“Yes. And I’ve already written you one prescription that you must fill in two weeks’ time,” Dr. Caplan said.
“What?” I said. “You haven’t even taken my temperature.”
He handed me a piece of paper and I unfolded it.
“This is a prescription . . . ,” I said, squinting as I tried to decipher his handwriting, “for a ten-day leave in Antibes?” I looked up at him, frowning. “The South of France—are you serious?”
“Yes. You need a vacation—that’s an order,” he said, smiling. “In two weeks, assuming you’re well enough to travel by then. I’m guessing pneumonia from the looks of you.”
“The South of France is actually an order for the five of you that I’ve already arranged,” Liz said. “None of you have taken a break since Paris, and you need one. Things are getting under control here now, supplies are coming in, we’ve got more personnel. We’ll be in great shape by May.”
Frankie and Dottie clinked glasses as Frankie let out a whoop.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Viv said, getting up from the floor. “This calls for more champagne.”
“Ten days at the beach,” Blanche said. “We’ll have to do some shopping when we get there; I want to burn all my clothes.”
“But . . .” I tried to come up with the words, but what could I say?
Frankie grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Fiona, you know I understand how you feel. You still need to live.”
“I know,” I said. “I just have these moments of feeling so lost. My plan was to find him. And now? I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do next. Do you?”
“Yes,” Frankie said. “I’m going to get on a plane and head to the French Riviera on May 11. How about we all try not to think much beyond that?”
“Couldn’t agree more, Frankie,” Dottie said, looking at me. “All right?”
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go on vacation.”
It was pneumonia, as Dr. Caplan had suspected. I spent the next two weeks in bed, sleeping most of the days away, and after a course of penicillin, I was feeling well enough to travel to the South of France.
“I’ll be honest, Fi. If you hadn’t gotten better? I was going to convince the girls we had to ditch you. I swear I have never needed a vacation more.”
“Uh, thanks?” I said to Blanche, and she just smiled and put her arm around my shoulder.
The five of us had just disembarked from a C-47 in glorious Nice, France, the gorgeous sunny weather a reflection of the mood all over Europe. On April 30, Hitler had committed suicide in Berlin, and then on May 8, the Allies had formally accepted Nazi Germany’s unconditional surrender of its armed forces. After six years of suffering through a harrowing war in which so much had been lost, people broke out in huge celebrations in the streets in cities and towns all over Europe. And everywhere you looked, there were smiles on faces and Allied flags draped on buildings. Though there was still fighting in the Pacific, the world was breathing a collective sigh of relief that things were drawing to a close.
The small airport in Nice was teeming with Allied military, many of whom whistled or called to us as we walked by. Several hotels along the French Riviera had been opened for officers and GIs so they could finally get some rest and relaxation.
“When we were trapped in Vielsalm, I never thought I’d feel this warm again,” Viv said, her face turned up to the sun.
We got into a waiting shuttle bus for the forty-minute drive to Juan-les-Pins, a resort town just next to Antibes. We kept the windows rolled down and gasped at the beauty of the famed C?te d’Azur—the breathtaking beaches with their turquoise-blue waters, the palm trees, brilliant tropical flowers, and dazzling sunlight.
The H?tel le Proven?al was a ten-story white stucco hotel, one of five in the French Riviera that had been taken over by the Red Cross. Our driver informed us that it had been built by the American millionaire Frank Jay Gould in 1926 and that Ernest Hemingway and Charlie Chaplin had both stayed there.
Dottie, Viv, and I were given a room on the fourth floor. It had a stone balcony with a view of the sea and the mountains in the distance. Just below us was an enormous landscaped terrace with wicker chairs and tables. Off the terrace was a gravel path flanked by a low stone wall draped with bright-magenta bougainvillea. Beyond it was a small, sandy beach.
“I have never been anywhere this beautiful,” Dottie said in a quiet voice as we stood on the balcony and took in the view.
“It’s so stunning, it doesn’t even look real,” Viv said.
“Any word from Harry Westwood?” I asked Viv, wondering if she would be reuniting with him this week.
“Yes, of course,” Viv said, her face lighting up. “He’s coming down in a few days, staying nearby at the Hotel Eden Roc with a slew of British officers.”
“Yes, of course?” Dottie said. “Is this getting serious, Viv?”
“Maybe.” She gave us a playful grin. “You’ll have to wait and see. And Joe?”
“They’ve opened up hotels for officers in Cannes, so that’s where he’ll be in a couple of days,” Dottie said, chewing on her hair. She had been preoccupied lately. But all of us had been to some degree, the Red Cross survey weighing on our minds.
What would we all do next? I was still feeling adrift, even more so now that this chapter with my friends was coming to an end.
“Your turn, Fiona,” Viv said, as she brought out the complimentary bottle of rosé the hotel had left in our room. “Any news about Peter Moretti that you haven’t told us about?”
“Nothing,” I said, sitting down on one of the chairs on the balcony, not taking my eyes off the ocean. “I don’t think he made it; I think I would have heard from him if he had.”
“I’ve heard the Eighty-Second went through hell these last few months,” Viv said.
“Viv, not helpful,” Dottie said, giving her a look.
“No, it’s okay; I’ve heard the same,” I said, picturing him at the command post, our last kiss, our last words. “Thousands were lost in the fighting in the Ardennes. I haven’t even tried to find out if he made it out alive. I just can’t take more bad news about another person I care about. And then, of course, I still feel some guilt about caring about him at all.”
“Honey, I know you’re still on an emotional roller coaster with all that’s happened,” Viv said. “But I think it’s about time you stopped feeling so guilty.”
“She’s right,” Dottie said. “We’ve been living in strange circumstances. Stop feeling guilty about caring for someone else that was right here with you.”
Do fall in love again . . . I thought of Danny’s letter, how hard it must have been for him to write those words. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear them until I read his letter.
“You’re both right, and I’m working on it,” I said.
We sat there at the small iron table on our balcony, sipping our rosé and admiring the view, listening to the seagulls cry to one another.
“Even though this was not how I hoped things would turn out,” I said, “I’d do it all again. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”
“I think that makes three of us,” Viv said. Dottie just nodded as we watched the sky shift into shades of pink, orange, and gold as the sun set over the Mediterranean.
We spent our days swimming and sunbathing on the beach and our nights dining and dancing, alternating between Harry, Guy, and Joe’s friends. I got so much sun, the freckles on my cheeks multiplied, and the blonde streak in the front of my hair bleached out. And with such delicious breads and cheeses and fresh seafood available, my appetite finally returned with a vengeance.
On our second-to-last afternoon, the five of us were sitting on the beach and it occurred to me that I felt content, even happy. Since Danny had gone missing, there had been a part of me that had been holding on to life with white knuckles, forever waiting for news about him, afraid to ever breathe easy until I knew his fate.
My mind-set was starting to shift. Frankie was right—the not knowing anything had been torture. And though my heart still ached from the loss, there was a kind of peace in the knowledge that I hadn’t had before. Even though it would take me some time to completely heal, I felt a calmness I hadn’t felt since before Danny left for the war.
I couldn’t deny that I was still waiting on news of another soldier. In the past week, we had run into many of the officers and GIs we had met on our travels around the ETO, but so far none of our friends from the Eighty-Second.
Viv and Blanche were both asleep, stretched out on their beach chairs like cats in the sun. Frankie and Dottie had walked down to the water for a swim, and I got up to join them.