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You must stop this at once, Lillian.
When she emerged, she hoped her face didn’t reflect the erratic beat of her heart.
At her appearance, John shuddered as if a frigid wind had gusted through the suite.
She lay a hand along his hot cheek. “Are you cold?”
He released a short huff of laughter. “Ghosts walking over my grave.”
They spent two heartbeats reading each other’s eyes, and then Lillian looped her arm through his and allowed him to lead her off into the sunlight.
* * *
Lillian strolled around the USS Arizona memorial, giving each and every plaque attention. The silence pressed on her eardrums and created a stupefying vacuum.
Why were they visiting this monument? Over the decades, she and John had visited so many sites of burial and death. He had evaded much gunfire in his centuries as a soldier, but never had he mentioned being a participant in World War II, never brought up the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
Behind her, his breath rasped as if he were escaping the very gunfire that had washed that ship from the earth’s surface.
Every decade he liked to revisit the spots where he’d buried his friends. From the Civil War through WW II, he had lost many. Outlived them all. Pondering his immortality—with a certain splash of accompanying survivor’s guilt—was a big part of his reason for the visit. And yet, this trip was different in many ways. He wore his strain like a military uniform.
Yet…they’d never visited this memorial before.
She focused on the names again.
“Howdy, ma’am.” The honeyed southern drawl made Lillian freeze. The voice—the intonation and inflection—were so familiar. She rifled her memories, pushing the walls of her mind, willing recognition.
John forgotten, she examined the man from beneath her lashes.
No, she didn’t know him, had never known him.
She returned to reading the lists of names. But that phrase continued to rotate through her brain like a gleaming brass key she couldn’t catch. “Howdy, ma’am. Howdy, ma’am.”
The key whooshed past. Her mind filled with muddled images of being pressed into the damp earth, the scent of fresh grass filling her nose, her lungs filling with laughter, and a cowboy hat tumbling to the ground.
She folded her arms over her torso to still the fluttering in her stomach. Her senses were playing tricks on her. She smelled grass, the sterile, unfamiliar smell of the memorial and the musky cologne of last night’s dream man all mixed with the salt of the sea. She started to tremble.
The crackling loudspeaker interrupted the silence and John jerked forward to claim her hand and lead her off to the shuttle that would take them on their next leg of the tour.
Chugging across the silvery ocean waves, the tourist with the drawl chattered to his family while John held Lillian’s hand. The sun was a hot glare on the water and gave her an excuse to drop her eyes.
As she entered the shrine room of the USS Arizona Memorial, her mind was invaded by more images. Lines of men in crisp white like so many teeth on the face of the gigantic vessel and a sun-filled kitchen, a porcelain jug brimming with exotic flowers.
She scanned the room. She needed out. A small bead of perspiration trickled down the base of her neck. John’s hand clamped her to his side. His heavy breathing indicated he was experiencing memories of war, but she slipped her hand free of his hold and strode across the space.
The plaque on the far wall drew her like seismic pull. But the wave of energy caused by the sudden breaking of earth’s rock did not compare to the wrench Lillian felt. Between her and the engraved letters, a fine thread hung. If someone passed between her and the tablet, the tie would be severed and she would be injured. That invisible cord ran straight to her heart.
The southern drawl echoed in her ears as the tourist spoke with his family.
“Have you found granddaddy’s name yet?”
“We’ll get some pictures of us over there in that spot of sun.”
“I’m getting hungry.”
Her fingertip traced the name etched in marble. The cadence, when she said it in her head, was good. It was familiar.
Robert Albright.
