Page 21 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
It’s Sebastien.
His tone is clear and sonorous as he sings the first refrain. It carries in the chill morning air, and just like in The Frosty Otter, his voice rumbles low in my belly. I’m weak in the knees at the sound of it—so cliché, and yet undeniably true—and I have to lean on the storage shed to stay standing.
All around me, though, Sebastien’s voice seems to have the opposite effect. Calm descends on the harbor, first as theAlacrity’s crew picks up the second verse of the shanty, and then as the men and women of the other crabbing boats join in. Soon the entire port is a swell of sailor song and camaraderie, and I get another weird sense of déjà vu, until I realize that what I think I’m remembering is actually a vignette I wrote a long time ago, a World WarII story about a different captain, in a different port—Pearl Harbor.
Jack hums a sea shanty as he admires himself in the mirror in his new lieutenant uniform. He was top of his class at Annapolis and joined the navy as an ensign straight after graduation, and now he’s received his second promotion just a couple of years into his service. Sure, it’s a little easier to rise in the ranks right now because of the war, but it’s not that easy. The United States is still a neutral party, sitting on the sidelines while the rest of the world dukes it out. Promotions have to be earned, and Jack nods proudly at the new bars on the collar of his shirt and the stripes on his jacket.
One of his fellow officers, Darren, knocks on the door and sticks his head in. “Preening like a peacock, Jacky boy?”
Jack laughs, grabs a pillow off his bunk, and hurls it at him. “You’re just jealous.”
Darren catches the pillow and flings it back. “Jealous that you have more responsibility now? No, thank you, sir. I’mhappy as a clam as a low-ranking CO. I’m telling you, it’s only a matter of time before we get dragged into this war, and when that happens, I prefer to have fewer men’s lives on my conscience.”
Jack makes a face. “That’s a strange attitude for someone from a navy family.”
“It’s because of my family’s long history in the navy that I have that perspective. It’s called wisdom.” Darren taps his head solemnly, but he’s grinning like a kid who’s just set off fireworks on his neighbor’s lawn.
Regardless, Jack answers seriously. “Well, I don’t intend to let any of my men die.”
“That’s why we all love you so,” Darren says. “It’s your earnestness and charming naivete.”
Jack is, however, far from naive. He’d already seen too much death before he ever stepped foot in the hallowed halls of the United States Naval Academy, before he reported to duty here at Pearl Harbor. But no one knows that except him. There are some wounds that are too raw and painful for a man to share, so Jack swallows them whole and keeps them buried there.
“Anyway,” Darren says, “I came by to let you know that there’s a party in town tonight. Live music, stiff drinks, pretty girls…whaddya say? Want to get off the base?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack says. He’s broken quite a few Hawaiian hearts in the two years he’s been stationed here, and he needs a little break from their crying, which inevitably happens when the girls he kisses want more than he can give.
“Come on, what better plans can you possibly have?”
“I think I’ll spend a quiet evening in, reading a book.”
Darren shakes his head. “You’re wasting the superpower that that uniform—and those fancy new lieutenant stripes—grants you. All you have to do is walk into the bar tonight, and half of Honolulu will swoon for you. Hell, you could take all of them to bed at once if you wanted.”
But Jack doesn’t want it. One-night stands are the equivalent of vodka shots—you feel good in the moment, but then you’re left hungover and feeling hollower than when you started.
“Thanks for the invitation,” he says, “but really, I’m staying in tonight.”
“You’re like an eighty-year-old man in the body of a…how old are you anyway?”
Jack shrugs. “What does it matter? I thought you just said I was a comic book hero. Superman’s around thirty and immortal at the same time.”
Darren chuckles. “You’re a curmudgeon, that’s what you are. I bet under that fancy uniform you’ve got on a cardigan, not Superman’s cape.”
“I’m okay with that.” Jack laughs. “Never thought I’d look good in tights anyway.”
“Well, if you change your mind about tonight, we’ll be at the Tiki Tiki Lounge. See you later, old man.” Darren salutes, half in jest, and disappears down the barracks hall.
Jack admires his new lieutenant bars in the mirror one more time, then grabs his hat and heads for the door. If he’s going to stay in and read tonight, he better swing by the library before it closes.
He wanders through the three fiction shelves, hoping to find something new. The naval base’s library isn’t the most impressive of collections, since most of the men prefer drinking to reading in their spare time, but Jack has, on occasion, managed to find a few gems here.
“Excuse me,” Jack says to the librarian. Her back is to him, but as far as he can tell, she’s the only one in the room.
She turns around, and the instant their eyes meet, a sweet shiver runs through him, and he can’t move.
“You’ll catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that, Lieutenant.” She laughs as she sets down her stack of books. Her name tag reads Rachel Wilcox. She’s definitely new; Jack would have noticed her before if she wasn’t.
Rachel wears a blue dress patterned with tiny white polka dots, cinched at the waist by a matching belt. There’s sass in the swing of her hips, and a teasing condescension in her tone, as if she, too, knows all too well that the men on this base prefer breasts over books. As if she suspects that Jack is just another soldier who got lost in the library on the way to the bus downtown.
