The Pieces We Keep(44)

Just then, a trill sounded from behind.

Her laptop.

The video call. She had forgotten the interview!

“I have to go get that.”

He responded with a nod, but the plea in his face halted her. In that frozen moment, with her future plans at risk, she had to make a choice.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve helped.” She infused her voice with all the kindness she could, then closed the door and rushed inside.





20


Once on base, Vivian hurried into the building that housed the switchboard room. She smoothed her hair and dress and punched her time card in the hall.

Fourteen minutes late.

Perspiration on her scalp threatened to streak her face. No time for blotting. Through the pane of the door she spotted her chair at the end, waiting vacant beside her roommate. Luanne snatched up a cord as fast as she’d dropped it, connected the call, and moved on to the next. The two other operators were working at the same swift pace.

Vivian opened the door to an immediate greeting.

“Miss James.” The surname was spoken with the sharpness of a sneeze.

Vivian slowly rotated to the right, where her supervisor scowled from her desk. Her appearance was meticulous as always. She wore her light silvering hair in a tight French twist and a suit jacket with shiny brass buttons. When Vivian had first learned she would be overseen by a woman, she was pleasantly surprised-until they became acquainted.

“Good morning, Mrs. Langtree.”

“Afternoon-wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do apologize. I missed the company bus and had to catch a streetcar-”

“In other words,” Mrs. Langtree said, “it wasn’t a dire emergency that caused your tardiness.” The woman could sniff out a lie like a bear hunting sweets.

“No-well, not exactly.” Just then, Vivian remembered that the woman, widowed from the Great War, was rumored to have one particular soft spot: her son, an airman stationed in Georgia. “You see, I’d encountered a rather young soldier. And he was telling me about how his family lives in”—she racked her memory–“ Michigan, all of whom he surely misses a great deal. Particularly as he adjusts to life in such a large city. So I’m sure you can understand why I found it difficult to leave.”

Creases in Mrs. Langtree’s forehead relaxed a fraction, in turn relaxing Vivian. But after a moment, those lines snapped back deeper than before. “In that case, Miss James, you had no excuse to forget your duties here. Need I remind you, our country is at war. The work we do is vital to keeping our troops safe, and therefore requires operators who respect that fact.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Furthermore, if I recall correctly, I have already given you a final warning.” Mrs. Langtree rose from her chair. Evidently she wished to be at a superior height for her next statement, which could only mean one thing. She raised a crooked finger just as an Army officer entered the room, authoritative in stature.

“Pardon me,” the man said.

Mrs. Langtree dropped her finger, shifting her tone. “Colonel, how lovely to see you.”

“May I speak with you?”

“Why, yes. Certainly.” As the man turned for the hall, Mrs. Langtree gave Vivian a pointed look. “We shall continue this shortly.” She then swiveled on her heels and shut the door behind her.

“Psst,” Luanne said, twisting in her chair. Strawberry-blonde curls framed her round face. She was Shirley Temple aged by a decade with a personality to match. Her lips pursed into a question: What’s the scoop?

Vivian dreaded to supply the prediction. It was through Luanne she had been hired at all-well, through the girl’s brother at any rate. Gene Sullivan was a first lieutenant assigned to Army Intelligence, spending much of his time at Fort Hamilton. He tended not to say much, same as in high school, but had spared enough praise in a recommendation to secure Vivian her job.

Today, after her firing, he might regret he had said a word.

She glanced through the window at the back of Mrs. Langtree. If the discussion took a good while, perhaps the woman would lose interest in resuming the previous one. She might even decide training a new girl wouldn’t be worth the trouble. War dealings, after all, took priority. With American troops battling fiercely in the Pacific, it would not be long before they invaded Europe. This would require support of every kind, including skilled operators.

Vivian hustled to her chair to exhibit her worth. She adjusted her headset and mouthpiece, its horn-like receiver curving up from her chest plate. She inserted a rear cord into an illuminated jack and threw the front key forward.

“Number, please,” she said, and connected the line.