Danielle Steel - Crossings

“You mean you already have leave?”

“Sure. I'm an important man.”

His son laughed. “It must be easy being a marine.”

Nick groaned. “I wouldn't say that.” It was a distant memory but he still remembered boot camp eighteen years before. “Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow night. Five o'clock.” He hung up and wandered slowly away from the phone. It was going to be rough saying good-bye to him, but no worse than what had happened to them only weeks before. He thought back to the trial, and then pushed it from his head. He couldn't bear the memory of the night Hillary had picked Johnny up. Not that this was going to be much easier, and he wasn't wrong.

He told Johnny over dinner the next night, and the child simply sat and stared at him. He didn't cry, he didn't balk, he didn't say a single word. He just looked at him, and the way he did almost broke Nick's heart.

“Come on, tiger. It's not that bad.”

“You promised you'd never leave me again. You promised, Dad.” It wasn't a whine, just a small sad voice.

“But, Johnny, we're at war.”

“Mom says you don't have to go.”

He took a deep breath. “She's right. If I wanted to, I could hide behind my desk, but it wouldn't be right. Would you be proud of me if I did that? In a few months your friends’ fathers will be going off to war. How would you feel then?”

“Glad that you were here with me.” At least he was honest, but Nick shook his head.

“Eventually you'd be ashamed. Is that really what you want me to do?”

“I don't know.” He stared into his plate for a long time. And then finally he looked up at him. “I just wish you wouldn't go.”

“I wish the Japanese hadn't attacked Pearl Harbor, John. But they did. And now it's our turn to go and fight. They've been fighting in Europe for a long, long time.”

“But you used to say we'd never go to war.”

“I was wrong, son. Dead wrong. And now I'm going to do what I have to do. I'm going to miss you like crazy, every day and every night, but you and I both must believe that I did the right thing.”

Tears seeped slowly into his son's eyes. He wasn't convinced. “What if you don't come back?”

His voice was gruff. “I will.” He started to add “I swear,” but he had sworn before, and lately they hadn't done so well with things he'd sworn about. “Just know that, son. Know that I'll come back and I will.” He told him about San Francisco then, and eventually he paid the check and they went home. It felt strange to Nick to be back in uniform again, but for the last few days uniforms had begun to spring up everywhere. And as they left the restaurant, with their arms around each other, he wondered if one day his son would be proud, or if he'd never give a damn, feeling only that he'd been betrayed again and again, by a mother who didn't care, a judge who didn't understand, and a father who'd run off to play soldier. His heart was heavy as he tucked Johnny in that night, and the next day was worse. They took a long walk in the park, and watched the ice skaters swirling on the Wollman rink, but there were other things on their minds, and time moved too fast for both of them. He took him back to Hillary's at four, and she opened the door and looked at her son. He looked as though someone had just died, and she watched as Nick said good-bye.

“Take good care, son. I'll call from San Francisco whenever I can.” He knelt beside the crying child. “You take care of yourself now, you hear? I'll be back. You know I will.” But Johnny only flung his arms around his father's neck.

“Don't go … don't go … you'll get killed.”

“I won't.” Nick had to fight back tears too, and Hillary turned away. For once their pain had touched her too. Nick squeezed the boy tight once more and then stood up. “Go on in now, son.” But he only stood there as Nick left, watching as he turned once more to wave good-bye, and then he was gone, running down the street to hail a cab, a tall blond man in uniform, with deep-green eyes swimming in tears.

He picked up his bags at his apartment then, and said good-bye to the maid. She cried too, and he hugged her once before he left, shook hands with Mike at the front door downstairs, and then he was off to catch his train, and as he took his seat with the other men, he was reminded of the last train he'd seen, the one carrying Liane to Washington as he'd stood on the platform and watched her go. How different their lives were now, or his at least. He hoped that for her nothing had changed, that Armand had survived the war thus far. And he knew now what they'd been through when she had left Toulon, the wrenching good-byes. All he could think of on the way west was his son, and his face as he'd looked up at his father and cried. He called him midway on the trip, but the boy was out and he'd had to board the train again quickly. He'd call him again from San Francisco when he arrived, but when he did, he never got to a phone at the right time. He was swamped with orders, assignments, and adjustments to the no-longer-familiar military regime. It was a relief when at last he got to his own room. The Marines had taken over several small hotels on Market Street, they had no more accommodations to house their men and it was the best they could do. And when Nick closed the door at last on Tuesday night, it was difficult to believe that he'd only been back in the military for a week. It seemed as though he'd been back for years, and he was already sick of it. But there was a war to fight. He hoped they'd ship him out soon. There was nothing for him in this town. There was a sea of uniforms everywhere. And all he wanted was a quiet place to sleep. He lay in the dark on the narrow bed in his hotel, and he was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a knock at the door. He muttered an expletive as he tripped on his way out of bed and stubbed his toe, and yanked the door open to see a nervous private standing there with a clipboard.

“Major Burnham?”

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry to disturb you but I was told to let everyone know …”At the very least Nick expected news of an enemy attack as he tensed to hear what the boy had to say. “There's a gathering tonight, given by the Red Cross. It's for all the new senior officers here. And because of Christmas and all …” Nick leaned against the doorway in his shorts and groaned.

“You woke me up for that? I've just come nearly three thousand miles and I haven't had a decent night's sleep in five days, and you banged on my door to invite me to a tea party given by the Red Cross?” He tried to glower, but he could only laugh. “Oh, for chrissake …”

“I'm sorry, sir … the CO's office thought—”

“Is the CO going to a tea party at the Red Cross?”

“It isn't a tea party, sir, it's cocktails.”

“How nice.” The absurdity of it all was too much for him, he sagged in the doorway and laughed until he cried. “What kind of cocktails? Kool-Aid and gin?”

“No, sir, I mean—I don't know, sir. It's just that the people here have been very nice to us, to the Marines, I mean, and the CO wants everyone to show up … to show our appreciation for—”

“For what?”

“I don't know, sir.”

“Good. Then you can borrow my uniform and you go.”

“I'll end up in the brig for impersonating an officer, sir.” The private had been standing ramrod straight since the recital began.

“Is this an order, Private, or an invitation?”

“Both, I think. An invitation from the Red Cross, and—”

Nick cut in. “An order from the CO. Christ. What time is this shindig?”

“Eighteen hundred hours, sir.” Nick glanced at his watch. It was almost that now.

“Shit. Well, there goes my nap. And thanks.” He started to close the door, and then suddenly pulled it open again. “Where is this thing anyway?”