Page 121 of The Book of Summer

“It is. The problem is that many deny their abnormalities to induction examiners because they imagine the rigors of the environment can turn them around. Others plain haven’t acknowledged the truth.”

“Oh,” Ruby said lamely.

“In this case, based on extensive questioning and analysis, we believe your husband stretched the truth when entering the service.”

“You think he lied?” Ruby said, unsure whether she wanted to cry or scream or both.

Strong,she reminded herself.Your love for Sam will keep you strong.

“He’s never exhibited the slightest indication,” Ruby told the doctor. “And I’ve known him since we were children.”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” he said. “Perhaps we’re wrong and it’s a temporary lapse.”

“I’m sure that’s all…”

“I have to level with you, Mrs. Packard. A year ago, he’d have been sent his papers by now. A blue discharge, as it’s known. Not honorable, not dishonorable. But the lack of specificity is its own black mark. As I’m sure you’re aware, all employers ask to see military service records.”

“I’m not worried about Sam’s employment prospects.”

“Hmmm.” The doctor simpered as he looked her up and down. “I suppose not. The point is, he’s in a fortunate position because if we determine it’s an aberration, your husband can stay in the navy. A year ago it would’ve been an immediate discharge and even a stint at the brig. But we don’t have the luxury of squandering any borderline men who might prove fixable.”

“Borderline!”

“There simply aren’t enough to go around.”

“So I should pray he’s cured,” Ruby said, jaw tightening. “In hopes that you’ll be able to send him back out to fight? Another body to the war?”

“That’s the short of it.”

The doctor walloped his hands together and stood.

“Well, my dear, are you ready to see your husband?” he asked. “The good news is that a pretty wife is often a very reliable salve. Here. Follow me.”

***

Mary was right, the wench.

Sam looked as he always had. A little thinner, and tanner, but given the horrors one could see in a military hospital, Sam might as well have been starring in a cigarette ad. He was handsomer than ever.

“My Sam,” Ruby said, her hands cupping his face as tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh Sam, what have they done to you?”

“I’m sorry, Ruby, my love,” he said through his own tears.

“No. No apologies allowed.”

“Did they tell you?” Sam asked, wincing as he spoke.

“Yes. But never mind all that. This war, it goofs up people’s heads. That’s what happened, isn’t it? The fighting? All those months at sea? It’s polluting your thoughts.”

Sam bowed his head, hesitating, taking a beat. At once Ruby realized the crunch he was in. The doctor said it himself. If this was a slip in character, a brief crack-up to be patched, that meant Sam could return to battle. The nightmare would begin anew.

But if it were a permanent affliction, he could go home.

“Incidentally, I don’t give a fig about blue discharges or marred service records or any of that garbage,” Ruby said. “If this ‘condition’ can send you home for good, then by God I’ll accept it, a thousand times over and multiply that by two.”

“No,” Sam said, eyes wide with alarm. “Don’t talk like that!”

Ruby glanced around. Silly girl. They were in a military hospital, for the love of jam. It was no place to admit one’s secret desire to scotch the service.

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