Destiny

Also by Don Brown

The Navy Justice series

Treason

Hostage

Defiance

Black Sea Affair

The Malacca Conspiracy

The Pacific Rim series

Thunder in the Morning Calm

Fire of the Raging Dragon

Storming the Black Ice

Nonfiction

Call Sign Extortion 17: The Shoot-Down of SEAL Team Six

Acknowledgment & Background

To the more than one hundred thousand readers from around the world who have become fans of the Navy Justice series, I would like to thank you for reading and also for your kind comments which often have come to me by email at just the right time.

Many of my readers have called for more of Zack Brewer, the swashbuckling, young Navy JAG officer we first meet in my novel Treason. For those of you expressing this sentiment, let me assure you that your message has been heard. In the not-too-distant future, Lord willing, Zack will be back!

But years before Zack ever received his commission in the U.S. Navy, his grandfather, Walter Brewer, faced a unique military challenge of his own that would require personal bravery to survive. That challenge was called World War II, and the battle that would threaten Walter’s life took place on June 6, 1944, in Normandy, France. And, as will be seen, Walter will face even greater battles that follow.

This novel, Destiny, was actually penned two years before Treason. But Treason quickly found its way to publication in 2005, in large part because of the enormous popularity of the television show, JAG.

Now, nine years later, I am pleased to finally present the first novel that started it all, Destiny, a novel that is one of my sentimental favorites and that serves as the prequel to the Navy Justice series.

I hope you will enjoy getting to know Walter Brewer and, through him, I hope that we can come to a better understanding of the genetic, DNA makeup of his grandson, Zack.

Thank you for reading and God bless America!

Don Brown

Charlotte, NC

July 20, 2014

DEDICATION

Seventy summers now have passed since 1.3 million Allied soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen assaulted the beaches at Normandy, France in what would prove to be the largest, greatest, and deadliest amphibious assault in the history of the world.

They called it Operation Overlord, and the renowned broadcaster, Tom Brokaw, has aptly referred to the Americans who carried it out as, the Greatest Generation.

It is hard to argue with Mr. Brokaw’s assessment.

When we see the iconic black-and-white images from Normandy, of American landing craft opening into a spewing spray of German machine-gun fire, or of soldiers’ bodies washing in the surf as their buddies, crouched and low, stepped over them, advancing through smoke toward craggy cliffs beyond the beaches, the full story of Normandy is often overlooked.

Hours before the first bombardment from naval gunfire, before the first brave soldiers advanced in virtual suicide-waves onto the beaches, another story was unfolding. In the minutes just before midnight, at 2230 GMT, or 11:30 local time on June 5, 1944, C-47 transport planes jam-packed with U.S. paratroopers from the 82nd and 101st Airborne Division began taking off from airfields in southern England.

Their mission: to parachute in behind enemy lines, to cut communications, to establish communications checkpoints, and to kill Germans.

At forty-eight minutes after midnight, paratroopers from the newly-minted 101st Airborne Division, also known as the Screaming Eagles, began leaping from the C-47s over the French countryside. Fighting through thick cloud cover, navigational difficulties, and German antiaircraft and machine-gun fire, the men of the 101st would continue their parachute drops under dark skies for most of the hour, from 00:48 a.m., until approximately 01:40 a.m.

In the great epoch battle that would follow on the beaches with the rising of the sun, the Screaming Eagles of the 101st would mark history as the first Allied soldiers to land on enemy soil to begin the battle, and the first to spill blood in the liberation of Europe.

This novel is dedicated to their memory.

Don Brown

Charlotte, NC

July, 2014

The 101st Airborne Division has no history; but it has a rendezvous with destiny.

—Major General William C. Lee, U.S. Army

At the Activation Ceremony of the 101st Airborne Division

Camp Claiborne, Louisiana. August 16, 1942

Prologue

Nuremberg, Germany

November 9, 1938

They bowed their heads over the simple wooden table. There were three of them, and they joined hands over the steaming meal in an unbreakable circle of love.

The rabbi’s prayer, uttered in lilting Hebrew, had been passed down through the generations from Abraham.

"Oh, for the reasons to give thanks!

"For a warm home and loving family.

"For a faithful God.

"For a congregation committed to the good works of the Lord.

For a wife, beautiful and loyal, who has stood by me from the beginning and cared for all my needs—in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the synagogue, in our home.

Solomon had spoken of a wife like his Rachel in the last passage of the Proverbs. God had seen fit, in His infinite wisdom, not to give them children of natural childbirth, but He had blessed them through adoption.

Young Anna, a Gentile by birth with adorable locks of red, curly hair, would be raised Jewish. And she never would have been raised in the faith had Rachel not been obedient to God’s call.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name!

They released their hands and raised their heads.

Grateful and satisfied for the bounty of the Lord’s beneficence, the rabbi reached across the table for a piece of freshly-baked bread. His mouth watered as his fingers caressed the soft loaf. The fresh aroma seeped into his nostrils, and he thanked the Lord again.

What was that? Rachel said.

The sudden, bright flash from outside turned the rabbi’s head from the table.

Outside the window, a ravaging fireball lit the dark sky. Across the alley, a ferocious flame engulfed the wooden frame of the temple.

God, please help us!

What was happening?

As he stood, the front window exploded. Shards of glass flew in every direction. The wave of heat swooshed in through the shattered bay window.

The Gates of Hell had opened in their front yard.

A second loud crash! Another stone had shattered the rest of the windowpane, sending Rachel into a blood-curdling scream.

The rabbi looked down. His daughter, Anna, slumped to the floor. Blood gushed in a pool from the gash in her scalp. The stone had struck her skull.

Anna! Anna! Please wake up, Rachel screamed through a stream of tears.

Anna! Wake up for Papa! Anna! The rabbi fell to his knees, pleading and praying.

She is not breathing. Rachel pulled Anna’s head against her chest, rocking her like a little girl cradling a rag doll.

The rabbi rose to his feet, backing away several steps.

His eyes scanned from left to right, first to Anna and Rachel, then out the front window to the burning synagogue, then to the kitchen counter.

The blade glistened against the images of the leaping flame, now towering into the starry sky.

He grabbed the knife and charged out the front door into the cold night.

There! Standing behind the bushes! He locked eyes with the assailant.

An eye for an eye.

A tooth for a tooth.

Chapter 1

Seven Years Earlier

Union Station

Washington, D.C.

Monday, December 7, 1931

4:30 a.m.

Had he done the right thing by dumping her? After all, she had cheated on him. And with his own brother at that.

But then again, it happened before they were engaged.

And all they were doing—she and his brother—was making out in his car out by the tobacco barn. At least that’s what he thought they were doing.

He never actually saw them necking or kissing or whatever. His brother wasn’t even in the car when he caught her sitting there, stuck in the mud in a rainstorm, by the tobacco barn.

Still, the circumstantial evidence condemned her. The disheveled, blonde hair. The red lipstick smeared onto her chin and neck. Her white blouse pulled slightly down, exposing part of her tanned shoulder.

In his mind, he still saw the look of shock on her face when he showed up, before Billy returned on his tractor to rescue his damsel in distress.

It took months, but she humbled herself to the point of asking his forgiveness. Perhaps this marked the first time Ellie Williams had asked for forgiveness of anyone. What pride she must have swallowed when she wrote him that letter two months after the fact.

Of course, her apology in one sense marked an admission of guilt, like a murderer confessing to the crime. Before the confession, rather before the apology, he tried imagining that the smeared makeup, wrinkled clothing, and disheveled hair might have been caused by something other than his younger brother, his very own flesh and blood, acting like a dog in heat with his girlfriend. Although he welcomed her apology and was shocked by her showing a modicum of humility, it did nothing to stem his vivid imagination.

***

I see you found your tickets, Mr. Brewer, the conductor said in a whispered voice.

Walter opened his eyes and saw the conductor again towering over him. Lucky thing. Last thing I need to do is lose our tickets on the way home from our honeymoon, Walter joked. I’m sure sleeping on a cold, hard bench at Union Station would go over real well in the first week of marriage.

She looks like she’s sleeping well right now, the conductor said.

She’s bushed. We’ve had a whirlwind week. We got married at four in the morning on Monday the thirtieth so we could hop a six-o’clock train for our wedding trip to D.C. Walter handed the tickets to the conductor, who stashed them in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Early-morning wedding, sir?

You can say that again. Not too many guests. Just us and the preacher.

I’m happy for you and the misses, the conductor said.

Thank you. Walter again closed his eyes as the train began inching forward and took his sleeping bride’s hand. It felt warm and soft.

***

Sure, he loved Ellie. At least he thought he did. He had tried forgiving her for the afternoon necking session last October. After that, he even asked her to marry him last Christmas Eve. She cried with joy when he slipped the ring on her finger in her living room under the Christmas tree. It was the same ring his late father had given his mother.

She had waved her diamond-studded finger around the house that night, hugging her mother and father. Then they celebrated with some of Jimmy Williams’s famous Christmas eggnog. All four of them had piled into the car for the short trip to Grace Episcopal Church in downtown Plymouth for midnight services.

And then, trouble.

***

Walter opened his eyes. An hour must have passed, he guessed. He looked out the window and saw the sun rising over the frosty Virginia countryside as the Norfolk Southern Engine #387 barreled south through the chilly morning air.

The stillness of the rolling hills flashing by the cabin window reminded him of his grandfather, who fought for the Confederacy in these very fields.

Granddaddy Brewer would approve of what he had done this week, wouldn’t he? After all, the old man had preached the importance of perpetuating the family name, which ultimately required the cooperation of a good woman.

Walter dozed off, again, falling asleep to the rhythmic clickety-clack of steel wheels rolling over riveted iron tracks.

***

Ellie got what she deserved when Jessie Manning came along. No, Jessie wasn’t Ellie Williams, not in the looks department anyway. Still, Jessie possessed an intangible attractiveness. Shy. Demure. Pretty. The brunette, nineteen-year-old granddaughter of Christian missionaries to China, Jessie turned heads in her own way, and he found that pleasing.

Besides, he and Ellie were the economic mismatch made in heaven. Or perhaps hell, depending on one’s perspective.

The filthy-rich product of Saint Mary’s Boarding School in Raleigh, marking the best private education money could buy, Ellie strutted about with a self-absorbed air as the only child of Plymouth’s wealthiest man. By contrast, Walter, the grandson of a Martin County tobacco farmer, a cash-strapped, impecunious tobacco farmer, had learned the virtues of hard work by the sweat of his brow, by steamy hot hours in the summer tobacco fields, and by shooting deer and squirrels for food in the winter.

If Ellie ever saw a drop of sweat, who knew how she would react? The mental illusion of combining the concepts of Ellie and sweat together—or of Ellie and work together, for that matter—seemed as far removed as heaven was from hell.

That was another thing that bothered him. She had tried using her daddy’s money to lure him. You’ll never have to work menial jobs, she’d often said.

And then she dangled the most enticing carrot of all.

The offer had come from Daddy Williams himself on Christmas Eve of 1930, the night they got engaged. With a glass of heavily-spiked eggnog in his hand and a beaming smile on his face, Jimmy Williams promised to pay for Walter’s books, tuition, room, and board for him to attend Carolina. Right after the wedding, of course, Jimmy had added, with a jolly Merry Christmas followed by an affectionate slap of Walter’s back.

Jimmy and Ellie knew that attending the South’s greatest university in Chapel Hill was his life-long dream. They knew what would make him salivate.

Ellie urged him—in fact, almost pleaded with him—to consider the offer to attend the University of North Carolina courtesy of Jimmy Williams’s big, fat checkbook.

We can go to law school after that, she said. Besides, she wouldn’t mind living in married student housing for a while. Or so she said. It would even be an adventure while in school, before they came back to Plymouth to set up his law practice on Water Street.

Walter almost took the bait, and would have, had he not hated handouts. He would go to Carolina someday, Lord willing, but not on someone else’s dime. He would save his money and pay his own way.

When he got a job as a rural mail carrier in his hometown of Jamesville—a decent paying job at that—Ellie turned up her nose at the news. A mailman? Walter, you could go to law school!

Her attitude had infuriated him. At a time of widespread unemployment, with folks lining up at soup kitchens in Williamston, Plymouth, and Little Washington, he had been blessed with a chance to earn a steady income. Her snide comments about him not having to be a mailman made him want to dump her.

But somehow, in a strange way that he could not understand, Walter had a tough time letting go of Ellie Williams. The images of her blue eyes, blonde wavy hair, magnetic smile, shapely legs, and pencil-slim waistline often held court in his dreams. Then there was her personality—a quick-witted, friendly snobbishness he found stimulating.

In many ways, she was the perfect package. Maybe too perfect.

Why had she chosen him? This he never understood.

She moved among the good-looking upper class, the debonair likes of young attorneys, doctors, and bankers. Her romantic dalliances and conquests had included handsome athletic types, including the starting quarterback of the State College football team from her days at St. Mary’s boarding school in Raleigh.

Walter could look in the mirror. He was of average build, maybe slightly better-than-average looks.

All things work together for the best, and it was a good thing he had caught her cheating with Billy. It was just another sign, he finally decided, that they were too different. That it would never have worked.

So he’d dumped her, again. She cried and threw the ring at him.

It had now been six months since he had seen her or talked to her. He had never told her about his engagement to Jessie. Fact is, he had never even told her about Jessie. He should have told her, he knew. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

***

Walter Brewer turned to his dozing bride, massaging her on the back of her neck.

Wake up, sleepy head. We’re almost there.

Jessie smiled at him as she returned to consciousness. Where are we?

We’re in Nash County, ten minutes from the station.

What time is it?

Walter pulled out the gold pocket watch Ellie had given him last Christmas. A little after five o’clock in the afternoon.

Thirteen hours on a train. I’ll be glad to get off. Jessie rubbed her eyes. So, do you think your brother will be on time to pick us up?

Billy had better be there, if he knows what’s good for him, Walter joked.

And what if he’s not? You’re gonna make him sit in the corner with his nose against the wall?

Either that or ban him from using my car on weekends.

"You are a harsh one!" She laughed.

***

The train slowed as a large black-and-white sign with the words Rocky Mount, N.C. came into view. Jessie, who sat next to the window, strained for a look outside.

I can see the station, Walter. Her voice rang with excitement. I can start decorating our new home for Christmas.

Great, Walter replied. I’ll start getting our baggage out of the overhead compartment.

As the locomotive ground to a halt releasing a long sigh of hissing steam, Walter stood in the aisle and popped open the compartment over their heads.

Walter, I don’t see Billy anywhere.

I guess he’ll be sitting with his nose in the corner tonight. Walter chuckled. Don’t worry. He’ll be here.

While Walter retrieved their suitcases, Jessie again surveyed the waving crowd just outside the train.

Walter, I see Billy! He has somebody with him!

Who is it?

"I can’t quite see. But she is beautiful," Jessie said.

A girl? Billy’s got a girl with him?

Walter stooped down to try and get a glimpse.

I don’t see anything.

Walter, it looks like that girl you were engaged to—Ellie Williams.

Walter laughed as he tickled his new bride under the chin. You are so amusing.

Stop it, Walter. I’m not kidding. Look!

Chapter 2

Nash-Edgecombe Train Depot

Rocky Mount, North Carolina

December 7, 1931

Her deep, blue eyes shot through the windows of the passenger cars, darting back and forth in search of their target.

Walter felt the sweat beading into cold drops on his forehead just below his hairline. With his right hand, he wiped away the clammy moisture. He could not, however, alleviate the severe abdominal knotting caused by the sudden, unexpected sight of his beautiful, sassy, and sure-to-be-hellacious ex-fiancée.

Hell hath no fury . . .

He took two deep breaths.

I should have told her about Jessie.

I wonder why she’s here with Billy, Jessie said.

I should have told her about the engagement.

Walter?

Get hold of yourself, Walter.

Walter!

Keep your cool. Be friendly. Don’t ruin the end of your honeymoon, no matter what.

He motioned for Jessie to step off the train first. Then he stepped down onto the curb—right into the faces of his younger brother and ex-fiancée. Brother Billy! Ellie! It’s great to see you both!

Welcome home, you lovebirds, Billy shot back.

Walter, I’m so happy for you. Ellie threw her arms around him and gave him a big bear hug. Dressed to kill and looking as fine as ever, Ellie sported a well-fitting, red-and- black silk dress.

And Jessie, congratulations. You have a great one. Ellie released Walter and gave Jessie a much briefer congratulatory hug.

Thank you, Jesse said. How sweet of you to come.

What in the world is going on?

Here, let me help you with your bags.

Thank you, little brother, Walter said. Don’t mind if I do.

An uncharacteristic chattiness had beset Billy. Two sentences within thirty seconds. At least his rambling broke the awkwardness of this bizarre situation.

"We’re parked right over here." Billy pointed to the far corner of the gravel parking lot as he led the foursome toward the Model A Ford.

So. Did ya’ll have a good drive up here? Walter asked.

Let’s say it was exciting, Ellie answered. Your brother drives a bit faster than you. She smiled at Billy, who smiled back. Then she winked at Walter.

He’s always been kind of a reckless driver, Walter fumbled for words to keep the conversation going.

I hope you’ll let your reckless brother drive us at least one more place before we drop you off at your new home, Ellie responded.

And where is it that my reckless brother wishes to drive us? he asked.

Billy? Ellie batted those irresistible blues at Billy as if she expected him to answer Walter’s question.

Poor Billy did not stand a chance if she had been blinking her eyes like that at him on the way up here.

Billy? Ellie again summoned his name.

Oh, yeah. Uh, we’re going to the Carton House.

Ellie whispered into Billy’s ear, "The Carleton House, Billy. Not Carton, but Carleton with an L."

Excuse me, Billy said. We’re going to the Carleton House to celebrate.

You sure you want to go there, little brother? I know it’s just around the corner, but the ticket’s pretty pricey.

Nonsense, Walter, Ellie answered for Billy. We want to celebrate and treat you and Jessie to a first class dinner in honor of your wedding.

What’s with this we stuff? At least I know who’s picking up the tab—the Williams trust fund.

That’s sweet, added Jessie.

The foursome walked into the marble-floored parlor of the lavish old restaurant. A brilliant crystal chandelier hung overhead in the entrance of the dining establishment, the restaurant of choice for doctors, lawyers, and politicians in Nash, Edgecombe, and Wilson Counties. The Restaurant’s proprietor, Chet Borders, had been a fraternity brother of Ellie’s father, Jimmy Williams, years ago and remained friends with the Williams family.

As a result of the never-ending Williams family connections, the quartet got a personal escort to their secluded table by Mr. Borders himself, where a bottle of expensive champagne awaited them, chilled in a bucket of ice. As the brothers held chairs for the ladies to be seated, Borders wasted no time pouring the sparkling alcohol into the four glasses that had been preset.

Ladies and gentlemen, I understand congratulations are in order, Borders said.

Congratulations indeed! Ellie added. Mr. Borders, I’d like to present the lovely newlyweds and good friends of mine, Mr. and Mrs. Walter Brewer.

Welcome to the Carleton House, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer. Over the years, we’ve had a number of newlyweds and honeymooners dine with us. And any friends of the Williams family in Plymouth are friends of ours.

Thank you for the hospitality, Walter said. We’ve heard great things about the restaurant.

As the distinguished-looking restauranteur walked away, Ellie reached over and whispered something into Billy’s ear, who then spoke up.

I’d like to propose a toast to my brother and my new sister-in-law. With Billy’s toast, the clanking of four glasses converged over the center of the table, as Billy and Ellie followed with sizable swigs of the light bubbly stuff.

Both Walter and Jessie left their flutes untouched on the table.

Oh, I hope we didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Ellie sneer-smiled. I’d forgotten. Walter’s not much of a drinker.

That’s okay, Billy interrupted with a chuckle. Neither is Jessie, for that matter. If they don’t want it, I’ll be glad to help ‘em polish it off.

To that, I propose another toast, Ellie said with a tinge of sarcastic enthusiasm. To the newlyweds! May they forever be happy! Billy and Ellie downed the rest of their champagne, while Walter and Jessie switched to their glasses of water.

Five minutes later, Ellie polished off glass number two and ordered a second bottle. Billy kept up with her, glass-for-glass.

Jessie glanced at Walter as Ellie half-slurred another announcement. We’ve toasted the newlyweds. And now, I believe Billy has an announcement to make. Billy?

What’s the hurry? How ‘bout another drink first? Billy smiled and gulped more champagne.

"At least we know who’s not driving home." Walter’s half-joke fell flat before Billy and Ellie’s spirited drinkfest.

Okay Billy, you should have had enough champagne to calm your nerves by now, Ellie teased. Let’s hear that announcement.

Uh, well. Billy hesitated, looking sweaty across the forehead as he guzzled the remaining half a glass of champagne in one swoop. Well, let me put it this way. Walter ain’t gonna be the only married Brewer brother.

Walter saw Ellie cringe when Billy used the slang term ain’t.

What do you mean by that? Walter demanded, leaning forward and staring into the eyes of his baby brother.

Well, Billy muttered, pouring more champagne in his glass.

Tell him, Billy. Ellie smiled as she placed her hand on his and shot a glance of satisfaction at Walter.

Well, okay. Me and Ellie.

Ellie interrupted him midstream and whispered in his ear, "Ellie and I, Billy. It’s Ellie and I."

Oh, yeah, Ellie and I. Well, we’re gettin’ married!

Walter felt every drop of blood drain from his face. He looked at the smirk on Ellie’s face, her big blues batting with obvious satisfaction as she looked at one brother, then the other.

Congratulations, Jessie broke the silence.

Thank you Jessie, Ellie shot back. "I’m so much looking forward to being part of the family."

When’s the big day? Jessie continued.

Saturday the nineteenth.

The nineteenth of what month? Jessie asked.

The nineteenth of December, Ellie said.

That’s right around the corner, Jessie said.

We know, Jessie. But when you know something’s right, there’s no point in wasting time. And for some reason, I always wanted to get married on the nineteenth. Just a silly thing, I guess, Ellie said. You know, my birthday’s on the nineteenth of August. But that fell on a Wednesday. And I hear that Wednesday’s not a good day to get married. So the next available Saturday the nineteenth is December, just two weeks away.

I guess it doesn’t matter what day you get married if you love each other, Jessie observed.

Ah yes . . . love. Ellie took another drink of champagne. "Love is in the air, isn’t it? And speaking of love, we want you both in the wedding. We were going to get married at my church. I’m a member of Grace Episcopal in Plymouth. But unfortunately, Janie Morgan Outen is getting married that day. So we’re getting married at your church in Jamesville!"

You’re getting married at First Christian in Jamesville? Jessie asked.

Yes, and won’t that just be sooooo convenient, Ellie said with a smirk.

If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll step into the ladies’ room. Jessie got up and walked away from the table, disappearing in the general vicinity of the ladies’ restroom.

That’s a good idea, Billy blurted. I’m headed that direction too.

Now, alone at the table with Ellie, Walter looked in her eyes and began a whispered interrogation. I didn’t know you and Billy were dating.

We weren’t, she snapped, "until you left on your honeymoon. Besides, I didn’t know you were getting married."

I’m sorry. I probably should have mentioned it to you.

"Probably should have mentioned it to me? How nice of you to come to such an obtuse realization."

I . . .

We were engaged, Walter, Ellie snapped.

I . . . Well . . . We broke that off months ago.

"We? Did you say we broke off the engagement?"

Well . . .

"Well, I’m just glad that we, after careful and mutual discussion and deliberation, came to this joint and rather well thought out decision. And I especially appreciate the input I was allowed on the matter. She grabbed her full glass of champagne without looking at him. Bottoms up. Another gulp. So in conclusion, it’s good to know that we—as you say—broke that off months ago."

Okay. Okay. So it could have been handled better. Walter looked around. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. I’ll take responsibility for that, and I apologize. But what’s this engagement thing with Billy? You can’t be serious. You say you’ve only been seeing him a week?

Billy and I did make out by the tobacco barn once, Ellie quipped. Remember the time you caught us? That one time in the tobacco field, combined with a week of dating while you and sweetie were on your honeymoon, should be more than enough time on which to make a decision for a permanent relationship.

Ellie, stop being sarcastic. This is your future you’re talking about. And Billy’s too.

What’s the matter, the big brother newlywed getting jealous as soon as he gets back from his honeymoon? Another swallow of alcohol.

Of course, I’m not jealous. Walter’s blood boiled hotter by the second. But a week? Come on, Ellie. That’s not enough time to decide to get married.

You would know about short engagements, huh?

Ellie, that is uncalled for! When several heads from adjacent tables turned in his direction, he resumed his refrained-but-strained whisper mode. You and I both know Billy’s not your type. What are you going to do at the end of the day? Discuss Elizabethan literature? Or maybe you could take a cozy stroll around downtown Plymouth and chat about the Federalist Papers while you watch the lazy Roanoke roll by. Walter felt like grabbing her flute and downing the rest himself. You’d be bored with him in two weeks. A gulp of water. Who proposed to whom, anyway? Another swig.

"Walter, of course Billy thinks he proposed."

"He thinks he proposed? Like I don’t know you put the idea in his head. What are you trying to do, Ellie? Are you trying to marry Billy to punish me?"

Now Walter, you know me better than that.

I know you all too well. And I know your favorite Shakespearean quote, Ellie.

About hell hath no wrath . . .

Like a woman’s fury, he said. Yeah, that’s the one.

Tisk, tisk, Walter. What’s it to you, anyway? Ellie said. You don’t care about me.

That’s not true, and you know it.

It’s not? Look at you now!

Just because I married Jessie doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.

Walter, do you remember the last thing you said to me that day in June at your house?

Walter paused for a moment. About the rain check, right?

That’s right. You promised me a rain check, and then you disappeared without a word, she muttered under her breath.

I just apologized for that.

Let me put it this way. Let’s just say poor Billy is the rain check you promised me.

I don’t understand, Ellie. It sounds like you’re using Billy as some kind of pawn or something.

"Moi? C’est ne pas possible, Monsieur."

Cut the French, Ellie. You’re half inebriated.

Inebriation seems the appropriate course of action under the circumstances, don’t you think?

Seriously, can you look me in the eyes and tell me you even love Billy?

Walter. We both know the answer to that question, don’t we?

Yes, we do. Which is why you should not marry him. It’s not fair to marry someone you don’t love.

Now Walter, I never actually admitted that I don’t love Billy, did I?

You admitted it without admitting it.

What’s the matter? Don’t you want me in the family? Having me as your sister-in-law a little too close for comfort, big boy?

That’s not it. I just want . . .

Hello. I’m back. Jessie had returned from the ladies’ room.

Jessie! Ellie’s tone changed from sarcasm to syrupy sweet, causing Walter’s stomach to turn. Walter was expressing his congratulations, she slurred. You two need to mark your calendars for the nineteenth.