, but to what end? Far better to accept and wait this thing out. He needed to conserve his strength for the fight.
“How did you and your missus meet?” Bill asked, taking his turn.
“Grew up together. We couldn’t stand each other when we were young. I used to pull her pigtails and put frogs in her lunch pail. And she gave as good as she got. One time she put hot pepper in my lunch sandwich, and oh, you should have heard me scream!” Joe laughed but descended into coughing.
“Have a drink.” Bill poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the table between their beds.
The old man took it and gave him a wink.
“When I asked her to marry me, she asked if I was sick in the head,” Joe continued. “It took me two whole years to wear her down, but she came around at last.”
“Sounds like she’s very special to you.”
“She’s the love of my life. Can’t imagine life without her, though she’d be just fine without me, I’m sure.”
“And I’m sure she’d be just as lost without you as you are without her.”
Joe coughed and took another sip of water. “Maybe I’m not up for canasta after all.” He leaned back and putting down his cards. “Pardon me. I think I need to close my eyes for a bit.”
Bill decided he would do the same. This illness seemed to sap all his energy. He could sleep a year, and it wouldn’t be enough.
He closed his eyes, the hot afternoon sun coming through the window and glowing through his eyelids.
As he drifted off, he wondered what Ann was doing that moment.
He knew she had to quarantine, so she would be in the apartment with Junior.
Perhaps she was crocheting a doily or knitting a sweater.
So industrious, his new wife was! He longed to get better so that he could enjoy her heat and energy at length, preferably with their clothes off.
If only he’d been feeling better when he got home from DC, they might have enjoyed themselves. Ah, well…
Sleep claimed him and he let himself drift off.
After dinner that night, Joe was in the mood to chat again. “So tell me about the little lady you just married.”
Bill smiled. “She knows how to fix her own leaky faucet.”
“What?” His eyes widened.
“I know. It’s one of the first things I learned about her.
She’s a war widow. Her husband was a pilot.
When she lost him, she had to fend for herself, so she checked out a book from the library and fixed her own faucet.
” There were plenty of men who would have found that off-putting, but he thought it was marvelous. “She’s a wonder.”
Joe whistled. “Sounds like a handful to me.”
“Not at all. She has this gorgeous auburn hair that she always pins up so neatly, and then I come along and mess it up. I can’t help myself.
I love touching it.” He wished he could dig his fingers into her soft locks right now and smell her scent of apples and soap as he devoured her smooth porcelain neck.
“Fiery spirit, fiery hair. I’m starting to get the picture.”
Bill smiled. “She’s also the sweetest, kindest, most considerate person I know.
Always thinks of others before herself and never wants to impose on anyone for anything.
And the cake she baked me after I finished fixing her roof for her—it was a work of art.
Michelangelo couldn’t have sculpted a prettier cake, and it tasted as good as it looked.
” And the way she looked at him when she brought it to him was something he’d remember for the rest of his life.
“Lucky man. A woman who can bake is worth her weight in gold, in my opinion. My Bess can bake, and I can’t say I’m sorry about the pounds I’ve put on because of it. I’ll keep eating her cookies until I’m in my grave.”
Bill laughed and coughed. “Say, how long have you been here in the hospital?”
“Just got here a few hours before you did.”
“We’ll beat this thing. No mere flu bug can take us down.
” Maybe his confidence was excessive, but he couldn’t imagine this being the end of Bill O’Donnell.
He had too much to lose. He had to make it through.
And so did Joe. Thirty-six years of marriage!
A track record like that couldn’t end because of the flu.
“I’m with you, Bill. I’m a tough old coot. It’ll take more than a teeny tiny germ I can’t even see to break me.”
“Gentlemen, it’s lights out now,” said a nurse who flipped the switch. “Goodnight.”
Bill closed his eyes and tried to drift off despite the rattling snore coming from Joe. It sounded like he was trying to breathe under water. Easy, Joe. Keep breathing. Stay with me.
Turning over, Bill let himself drift off to sleep.
In the morning, Bill woke up to the song of a bird right outside his window.
It took him a moment to remember where he was and why.
Ah, yes. Hospital. Spanish Flu. He turned to Joe to see if he was awake, but the bed was empty.
A nurse came in to bring him breakfast, and he asked, “Where did Joe go?”
She gave him a sympathetic look and said, “I’m afraid he didn’t make it through the night.”
“What?” The sounds around him seemed oddly muffled, but his heartbeat throbbed in his ears, drowning everything out.
“This flu takes people very quickly. Mr. Latham passed last night in his sleep.”
The news punched him in the gut. It pounded his chest and pierced his heart. No, this couldn’t happen to Joe. He had too much to live for. Thirty-six years with the love of his life. Cookies. Canasta. Joe, no.
Crushing weight settled on Bill’s shoulders and pressed him down into the bed. “Thank you, nurse. Tell his wife he said she was the love of his life. He died a happy man.”
“I will.” The nurse gave his leg a pat under the blankets. “This flu is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It takes people so quickly. It sounds like you got attached to Mr. Latham.”
“Only knew him for an afternoon, but yes, I did.”
She nodded sympathetically. “Try to remember he’s in a better place.” How could it be better if the love of his life wasn’t there? “You focus on getting better, Mr. O’Donnell. Try not to let this bring you down.”
It was too late. He was down—an unusual state for him.
Normally, he was all jokes and nonsense and useless facts.
He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt quite so dark and alone.
In the war, he’d lost comrades, but it was different.
They died heroes for a cause. There was no heroism in this death.
Joe’s passing didn’t serve some greater purpose.
And it wasn’t a dignified death either. He passed laid out on his back, gasping for air, not fighting on a battlefield.
This flu was an enemy he couldn’t see, an enemy he didn’t know how to fight. But one thing he knew for certain was that he had to fight because this was a battle he couldn’t afford to lose.
He had to go home to Ann. Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to take him when he’d only just found the love of his life. Or could it?
He’d stared down death so many times, it felt like an old friend.
In the air, every time he went up for a dogfight, death’s specter loomed large.
But there was a thrill in tempting fate and a conviction that he was smarter and quicker than his enemies.
Every day he flew, he tested himself against his enemy.
And every day, he landed safe. It was proof that he was insulated, that death’s long hand couldn’t reach him.
And then flying for the postal service, he’d pushed his airplanes to their limits and sometimes beyond, flying distances that should have been impossible in those old Jennies.
He’d flown in all kinds of weather in an open cockpit with nothing but his leather pilot’s suit to protect him.
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers.
How many times had he run out of fuel shy of his destination?
How many times had he been forced into an emergency landing by mechanical failures?
Not to mention all the times the winds were against him, and he watched the sun dip below the horizon, forcing him to land in the dark.
Death or glory, they always said. But the unspoken assumption was that death would always be cheated of his prize.
They were too good, too crazy, too brave to fall into death’s clutches.
And yet here he was, after risking his life countless times, wondering if a head cold would do him in. By God, he refused to die such a mundane death. He had no desire to die young, but if he did, he expected to be thrown from a fuselage, not snuffed by sniffles.
Ann. He had to come home to Ann. She was the light of his life, shining so bright. He ached to feel the warmth of her presence.
Rallying all the rambunctious, rebellious corners of his mind, he pictured her. He drew each feature lovingly in his mind’s eye, the auburn hair, the sparkling green eyes, the perfect bow of her lips.
“Ann, I love you. I’ll come home to you, I promise,” he whispered to the white walls of his hospital room, hoping against hope that it was a promise he could keep.