The bomber jacket, p.45
The Bomber Jacket, page 45
There. She made another plan. Another decision. Another forward step.
To her shock, Naomi said, sadly, “Beth, I… I miss you.”
Beth felt her heart constrict. “I miss you too, Grandma,” she said, and found to her surprise it was true. “I’ll send you a postcard with my return address if you want to write me a letter. Tell me your story. I’ve only heard Henry’s.”
“Thank you, Beth. You’re being very fair. And you sound so… grown up.”
Beth smiled at Naomi’s backhanded compliment. “I’ve sort of had to whether I wanted to or not. Gotta go, Naomi. Bye. You take care of yourself, please. And… tell Henry… Grandpa… I’m thinking about him too.”
She thought she heard a quiet sob as she disconnected the call.
thirty-four
August 1997
With her next step mapped out, Beth felt she could finally turn her mind to Robbie.
She started hiking for hours at a time, and during those hikes, she began to mentally relive both the delightful and the difficult interactions they’d had. How totally unprepared she had been for such an intense relationship. Sure, she’d had male acquaintances in college—mostly literary geeks who went with her to foreign films and art shows. It wasn’t till last summer that she had ever dated seriously. And it was only four months ago she’d tasted the delights of lovemaking.
Oh, Robbie. History-loving Robbie. Considerate Robbie. Vulnerable Robbie. She had been terribly unfair and selfish to him. Cruel, really, the way she had suddenly shut the door on him just when their relationship had become intimate. At least Jason had carefully pushed past her hurt, angry walls and explained why he didn’t return her kiss. Even now, she could still remember him gently pushing her on a swing as he told her in halting, stumbling words about his struggle to come to terms with his sexuality. The summer night air was thick with the threat of rain.
It was well after one in the morning when he walked her to her house and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna blow some guy away someday. He’ll fall head over heels in love with you.”
Was that what Robbie had done? Fallen head over heels with her? What about Iain? No, she had just been a distraction for him, so far away from his Canadian girlfriend. Something to keep her mind off Robbie. But Robbie had never said he loved her. At least in words. But then, she hadn’t either. She hadn’t given him, or them, enough time to explore that possibility once their relationship turned physical.
She had used Colin as an excuse. A need to concentrate on the search for him. But would Colin have wanted her to give up the possibility of loving someone? Yet hadn’t he, from Henry’s story, given up twice on Gretchen?
And it was Henry who made it possible for Colin to be with Gretchen. No matter how sad their ending, Henry had in reality made it possible for her, Beth, to exist.
Love and life were just so complicated. She cared deeply for Robbie, but didn’t love mean a commitment? Would she be willing to stay in Scotland for him? Not that he had asked. She still had things to do in her life. School to finish. And there were her grandparents in the States.
As she pondered her relationship with Robbie, she continued to take her weekly discovery tours with Bernie, who began telling her more about his life, although she was sure he edited the more lurid bits. His tales of life as a Rastafarian on Jamaica were hilarious. But he stunned her when he told her something she never suspected—he had been a member of the RAF ground crew that supported the 1991 Gulf War operations.
“You’re a veteran? An RAF veteran? I thought you were a financier.”
“I was. The war came at the end of my term of enlistment. It was my last deployment.”
It was Wednesday of the third week of August, and they had taken a boat ride from Elgol to Loch Coruisk, tucked in between the Cuillen Hills. They were sitting on a dock bench after an hour of hiking, eating a hot pork pasty from the small store.
“Had you been in finance before?”
“Sort of. I had studied finance at the University of Oxford.”
“Oxford?”
“I’m smarter than I look.”
“Uh-huh. Then what?”
“I spent a couple years working in my dad’s wealth management company in London, learning the ropes, being groomed for a climb up the corporate ladder, with a few steps skipped because I was the owner’s son. But I hated it. And I decided to tick him off.”
“By joining the Air Force?”
Bernie winked. “Yep. Told him I wanted to do something for God and King.”
“And did you?”
“If you call loading cruise missiles onto fighter jets in the middle of Saudi Arabia giving God and King their due.”
“So, you were ground crew?” Beth tried picturing Bernie in an RAF uniform.
“Like your grandfather.”
Beth grew suddenly still. “He’s not my grandfather.”
“He was up until June.”
“You make it sound like I fired him. Henry was never my grandfather… in truth. Our whole relationship is built on a lie. On a lot of lies.”
Bernie looked at her intently then said, “I didn’t see the kind of action your grandfather did. The Gulf War was brief. But I saw friends fly off and some of them didn’t come back.”
“So what? That’s what war means, doesn’t it?”
“You’re very cavalier about losing your friends in combat,” he said quietly.
Beth was ashamed of her remark but said defensively, “I’m sorry… I… but what’s this got to do with Henry?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that war changes a man?”
Beth looked away. She didn’t want to hear any more of Bernie’s story.
Bernie told more regardless. “My grandfather was in the RAF in World War II. Ground crew. He was too old to fly but not too old to send ‘em off night after night.”
“Oh,” Beth replied softly as she stared at the loch, a deep mysterious blue-green color.
“He never talked about the war much, though I asked. Except for one time. I was visiting him in the old folks’ home. He was pretty feeble, though his mind was still sharp. We were sitting on the veranda, and he began talking. Almost to himself. He began listing the names of every member of bomber crews he worked with who hadn’t come back.”
Bernie took a swig of his Irn-Bru, the ubiquitous Scottish orange soda that Beth thought tasted like bubblegum.
“My grandfather said, ‘I wrote them down, you see. In my diary. I thought that was the least I could do, to record their names. Everyone else tried to forget. Or at least pretend it didn’t matter. Got the chop, they did. Oh well. Have another bloody drink. Kiss another pretty girl. We did lots of reckless and sometimes illegal things to forget that it could be us tomorrow.’ ” Bernie sighed.
“Then he went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and returned with a small, battered, leather-bound journal and handed it to me. He said to me, ‘Every day of my life, I’ve read every single name in this book. And I wonder, why did I survive? Why did I live through the war? Lots of bombs were dropped on airfields and cities. My cousin died in the London Blitz, and my aunt and uncle died in Coventry.’”
Beth felt herself grow chill despite the August sun on her face
“He gave me the book, Beth. And said, ‘Bernie, I need you to honor these men. I need you to read their names every day. I know you didn’t know them, but because they’ve impacted my life, they’ve impacted yours.’”
Beth turned now and looked at Bernie. He was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes closed, as if remembering. Or praying.
“He died a week later, and I joined up, the day after his funeral. Actually, it wasn’t really to tick off my dad; it was to honor my grandfather, which I’m not sure it actually did in the end.”
After some moments, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “Maybe your Grandfather Henry has a list of his own.”
Several mornings later Bernie came into the kitchen where Beth was just taking freshly-baked scones from the oven. As she stood up with the cookie sheet, she glanced his way and spilled the doughy confections on the counter.
Bernie was sitting on a barstool at the breakfast island between the kitchen and living room. Completely bald.
Beth was stunned speechless. When the silence drew out for a minute, Bernie grinned. “It’ll grow out.”
Beth simply stared. He looked a bit like Bruce Willis. Certainly nothing like the Bernie she had come to know. He looked younger. More vulnerable.
Bernie picked up the scones from the counter and put them in a basket then poured himself a cup of coffee. “I’m hungry,” he said, finishing off a scone in three quick bites then asked, “I assume you’re still leaving next week, at the beginning of September?”
Beth nodded.
“Then what?”
She laid out plates, jam, and butter on the counter and filled her mug with the Darjeeling she had just brewed, giving herself a moment to formulate her answer. She sat next to him. “Well, I’ve given it a lot of thought. I decided I’d go back to Edinburgh, retrieve any of my things that might still be there, and then head to the States. I didn’t tell you, but I called my grandmother.”
“I figured as much. You got a letter from someone named Schmidt in Pennsylvania some weeks back.”
She tutted. “Bernie. You snoop.”
“Hey, it was right there on the envelope. I couldn’t help seeing it. So I figured you either wrote her or called her and gave her your address.”
Beth nodded. Naomi’s letter had been short, but full of details about her hospital stay and her diagnosis of congestive heart failure, which Naomi said sounded worse than it was. Apparently, she just wore out sooner than she used to. She also said Henry was relieved to hear she was fine and that she’d be home in September.
“What will you do when you go back home?” Bernie prodded gently.
“Find a job, enroll in school for January, and finish my degree.”
“And will you stay with your grandmother?”
“Grandparents. Apparently, Henry went back at the end of June.”
“Ah, I see. So you’ll be needing to reconcile with him after all.”
Pointedly silent, Beth carefully slit open a warm scone, slathered each half with butter and topped them with a dollop of blackberry jam she had made last week.
“I’ll give you a ride to Edinburgh, Beth.”
She looked up in surprise. “You don’t have to do that, Bernie. I’m quite capable…”
“I know you’re quite capable,” he interrupted, making short shrift of another scone, not bothering with any toppings. “You’re quite capable of many things, including forgiveness.”
Beth felt her jaw tighten. “I don’t want a lecture.”
“I’m not giving you one.” Bernie snagged a third breakfast treat from the basket. “I’m simply stating a fact.”
Beth sighed.
“I’m heading back south to London, stopping in Edinburgh to see some friends.”
“That account for the… scalping?”
“Guess it looks like a scalping. Just needed to get a head start. Get it…?” He chortled, spewing a couple of crumbs.
Beth shook her head at his pun. “Taking a break from the hostel life?”
“Not a break. I’m not coming back.”
“Oh?” It was hard to imagine the hostel without him.
He took a swallow of his coffee. “This was never intended to be a lifestyle, only a stop on the road. It’s time I reintegrated into society. It’s been arranged. One of the staff at the hotel will be taking over. It’s something she’s been wanting to do for a while.”
“But isn’t this a life? That girl thinks it’s a life, apparently. Lots of people live on Skye.”
“It’s not my life. Besides, I need to go see my parents, my brother, and my sister. I haven’t spoken to any of them since the day I returned from Saudi Arabia.”
Beth mentally calculated the years, but he got there first.
“Six years.”
“Have you written…”
“Nope. Not a call, card, or communication of any kind.”
“And they had no idea where you were?”
“I kept in touch with a cousin. She must’ve let them know because I always get a card from my mother on my birthday.”
“But…” Beth felt a bit guilty about not communicating with her grandmother, but it hadn’t been six years.
“My father was furious when I quit the firm to join the Air Force and then even more furious when I refused to be treated like a hero when I came home. They had arranged this big party, and I wouldn’t go. Great publicity for the firm, you see.” He picked at a scone. “I couldn’t be a hypocrite. I didn’t feel like a hero. I had done nothing heroic.”
“Bernie, I…”
“And neither was it heroic to disappear out of their life. I know that. And now it’s time to make amends. I hope you won’t take six years to make amends with your grandfather.”
Beth struggled to keep the tears from her eyes.
“Beth, I’m the one that lost out. I missed my sister’s wedding, the birth of two nephews, my father’s very serious illness, and an Air Force buddy’s funeral. He died of a drug overdose.”
He retrieved another cup of coffee then leaned on the counter across from her. “I was nearly twenty-nine when I came back from the service, but I wasn’t really grown up. Just messed up. Wound up. Bitter, too. And too much of a coward to face my own questions. So I ran away. Don’t worry; be happy. But it was all a lie. Just a way to avoid being a man. It didn’t have to be all or nothing, but I made it so. It’s time for me to stop running away. I need to start running toward again. See what’s next.”
He stared into the dark liquid. “It’s really been these two years on Skye that have helped me get my head on straight. I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to living in London, but I’m thinking about teaching photography. Working with veterans.”
Beth could think of nothing to say. There was so little she knew or understood about this man she had spent nearly three months with.
“I have a favor to ask of you, though,” he added, looking up. Beth looked at him warily. “What is it?”
Bernie laid his hand over hers. “Go see Robbie before you leave for the States.”
Edinburgh in early September felt like October in Pennsylvania, Beth thought. The days were in the high fifties, but at night it grew quite chilly. She declined Bernie’s offer to stay with his friends, instead making reservations at a hotel near the University. She stood next to Bernie’s car at the hotel entrance, holding her backpack.
“I’m only going to say goodbye one time, Beth,” he said. “I don’t believe in dragging it out, either. But I don’t mind staying in touch if you want to.” He handed her a card with a London address. “This is my parents’ address. They’ll know where I am. I’ve been in touch with them.” He grinned.
At her skeptical look, he smiled wryly. “Honest. I’m done running away from myself. And from them.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Wait,” she said, reaching into her backpack. “I have a present for you.”
“Ah, damn it, Beth, I…”
“No, it’s something practical.” She handed him a driving cap in herringbone tweed.
“Oh, God…” He laughed in a way she hadn’t heard before, settling it on his bald head.
“Winters in London get a mite bit chilly, I understand,” she said.
“They do, indeed.” With a tip of his hat and a courtly bow, he was gone.
And Beth was back in Edinburgh, trying to think of ways to arrange an unemotional goodbye to Robbie. For to leave without seeing Robbie would have been an uncalled-for act of heartlessness, and it hadn’t taken Bernie’s request to make up her mind.
But then maybe Robbie didn’t want to see her. Things had ended so badly between them. Maybe he’d put it all behind him. Well, one way or the other, she needed to see him and thank him for all he did for her grandfather.
The next morning she went shopping. She bought new jeans; a soft blouse; a fitted sweater; a classy, fall, padded jacket; and a pair of ankle-height boots then went to the hairdresser to restore her bob. After months in grungy clothes or hiking gear, it felt good to be dressed up.
Then she bought her plane ticket. Surprisingly, she was excited about going home. Even with the emotional challenges that faced her there.
By early afternoon she was walking across campus toward the registrar’s office, praying she would not run into Robbie on her quest for her possessions and a formal withdrawal from the University. She wasn’t ready to see him yet.
It was a prayer not answered.
thirty-five
September 1997
As Robbie made his way across campus that afternoon, he had every hope of seeing Beth. Henry had called recently from Pennsylvania to tell him that Beth was planning a trip to the University to formally withdraw from college. Henry had also called in mid-July to inform him Beth was safe and working at a hostel on Skye.
That Beth was spending the summer on Skye was a punch in the gut. That was where their relationship had become something solid. Real. Beautiful, until the last day. He’d racked his brain trying to determine what he had done to make her slam the door in his face. She had been a willing participant, in fact, the initiator of their lovemaking.
She must have cared for him. Maybe even loved him.
But after meeting Henry and hearing the whole convoluted, heartbreaking story of lies and deception, of love lost and promises betrayed, he realized that Beth was caught up in something beyond him. That the RAF pilot whose bomber jacket she’d been wearing was her real grandfather more than unnerved him. It was a supernatural connection he didn’t understand and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
No wonder Beth had been distant and distracted half the time. There was probably much about her ghost story that she hadn’t told him. As it was, he had accused her of being on drugs when she had tried to explain it during their encounter at Holyrood. No wonder she’d rarely confided more, other than at the Wallace Monument when she claimed to have seen the pilot… that the pilot saw her.
