Page 71 of Landing Love

She gave him a sympathetic look and said, “I’m afraid he didn’t make it through the night.”

“What?” The sounds around him seemed oddly muffled, but his heartbeat throbbed in his ears, drowning everything out.

“This flu takes people very quickly. Mr. Latham passed last night in his sleep.”

The news punched him in the gut. It pounded his chest and pierced his heart. No, this couldn’t happen to Joe. He had too much to live for. Thirty-six years with the love of his life. Cookies. Canasta. Joe, no.

Crushing weight settled on Bill’s shoulders and pressed him down into the bed. “Thank you, nurse. Tell his wife he said she was the love of his life. He died a happy man.”

“I will.” The nurse gave his leg a pat under the blankets. “This flu is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It takes people so quickly. It sounds like you got attached to Mr. Latham.”

“Only knew him for an afternoon, but yes, I did.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Try to remember he’s in a better place.” How could it be better if the love of his life wasn’t there? “You focus on getting better, Mr. O’Donnell. Try not to let this bring you down.”

It was too late. He was down—an unusual state for him. Normally, he was all jokes and nonsense and useless facts. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt quite so dark and alone. In the war, he’d lost comrades, but it was different. They died heroes for a cause. There was no heroism in this death. Joe’s passing didn’t serve some greater purpose. And it wasn’t a dignified death either. He passed laid out on his back, gasping for air, not fighting on a battlefield.

This flu was an enemy he couldn’t see, an enemy he didn’t know how to fight. But one thing he knew for certain was that he had to fight because this was a battle he couldn’t afford to lose.

He had to go home to Ann. Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to take him when he’d only just found the love of his life. Or could it?

He’d stared down death so many times, it felt like an old friend. In the air, every time he went up for a dogfight, death’s specter loomed large. But there was a thrill in tempting fate and a conviction that he was smarter and quicker than his enemies. Every day he flew, he tested himself against his enemy. And every day, he landed safe. It was proof that he was insulated, that death’s long hand couldn’t reach him.

And then flying for the postal service, he’d pushed his airplanes to their limits and sometimes beyond, flying distances that should have been impossible in those old Jennies. He’d flown in all kinds of weather in an open cockpit with nothing but his leather pilot’s suit to protect him. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers.

How many times had he run out of fuel shy of his destination? How many times had he been forced into an emergency landing by mechanical failures? Not to mention all the times the winds were against him, and he watched the sun dip below the horizon, forcing him to land in the dark. Death or glory, they always said. But the unspoken assumption was that death would always be cheated of his prize. They were too good, too crazy, too brave to fall into death’s clutches.

And yet here he was, after risking his life countless times, wondering if a head cold would do him in. By God, he refused to die such a mundane death. He had no desire to die young, but if he did, he expected to be thrown from a fuselage, not snuffed by sniffles.

Ann. He had to come home to Ann. She was the light of his life, shining so bright. He ached to feel the warmth of her presence.

Rallying all the rambunctious, rebellious corners of his mind, he pictured her. He drew each feature lovingly in his mind’s eye, the auburn hair, the sparkling green eyes, the perfect bow of her lips.

“Ann, I love you. I’ll come home to you, I promise,” he whispered to the white walls of his hospital room, hoping against hope that it was a promise he could keep.

27

The walls closed in on Ann. She could hardly breathe. The apartment was too small and far too hot. She wore her lightest summer nightgown. Why bother dressing when she wasn’t going to see anyone anyway? Junior was naked except for his cloth diaper. She wished she could take that off too. He developed an awful diaper rash that made him scream every time he soiled himself.

Fortunately, so far neither of them had gotten sick. It had been a week, and they were still healthy as could be, only stir-crazy from being closed in this oven of an apartment. If Bill came home… No. She wasn’t going to think like that. When Bill came home, they were going house shopping first thing. This apartment had begun to feel like a prison.

No one was guarding the door. The only thing keeping her inside was her own sense of caution and duty to others. Still.

She picked up her knitting and continued the sweater she was making for Bill. It might have been sweltering at the moment, but soon enough the autumn chill would come. She knitted one row and then another, then put it down. Pacing back and forth only made her hotter and more miserable. Junior, fortunately, had dozed off. He was sleeping less and less during the day, and this was a rare reprieve. Ducking into the bathroom, she opened the bathtub tap and stuck her head and neck under the cool water. Goodness, what a relief.

She took a deep breath in and let it out.

Bill was going to be fine. He was young and strong.

But from what the papers said, this flu was felling the young and strong the fastest. What if she lost him? If she prepared herself for the worst, then hopefully it wouldn’t come.

This time, becoming a widow wouldn’t spell disaster like it did with Roger. Bill had a nest egg that would carry her through. She also had the O’Donnells, who she was certain wouldn’t abandon her like Roger’s family did. Every day, Mrs. O’Donnell had been bringing over a casserole, the newspaper, and a brief written update on Bill, all of which she left on the doorstep. These little deliveries were the highlight of her day, and after seven days of this, she needed something to cheer her up.

Mrs. O’Donnell had been visiting the hospital daily, even though she wasn’t allowed to see Bill, and got updates on his health. Apparently, Bill’s fever was reduced, but his lungs were still in bad shape. Pneumonia, the doctor said.

Yes, best to prepare herself for the worst. The practicalities would be easier this time, but her heartbreak… Her heart thundered within her chest, a pounding beat of no, no, no. She traced Bill’s face in her mind. He was smiling his funny crooked smile. Those lips she’d kissed. Those eyes full of merriment. That unruly brown mop of hair on his head that always escaped the pomade.

She remembered suddenly that she was sitting on the bathroom floor next to the tub with the tap still running. Moving quickly to turn off the tap, she stepped into the tub, sat back, and leaned her head against the back of the tub.