Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
After more than twenty-two hours of travel, Frankie stumbled into the lobby of the Coco Palms Hotel on the island of Kauai, and checked in. Once in her room, without bothering to shower, she yanked the curtains closed and collapsed onto the softest bed she’d ever felt and fell asleep.
When she woke, she heard birds singing.
Birds. Singing.
No mortars exploding or shells hammering the walls, no smell of blood or shit or smoke in the air, no screaming, no Dust Offs whirring overhead.
The captain had been right; Frankie needed this respite.
She lay in bed, feeling drowsy in a lovely way and listening to the unexpected birdsong, surprised to see that it was well past noon. Refreshed and revived, she got out of bed and pushed the heavy gardenia-print yellow-and-white drapes aside and saw Kauai for the first time.
“Wow.”
The California beaches were magnificent, powerful, endless, and awe-inspiring, but this… this was an intimate kind of beauty, drenched in jewel tones—golden sand, vivid green grass, deep blue skies, vibrant purple bougainvilleas.
She opened the window and leaned out into the bright, beautiful day. The air smelled of a sweet floral fragrance mingled with the sharp tang of the sea. Palm trees grew on a flat patch of lawn, singly and in groups.
She took a long, hot, luxurious bath, using soap that smelled of coconut, and washed and dried her hair, seeing for the first time how long it had grown.
She’d spent months pruning it as she would a runaway weed, cutting away whatever impaired her view, which left her with an uneven fringe of bangs.
Thankfully, she had her boonie hat. It wasn’t fashionable, in fact was the opposite, but the olive-drab hat had become a favorite possession in ’Nam, almost a companion, and it kept the sun out of her eyes.
A dozen pins and patches decorated the crown, gifts she’d gotten from her patients.
Each bore the insignia of some unit. The Screaming Eagles, the Seawolves, the Big Red One.
She put on her faded two-piece knit bathing suit and SKI VIETNAM T-shirt and shorts, noticing that everything bore the pink-red tint of the Vietnam soil.
For the first time in months, she bothered with makeup—mascara and lipstick and blush.
Slipping into sandals, she put on sunglasses, grabbed a hotel towel, and went down to the lobby.
Although she was hungry—her stomach was grumbling loudly—she needed fresh air more. Fresh air and the sound of the sea. A little sand between her toes, a little floating in salt water.
She left the hotel and walked through the manicured grounds, palm trees swaying all around her. She crossed the quiet street and stepped out onto the sand. Tomorrow she would bring her camera and take pictures of the beauty around her.
On this sunny day, locals and tourists filled the beach: families on blankets; parents keeping watchful eyes on their children, some of whom were naked, all of whom were smiling brightly.
There were men with long hair, wearing peace symbol necklaces, and several men in khaki shorts, their hair buzzed to regulation length, standing at a lava-rock beach bar with a thatched roof.
SEASHELL SNACK BAR AND COCKTAILS read the sign.
Out in the ocean, she saw kids on surfboards, bobbing on the incoming swells. It made her think of Finley, made her miss him acutely. That’s your wave, doll. Paddle harder. She let out a long breath; it had become a kind of goodbye, her way of releasing her grief just enough to keep going.
She stripped down to her bathing suit and walked into the sea. The water was warmer than she was used to in California, but still cool. Sunshine sparkled on the surface. She swam beyond the low, incoming curl of surf and flipped onto her back in the calm swells.
Eyes closed, she felt almost young again, a girl floating on waves with the sun streaming down on her.
Finally, she left the water and staked out a patch of sand—all by herself, no one around—and laid out her towel.
Eyes shielded by her boonie hat and big round sunglasses, she drifted to sleep, slept deeply, and woke with the sun lowered in the sky.
She sat up, brought her knees up, and stared out to sea.
Treasured images came to her, of Finley paddling out on his surfboard, waving his hand, telling her to catch up.
Of them on the beach, bouncing uncomfortably on the backs of their rental horses, Finley muttering something about the family jewels.
And the sunsets they’d watched together as they spun out their childish dreams and talked about their future.
“Can I buy you a drink, ma’am?”
Frankie shook herself free of the memories and looked up.
A young man stood in front of her, shirtless, wearing khaki shorts and a military belt.
A SEMPER FI tattoo covered the top left quadrant of his chest. She could tell by his eyes that he’d been in-country, maybe in the bush.
She wondered how long the men would wear that haunted, hunted look.
She hated to let him down. “Sorry, Marine. I came here for the quiet. Stay safe.”
He turned away, no doubt scouting the beach for another girl to approach.
Frankie began to feel the sting of a sunburn and noticed how pink her legs were. How long had she been out here?
She heard someone else coming her way. She should have gone farther down the beach, away from the snack bar. This time she didn’t look up. “I’m fine alone, thanks.”
“Are you?”
She slowly looked up, lowered her big round sunglasses.
Rye.
He stood at ease, his hands clasped behind him. He wore multicolored shorts and a pale blue T-shirt that read LIVE TO SURF , but no one would mistake him for a surfer, not with his military posture and built-up muscles and unfashionably short hair.
“This is quite a coincidence,” Frankie said.
“It’s no coincidence. I worked hard to get you to take R and R.”
“So you’re the little bird who ratted me out. Why?”
“To see you.”
“Rye, I told you—”
“I broke off my engagement.”
That stopped her. “You did?”
“I couldn’t pretend anymore, not after Tet. Life is short, and…” He paused. “There’s something between us, Frankie. Tell me you don’t feel it and I’ll walk away.”
Frankie stood up to face him.
“Say you don’t want me.” The way he said it revealed an unexpected vulnerability.
There was no way in the world she could flirt with him or lie. “I can’t say that,” she said evenly.
He finally released a breath. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She knew it wasn’t just dinner he wanted; she wanted more, too.
Still, he was Rye Walsh, the rule-breaker who’d pushed her brother into trouble more than once (not that Finley needed much help in that regard), and she knew she wouldn’t be safe with a man like him.
But he was still an officer, and hopefully a gentleman.
“You broke off your engagement? You swear it?”
“I swear I’m not engaged.”
Frankie stared at him, felt a spark of excitement, like coming alive after a long hibernation. “Dinner sounds great.”
Frankie stood in line at the pay phone for thirty minutes. In the past year, she’d called stateside only twice: on Christmas and her mother’s birthday.
Barb answered on the second ring, sounded harried and distracted. “Hello?”
“Barb! It’s me.”
“Frankie! It is so good to hear your voice.”
Frankie leaned her elbows on the cool metal shelf below the pay phone. A small stack of quarters stood at the ready. She hoped it would be enough. She could only imagine how expensive this call would be. “I’m in Kauai on my R and R.”
“Wait! I’ll join you!”
“Ordinarily I’d jump on that, but…” She glanced around, made sure no one could hear her. “Rye Walsh is here.”
“Mr. Cool?”
“He broke off his engagement. Maybe for me. The point is: I need advice. What if he wants to have sex?”
“I guarantee you he wants to have sex. Call me telepathic. If you weren’t such a damn Catholic-school girl, you would, too.”
“I do. I mean, I might. But I need some… practical advice.”
The operator came on to ask for more money. Frankie put in the rest of her quarters.
“Use birth control,” Barb said. “It’ll have to be condoms. Unless you have a fake wedding ring.”
“What?”
“They won’t give single women the pill. Don’t even get me started on that shit, but if you pretend you’re married, you can get it. Not that it will work by tonight. So, yeah. Condoms. Get lots.”
“Seriously, Babs. I need, you know, step-by-step kind of stuff.”
“They did have sex ed in your all-girls’ school, didn’t they? Did you sleep through it? And in nursing school—”
“Shut up. Help me. What do I—”
“Believe me, Frankie. That man has the sex part down. Just try not to tense up and don’t expect too much the first time. It can hurt a bit.”
“That’s not very detailed.”
“Okay, shave your legs and armpits. Wear sexy lingerie,” Barb said, laughing. “Oh. And be bold. Not ladylike. And don’t believe him if he says he loves you.”
“What? Why—”
The connection ended.
Frankie left the lobby and hailed a cab, which took her into the small town of Lihue. There, she got her hair cut in a chin-length, side-parted bob, and bought a red-and-white hibiscus-print sheath dress with a matching headscarf and heeled white sandals.
Back at the hotel, she followed Barb’s advice and shaved carefully and moisturized her sunburned skin.
As she stood in her hotel room bathroom and stared into the opalescent shell-framed mirror that hung over a large clamshell sink, she hardly recognized herself.
The beautician had brought back the shine in her black hair and the sleek haircut emphasized her blue eyes and the sharp line of her cheekbones.
There was still an air of sadness about her—the sorrow she’d learned in Vietnam.
She wondered if that would ever fade. But there was a youthful excitement in her look, too.
Hope . Long since forgotten and never again to be taken for granted.