‘Take it away, you two,” Nick admonished them, thinking of the tour again. “Watch out that she doesn't fly into a tree somewhere,” he warned Billy, and then shook his hand, while Cassie did their ground checks, and he watched her. Nick couldn't keep his eyes from her, and she loved feeling him near her.
She kissed her father then, while Billy settled in, and then there was no escaping it. It was time to say goodbye to Nick. Their eyes met and held, their hands touched, and then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently in front of the others. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted to be sure she knew he loved her.
‘Take care, Cass,” he whispered into her hair after he kissed her. “Don't do anything crazy on that tour of yours.” He still wished she wouldn't go but he knew he couldn't stop her.
“I love you,” she said softly, with eyes full of tears that told him everything she felt for him and mirrored everything he felt. “Let me know how you are sometime.” He nodded, and she stepped up into the cockpit as he squeezed her hand for the last time. It was almost impossible this time to leave each other. Pat was watching them, sorry for both of them. But he said nothing to reproach them.
Her father and Nick were still standing there as they taxied down the runway in the huge Williams Aircraft plane she'd borrowed from Desmond. Once off the ground, she dipped her wings at them, and then they were gone. Nick stood staring at the sky for a long time, long after Pat had walked back into the airport, long after her plane had left the sky. All he could think of now was lying beside her in the moonlight. And in a way, he was relieved that the next morning, he'd be going back to the war. He couldn't stand being here now without her.
She and Billy didn't talk much on the flight back to L.A. Her mother had given them a thermos of coffee, and some fried chicken. But neither of them was hungry. Her eyes told a thousand tales, but he didn't ask her any questions for the first two hours. And then, finally, he couldn't stand the silence any longer.
“How do you feel?” She knew what he was asking her, and she sighed before she answered.
“I don't know. I'm glad I saw him. At least he knows now.” She was filled with hope and despair all at once. It was hard to explain
“How did he take it?”
“As well as he could have. He was furious at first. He said a lot of things.” She hesitated and then looked at her friend grimly. “He thinks Desmond married me as a publicity stunt to make the tour more appealing to the public.”
“Is that what you think?” he asked pointedly, and she thought about it and hesitated. She didn't want to think that. “Sounds like sour grapes to me. Maybe it's hard for Nick to admit to himself that the guy really loves you.” But did he? He was so cool to her now, so involved in the tour, and nothing else about her. What if Nick was right, she wondered. It was hard to know, hard to see clearly, especially after the night she'd spent with Nick at the old airstrip. But she knew for certain that she had to put that out of her mind now. She wanted to be fair to Desmond. And she had to think of the tour. She could work the rest out later.
But thinking of the tour reminded her again of everything she owed Desmond. Nick wasn't being fair, and she didn't believe that Desmond had other women. He was completely driven by his work, he was obsessed with it. In a way, that was their biggest problem. That, and Nick Galvin. But she was returning to LA determined to play fairly. She wouldn't allow Nick to cast a shadow of doubt on their marriage.
But from the moment she returned, Desmond did everything Nick had predicted. All he did was talk about the press, and the Pacific tour. He didn't even ask about her weekend with her parents. And in spite of herself, she found herself suddenly suspicious of Desmond's coolness, and his constant love affair with photographers and newsreels. She questioned him about some interviews he had scheduled for her, balking at the necessity of it, and the tensions between them were instantly apparent.
“What exactly is it you're complaining about?” he snapped at her nastily at midnight on the day after she got back from her parents. She was exhausted from flying a twelve-hour day, followed by five hours of meetings. And he had ended her day with a bevy of reporters and photographers to take her picture.
“I'm just tired of falling over photographers every time I get out of bed, or climb out of the bathtub. They're everywhere, and I'm tired of it. Get rid of them,” she said pointedly, with a look of irritation.
“What is it that you're objecting to?” he said angrily. ‘the fact that you're the biggest name in the news, or that you've been on the cover of
