The First Boy I Loved

Will traveling to the past bring her to the future?

Marry me, Gilly.

No.

She could still hear herself saying it despite what was happening between them.

No.

We’ll fight about this when I get back, he said. She could hear the sadness in his voice, but she hadn’t relented. She had been willing to yield her body, but not her resolve.

I know you love me, Gilly.

Yes. And it hadn’t mattered.

She gave a quiet sigh. She had given Tucker a great send off, but she had paid the price. She willingly entered into a life-long conspiracy with a coterie of women who had protected her, supported her, given her another chance, regardless of what the nunnery-boot camp rules were concerning such bad behavior. It might have been because a half-trained nurse was considered a salvageable necessity for the Vietnam War effort. Or it might have been because she had already earned her membership in her other, her first, sisterhood. Luckily for her, it was one that looked after its own. As far as she knew, no one else had ever found out about the pregnancy or the adoption. Not June. Not Tucker. The only person she herself had ever told was A. J. Donegan.

Other Bell Bridge Titles by Cheryl Reavis

Promise Me a Rainbow

The First Boy I Loved

by

Cheryl Reavis

Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books

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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-426-6

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-406-8

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2014 by Cheryl Reavis

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo credits:

Couple (manipulated) © Yurmary | Dreamstime.com

:Abfl:01:

Dedication

For my baby sister, who made me read A Pony For Tony—or as she called it, Tonypony—to her more times than I can count. I never got away with turning two pages at once, and heaven knows I tried. I think this prolonged exposure to the written word may have helped me become a writer. I know it made me want to write something else. Thanks, Rosie!

Chapter One

I’LL TAKE HER with me. That’s the best I can do.

Gillian waited for her son to finally absorb the fact that she was actually saying no to him. No, she wouldn’t postpone her trip, and no, it didn’t matter to her that he and his new wife had very important career obligations that precluded their being bothered with the troublesome female child from his previous marriage.

Well, how long are you going to be gone? he asked. Maybe we can still—

The invitation is for a month.

A month! Mom, she’s fifteen years old. She can’t pick up and go half way around the world for a month!

Why not?

She’s in school? he suggested pointedly.

"Justin, there are only—what—two weeks left? Marie here told me she’s failing math and English—apparently because she hasn’t passed a test or handed in an assignment since before Christmas. She couldn’t keep the criticism out of her voice at his having let a bad situation continue for far too long. What difference will it make if you pull her out early? I doubt she can catch up at this late date even if she wanted to. She has a current passport. She has a father who can afford to buy her a roundtrip airplane ticket. She has a grandmother willing to take her along. What neither of you has is a lot of time to make up your minds. I’m not changing my plans."

Gillian offered no apology, no explanations. The arrangements were all made, and she hadn’t come to the decision to go easily. She didn’t miss the look that passed between her son and his wife, a look that landed somewhere between Now what? and Could we?

Clearly, Marie, at least, wanted to.

I’ll... have to think about it, Justin said.

Fine. You have less than a day. I’ll be at home if—

What makes you people think I’d go!

The inconvenient child in question had suddenly found her voice. Gillian looked in her granddaughter’s direction, wondering as she always did these days what had happened to the loving little girl she used to know. She barely recognized the sullen creature that had taken her place—the one with a silver stud body piercing above her left eyebrow. And the new creature had embellished its disguise by wearing black nail polish, tri-colored hair, and a deliberately provocative, raveled-hem denim skirt that was hardly more than a belt.

None of that bothered Gillian, however. Teenagers were determined to make their statements, even if they didn’t realize that what they were actually telling the world about themselves was far from what they intended. It was the look in the iridescent turquoise-rimmed eyes that worried her. A look that had only appeared in the last few weeks and had apparently made no impression whatsoever on the people who should have noticed that this girl had a tiger by the tail, and she was beginning to realize it.

At the moment, they were both too concerned about their high-powered jobs... and now too engaged in considering the merits of Gillian’s offer. Everything about Justin and Marie suggested it would be a blessed relief to actually send this bothersome, troublemaking child twenty-plus hours away by jet plane.

Mae! her father said sharply. You watch yourself, young lady! I’ve just about had it with you!

Yes, Daddy, she said sweetly, the tone rife with sarcasm.

Damn it, Mae, I mean it!

Hold it! Gillian said loudly. They both looked at her, startled. I’d like to answer Mae’s question, she said more quietly. If I could have a minute with her alone, please.

Marie was only too happy to relinquish her participation in trying to rein in Justin’s ungrateful daughter.

Come on, Justin, she said, all but pulling him out of the room with her. Gillian could hear their whispered but heated discussion as they continued down the hall toward the kitchen.

You’re not going to talk me into anything, Mae said. I love Carson. I’m staying here. With him.

Mae—

I love Carson! You don’t know how I feel!

"No, you don’t know how I feel. I’ve been your age—you haven’t been mine. I don’t want to talk you into anything. You asked a question. I’m going to answer it—speaking only for myself, of course. I’m going to tell you what makes me think you’d go."

Things are different now. It’s not like it was when you were young.

"Things are different. Not people—"

"It won’t do any good! I’m not going anywhere. I mean it!"

Gillian waited for a moment before she continued, gathering her thoughts, reminding herself not to bring Carson into the discussion. Mae’s need to protect him was too strong—because Marie had come home unexpectedly yesterday and found him and Mae in bed together. Gillian didn’t know how far the tryst had gone, and she didn’t want to. Her goal at the moment was not to make Mae’s clearly unsuitable relationship with this boy seem any more like forbidden fruit than it already did.

She walked over to the mantel, to the silver-framed photograph of Mae when she was in preschool.

Do you remember when this was taken? she asked.

Mae stared at her, apparently trying to decide if this was a trick question—or something worse.

Well, I remember, Gillian said when she didn’t answer. It was during the early days of the war between your mother and your dad—before you got used to it. You were old enough to understand something of what was going on, and you were so scared. You and I were sitting at the kitchen table—coloring in one of your coloring books. It was raining outside...

Gran, I have things to do. Are we going somewhere with this? Mae interrupted, her profound boredom with the topic causing her to look at the ceiling and sigh.

I guess not, Gillian said. I’ll get back to the question. She couldn’t tell if Mae was listening or not.

Your dad thinks I’m going to Vietnam to visit one of my old nursing school classmates. Her son-in-law and her daughter live and work in Saigon. He’s a film producer—I understand you can make movies very cheaply there. Her daughter runs an art gallery. My classmate—June—moved there so she could be close to her grandchildren.

Gran, I really don’t need to know all this.

"Yes, Mae, you do. It’s not good to make important decisions without knowing all the particulars. So. I am going to see her, but that’s not the real reason I’m making the trip. I’m going because I have something I need to take care of, something I should have dealt with a long time ago. I’d just... buried the whole thing and hoped it would go away. Sometimes things won’t stay buried, though, and this pilgrimage, if that’s what it is, is going to be... hard for me. Emotionally. Actually, I expect to get my heart ripped out."

Mae looked at her then. Why?

"It’s... personal. Something nobody in the family knows anything about. Not your dad, not your granddad when he was alive. Nobody.

"There’s a reason why I would be willing to make this kind of trip with a sullen, put-upon teenage girl—you, Mae. I told your dad I’d take you with me because I remember the other Mae, the one who lived here until a few months ago. And I remember when you were four years old, you and I were coloring Big Bird and the purple one—Grover. I looked over at you. You had a yellow crayon in your hand, and you were coloring away, but tears were running down your cheeks. Then you looked at me, and you said, ‘Don’t leave me, Mana’—that’s what you called me then. ‘Mana.’ And I said, ‘Don’t worry. Mana and Mae—we stick together. Whatever happens, you won’t be by yourself. I’ll be there watching your back.’ And you said..."

Gillian didn’t go on. She could tell by Mae’s face that she didn’t have to.

"I’m not going to hold you to a promise you made when you were four years old—but of all the people I know, there’s no one I’d rather have with me on a journey like this—watching my back—than the real Mae.

You don’t have a lot of time to decide which Mae you are and whether or not you want to help me get through this. You’ll have to make up your mind today so your dad can see about getting your ticket and your tourist visa. I don’t think there’s much doubt he’ll let you go.

He just wants to get rid of me, Mae said, her voice barely audible. They both do.

Yes. At the moment, I think he does. This thing with Carson has him scared. You’re growing up—which means he has to, too. His reluctance to do that in the past is mostly my fault—I thought I had a lot to make up for. But that’s another story. Gillian picked up her purse. Have you called your mother about staying with her for a while? it suddenly occurred to Gillian to ask.

She says she doesn’t have any room. She’s got a new baby to take care of.

Gillian had forgotten about that. Fresh new babies trumped old problematic ones every time.

I’m going home now, she said. If you do decide to come on this trip, you’ll have to lose the attitude. I didn’t let you walk all over me when you were four—and I really liked you then.

She didn’t wait for Mae to respond to that remark. She left the room.

Mom? Justin called as she stepped into the hallway. Marie and I think it might be good for her to go with you. You’d take good care of her, right?

Gillian sighed. No, Justin. I plan to sell her to a brothel. Look. June says she lives in a secure district, and neither of us is known for doing anything particularly risky. She’s emailed me all the info about traveling safely. I’ve done as much preparation as I possibly can. Really.

I didn’t mean...

Just call me later and let me know what you and Mae decide, okay? If she’s going, she’s going to have to have some more conservative clothes. You’ll probably have to do her visa application online, and we’ll hope it’s on the right computer when we get to the airport. You’ll need to talk to her school, and I’ll need a notarized medical permission and insurance cards in case she would happen to get sick while we’re gone.

He took a deep breath, but he didn’t try to persuade her to change her mind about going again. Even so, Gillian thought he was still hoping she’d give in and cancel her trip.

So did she say anything about Carson? he asked.

She loves him.

Sure she does. That little bastard is lucky I didn’t kill him. I still might.

Gillian smiled slightly, remembering a time when he’d been the same kind of little bastard. Given the shambles he’d made of his first marriage, she wasn’t altogether sure he wasn’t still.

Just call me and let me know, she said. She gave him a token kiss on the cheek and left, breathing a sigh of relief when the front door closed behind her. She hadn’t planned on this latest family crisis, and she wasn’t going to try to fix it. She loved Mae, but Mae wasn’t her child. She was Justin’s, and he was going to have to behave accordingly.

The sun had gone down, and a steady rain began to fall on the drive home.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

The rain was full of ghosts, like a poem she had once read and remembered only vaguely, a woman’s recollection of things past, men past. It seemed to her now that her entire married life must have been haunted by the ghost of another man, one she always knew was there but never, ever acknowledged. She had deluded herself into thinking that she’d moved on, and she had been so proud of how well she’d managed. She had married someone else, had a child, had what even she would call a good life. But then her husband Charlie died, and she’d been caught up in a kind of relentless remembering, only she wasn’t remembering Charlie. She was remembering Ben Tucker, the man who should have been her husband.

At first she’d tried to find reasons for her sudden obsession with the past. Maybe it was the new local radio station that broadcasted oldie goldie music twenty-four hours a day. Or maybe it was because she’d run into some of her old classmates at the dedication of a new wing at the hospital where she’d gone to nursing school, ones who remembered when Tucker was in her life but not what had happened to him.

I thought you’d marry that guy who was so crazy about you, Gilly, one of them said, clearly not remembering why Gillian hadn’t until it was too late. And Gillian couldn’t make herself respond to the remark. She’d stood there, as the ensuing silence lengthened, until another of her classmates moved the conversation in an entirely different direction.

Tucker was so cute, Gilly. I would have done him in a heartbeat, she said. I mean it.

Me, too, another classmate, who had just walked up, said.

I’m talking about hot, sweaty sex here.

Well, me, too!

They had all whooped with laughter then, knowing that the people around them who had overheard were more than a little disconcerted that the old grads were having such an earthy conversation.

Gillian smiled, thinking about it now, knowing how Tucker would have laughed if he’d heard it.

But her smile faded. Maybe it was all of those things, and maybe it was none of them. All she knew was that she couldn’t explain it. How could she when she couldn’t even remember Tucker’s face? She had never had a photograph of him, and now only her young self knew with certainty what he’d looked like. Unfortunately, her young self was long gone.

She could remember the sound of his voice, and there were times when she could almost feel his breath against her ear, smell the soap he’d used when he shaved.

I know you love me, Gilly.

But she hadn’t loved him, and she’d told him so. If she had, she wouldn’t have done the things she’d done, and she wouldn’t be so filled with regret now. She had actually gone to a Vietnam veterans online message board looking for... she didn’t know what. Company, she supposed. Other people still carrying the kind of baggage that made them miserable. All the messages had been poignant and sad, but one—a simple question—had hit her hard: Where is our child?

She’d felt as if Tucker himself had asked it from the other side of that black marble wall in Washington, DC.

Tucker, are you somewhere watching all of this?

She hoped not. Surely he would have suffered enough without that.

She gave a quiet sigh and changed radio stations, only to switch back to the oldie goldie music again.

Let the memories come, she thought. She was tired of fighting them.

She had learned from one of her old classmates at the hospital dedication that June was living in Saigon—Ho Chi Minh City—and that she was feeling homesick and lonesome. Gillian had been closer to June than any of her other classmates, and she had emailed her a brief hello, which quickly evolved into a long electronic conversation about their respective widowhoods and ultimately into an invitation to come to Vietnam to visit.

What a mess, Gillian thought suddenly. She had no idea what would be best for Mae. Her granddaughter was clearly the worse for knowing young Carson Hamby. Gillian had met him once and had found him far too knowing and sophisticated for someone as naïve as Mae was. There was no doubt that he had given her a certain confidence, but it was the wrong kind, the kind that resulted in her dressing in the provocative way she dressed these days and saying the sarcastic things