Gene reappeared with two suitcases. “I’ll go flag us a cab.”
Vivian nodded.
“Thanks again for watching her, Lu,” he said.
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
He smiled at his sister before turning away and maneuvering the luggage out the door.
As Vivian snapped her handbag shut, she imagined her confession stored inside between her handkerchief and powder compact. The trip was too important to risk a cancellation of plans by saying too much. What’s more, to name the destination would require an explanation about Isaak. This would come in time, but not yet.
She pulled on her gloves and travel hat, and Luanne trailed her to the door. The departure now imminent, Vivian’s thoughts sprinted with any instructions she might have forgotten. “Now, did I tell you where to find the extra crib sheets?”
“You did. In the top of Judith’s closet.”
“Precisely. Oh, and for bath time, be sure to pull her out when the water’s cool. She’d let herself freeze to the bone if you let her.”
“I promise not to let her freeze to the bone.”
Vivian caught the teasing but was too focused to be playful. “Also, if she happens to run a temperature, you can use the thermometer in my bathroom drawer. But if the number doesn’t seem right, you can usually tell by putting your lips on her forehead. Either that, or-”
“My dearest sister, you will never make it to the shore at this rate.”
Vivian scrunched her nose. “Good grief, I’m being dreadful, aren’t I?”
“No. You’re being a mother. But don’t worry, I’ve read all eight pages of the notes you wrote down for me. And I promise you, for the next week Fred and I will take care of Judith as if she were our own.”
Vivian smiled and grasped Luanne’s arm. “I know you will.”
“Now, then. With that settled, you’d better get out there. My brother must be chomping at the bit. You two enjoy your belated honeymoon.”
“Thank you,” Vivian said, and embraced Luanne tightly. “Thank you for everything.”
On the tarmac, the propellers whirred into a thunderous spin. The Air Corps captain greeted Vivian and Gene at the door of the transport aircraft. Nervousness belied his firm tone. “We’re square after this, Sully,” he said to Gene, to which Gene agreed.
Vivian was curious about the favor being repaid, but those details were currently unimportant.
The airman relieved them of their suitcases. After storing the luggage for transit, he went up to the cockpit. Vivian followed Gene in taking a seat on the canvas bench that ran along the wall.
“Put this on,” Gene told her over the engines. “It’ll get cold.” She wrapped herself with the Army blanket he provided. He helped her cover the gap between her shoes and the hem of her trousers before donning his own blanket.
Behind them a row of oval windows were dotted by Thursday-morning rain.
The captain reappeared after presumably speaking to the small crew, perhaps delivering an enticement for their discreet cooperation. His rank was not high enough for him to have finagled the situation without being resourceful.
“Anybody asks,” he said loudly, “you two were never on this plane.”
Gene gave a thumbs-up that all was understood.
When the officer shot a glance at Vivian, she made a show of nodding in concurrence. A so-called pleasure trip to Frankfurt would never be permitted by usual Army protocol. Although it was a harmless cargo transfer, the only civilians likely allowed on such a flight were USO performers and members of the Red Cross. Her status as neither would incur even heftier consequences if anyone was caught.
The airman gave a final reminder. “My buddy, Wes, will meet you on the other side. He’ll get you back as scheduled. You miss that flight, you’re outta luck.”
“We’ll be there,” Gene told him.
The man shook his head, as though questioning his own sanity, and disembarked without another word.
Minutes later, with all the doors clamped shut, the plane started to move. Vivian shuddered and her body stiffened. Having never flown before, she hadn’t expected so much rumbling and creaking as their speed increased.
Gene slipped his hand around hers. “Don’t worry,” he said close to her ear. “I’ve got you.”
The assertion brought back a memory: It was their first official date. He had spoken those exact words as they hung on the Parachute Jump, side by side on a canvas seat like now, dangling over Steeplechase Park.
The revelation of just how far they had come made her smile despite her fears. “I love you,” she said, too quiet for him to hear, but clearly he read her lips, and he reciprocated with a kiss. Her heart brimmed with indescribable adoration for him, for their daughter, and for the blessing of every second they had been given together.