Excerpt of Sentimental Journey by Barbara Bretton

Much as Johnny wanted to take credit for the way Catherine Wilson melted into his arms, he knew exactly what was going on. She wasn't dancing with him; she was dancing with her fiancé, the lucky SOB who'd one day make her his wife. He'd had a lot of experience playing second fiddle in his life, fighting against a world that had little time for him—an abandoned kid who'd spent his childhood being kicked out of one orphanage after another. Funny thing, though. This time he didn't mind coming second to the man she loved. He didn't stand a chance with her and he knew it. Even if her guy was out of the picture, Johnny knew the chance of someone like Catherine Wilson giving him more than the time of day were about as good as his chances of spending the war Stateside. Girls like Catherine were special. Their hair always smelled like apple blossoms in the spring. Their laughter sounded like silver bells. And the guys they loved never got their hands dirty earning a living. Hell, if he hadn't joined the army, Johnny was hard-pressed to figure what he would be doing right now. He was smart but uneducated. He understood business and the way things operated, but no one was likely to give a chance to a guy who'd barely made it out of eighth grade. Guys like him worked with their hands and were grateful for the chance. But the army—and then the war—made everything different. He had a place in the world, for however long it lasted. He was young and healthy and strong, and that counted for something these days. The uniform gave him respect, something he'd never known before. Maybe when the war was over he'd go back to being a nobody on his way to no place, but for now he was important and that was all that mattered. Like right now on the dance floor. It didn't matter that this time tomorrow he'd be on a troop ship somewhere in the Atlantic. It didn't matter that her heart belonged to someone else. For as long as the music played he could hold Catherine in his arms and pretend the world was his for the taking. And if she wanted to pretend he was the man she loved, well, Johnny was smart enough to know a good thing when he saw it. He only wished it never had to end. *** The party moved from the Stage Door Canteen to the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station. Dot, Catherine and Nancy begged off on trying the slippery sea creatures, but Tom and Johnny and a few of the other guys manfully did their bit to deplete the oyster population. From the Oyster Bar they trooped over to the Automat, where they fed nickels and dimes into the appropriate slots and ate their fill of apple pie and hot coffee. Even there at the lowly Automat, handsome men in uniform squired beautiful women in silks and satins. They helped themselves to plates of macaroni and cheese as if they were fancy steak dinners with all the trimmings, and not one of them seemed to notice they weren't at the Stork Club. The air crackled with a reckless kind of excitement. The world was an uncertain place, fraught with danger at every turn. Some people coped with that danger by grabbing life with both hands and shaking every last drop of happiness out of it. Men like her father and Johnny Danza pursued that danger, confident in their ability to conquer the enemy and return home triumphant. Her mother pretended the danger didn't exist, while Nancy drank it up and turned it into the stuff of teenage dreams. For Catherine it was all too real. She wished she could curl up under her covers and not wake up until the war was over and Douglas was safely back home and life was the way it used to be before names like Bataan and Corregidor became part of everyday conversation. The Wilsons parted company with the other GIs at the subway station. The night was still young and New York was a city made for handsome bachelors in uniform. The Folies Bergères had opened just two nights ago and there wasn't a red-blooded American male who wouldn't love to watch the show girls in their skimpy costumes parade across the stage. Nancy shook hands with her father's new friends, while Dot hugged each and every one of them. Catherine couldn't help but notice that she gave Johnny Danza an extra-big squeeze and whispered something in his ear. The guys were a little shy with Catherine and she had to take the initiative and extend her hand to them in farewell. Johnny, however, wasn't shy at all. He caught her hand then spun her close to him as if they were back on the dance floor, and before she could protest, he executed a quick dance step that turned her indignation into laughter. "Take care of yourself," she said, planting a sisterly kiss on his beard-roughened cheek. "You, too." His eyes lingered briefly on her mouth, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her. A grin flashed across his lean face, then he pressed his lips quickly to her forehead. Instantly—absurdly—her eyes filled with tears, and it was all she could do to blink them back before she embarrassed herself right there in front of everybody. "No one's paying any attention," he said, brushing a tear from her cheek. "My father," she managed, glancing over her shoulder to make certain nobody was watching them. "Please take care of him, Johnny." She met his eyes and saw compassion in them, and understanding. "If anything happened to him..." "Nothing's going to happen to him," said Johnny. "I'll make sure of it." Believe him, she thought. Believe him or you'll go crazy. She started to thank him, to tell him how much his words meant to her, when her dad popped up at her elbow. "Might as well save your goodbyes, honey," he said to her. "Your mom's invited Johnny for a farewell breakfast tomorrow morning. You'll have plenty of time over pancakes to say goodbye to this wolf." Danza's shrug was good-natured. "Can't blame a guy for trying, can you? I haven't met too many like your daughter, Tom." "And never will again, most likely." Tom winked at the kid from Brooklyn. "Just you remember that she's taken." Danza could have protested. He could have told Tom that his daughter was worried sick about him, that she'd asked him to look after her father, that she wasn't even his type. What he did, instead, endeared him to her forever. "Yeah, Tom," he said, "I guess some guys have all the luck." They rode home on the subway in silence. The car was empty, save for a few shift workers on their way to factory jobs in firms like the one her father owned. Nancy dozed with her head resting lightly against Catherine's shoulder, while across the aisle their parents talked softly, voices mingling with the steady rattle of the steel wheels against the tracks. Strange, but somehow Catherine felt sorry for Johnny. Oh, he was filled with bravado and bluster, but beneath it all, she glimpsed a real person. A person she liked. In the ladies' room at the Canteen, Nancy told her that Johnny had been a foundling, who spent his childhood being shipped from one orphanage to another until he finally kicked over the traces and worked his way west. Nancy didn't know what had happened to bring him back to New York again, but she was certain a broken heart had something to do with it. Of course Nancy was certain a broken heart was the reason for everything she couldn't understand. It was one of the benefits that came with being seventeen. The other benefit was the ability to sleep on the subway. Catherine had to gently shake her younger sister awake when the train finally rumbled into the station at Continental Avenue, then assist the drowsy girl up the cement steps to the street. The summer sky was a swath of black velvet sequined with stars. The afternoon's intense heat had given way, cooled by breezes blown in from the waters that surrounded Long Island. Catherine could smell the sea in the distance, that salty, briny tang that conjured up dreams of exotic ports with names impossible to pronounce. One day, she thought, Nancy would probably send her a postcard from Tahiti and Timbuktu. Wanderlust raced through Nancy's veins; Catherine wanted to set down roots. She wanted the life that her mother and Douglas's mother took for granted, a life of security and happiness and love. Half a block ahead of their children, Dot and Tom strolled along hand in hand, looking for all the world like young lovers. "I'm going to miss Daddy." Nancy's voice, young and tremulous, broke the stillness. "Aren't you?" Catherine draped an arm about her sister's shoulders. "Of course I am. But remember what he said—it's up to us to be cheerful for Mom. She has enough on her mind." They turned right onto Hansen Street. The yellow glow from the gas lamps, remnants from another, more graceful era, bathed them in light. Nancy looked over at Catherine. "Awfully quiet tonight, isn't it?" "I guess Saturday nights aren't what they used to be, Nance." Her words came easily enough; unfortunately, so did a burning lump of fear that settled in her chest. She and her sister had grown up on this street. On a night like tonight their neighbors would be relaxing on their respective stoops, or gathering on the Weavers' porch to argue about the Dodgers. They certainly wouldn't be locked away inside their houses as if they were afraid to be out on the street after dark. "Maybe it's the dimout," she said, more to herself than Nancy. "Maybe everyone decided to go to a film...." And then she saw it. The Weavers' house was ablaze with light, and through the lace curtains she could see a knot of people in the parlor. Dot and Tom stood at the curb, stiff and straight as tin soldiers. Nancy grabbed Catherine's forearm. Catherine barely registered the sharp pinch of the girl's nails on her bare skin. In some hidden part of her soul she knew the truth, had known it for days but had refused to acknowledge it. This time, however, there was no turning away. There on the front step stood Edna Weaver. Her plain dress was covered with a gingham apron and her hair was knotted atop her head. If she lived another thousand years, Catherine knew she would never forget the look in that gentle woman's eyes. "Don't say it," she whispered. "If you say it, you'll make it real...." "It's Douglas," said Edna, her voice breaking. "Our boy is gone." The sidewalk rushed up to meet Catherine as she gave herself over to the darkness.