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Roy Jarvis was as handsome and charming as Mira had promised. He stood about three or four inches taller, his sharp cheek bones cleanly shaven. After enlisting, he had the chance to become an officer but chose to see action as a fighter pilot.
Lightly holding the crook of her elbow, he had led her out onto the small dance floor, "New Hampshire? Can't say I have ever been to your neck of the woods. Though I imagine its beautiful country."
Catie glanced up. She was surprised by the blush creeping into her face as he took her in with friendly, hazel eyes. He certainly was attentive, "It is pretty, especially in the autumn."
His repositioned his hand, holding hers against his shoulder. His hold on her waist was politely loose but still firm enough to show he was interested, "I would love to see it sometime. Isn't that a wonder to be able to say that and know it is possible?"
"I have a hard time believing it's all over too." Catie nodded knowingly.
"Sometimes it doesn't feel fair," he attempted with a weak chuckle though his tone was dry. Catie looked up to see his eyes grow faraway.
"No," she choked, "It doesn't."
Roy's expression softened as he returned to the moment at hand, "I'm right pleased they introduced us. I have really enjoyed your company today."
Catie brushed a curl from her face self-consciously as he led her towards a table near the bride and groom. Catie and a few of the other nurses still in Paris had scrounged enough money to rent a small room next to a hotel bar to host a reception for their friend. Mira had almost teared up at the surprise.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Roy asked, pulling out a chair for her.
"Thank you. White wine?"
"I will be back in a moment."
He helped push her chair to the table. His hand lingered on her shoulder before walking towards the open double doors leading to the bar. Once his back was turned, Mira jutted into the seat by Catie and nearly knocked out of her chair.
"Well?" Mira gripped her friend's forearm, "What do you think?"
"You weren't exaggerating that's for sure," Catie took a deep breath and smiled, "He's very nice."
"I knew you would like him! Anthony said he's straight as an arrow, he drinks but he's never seen him drunk. Flirts but doesn't go home with the girls. At least he doesn't think he does-"
"Mira, I said he was nice. I didn't say I was going to head back to the church and barrel down the aisle with him," she chuckled, popping an olive from her plate into her mouth.
Mira sighed, her eyes drifting over to Anthony who was talking to one of his superior officers who had dropped by to wish them well. Catie hadn't been surprised by the man her friend had married. They were two sides of the same coin, mouthy and passionate. They were, in a word, perfect for each other.
"I just want to see you happy. You know it's only because-"
"I know," Catie cut her off, reaching out and grasping her shoulder with a squeeze, "I love you too."
Mira's eyes glazed for a moment and her mouth fell. Her eyes drifted from the empty third seat by Catie. The one that should have been occupied by Joan.
"I wish she could have been here too," Catie whispered.
Mira's eyes brimmed with the tears she had never cried for their dear friend. There was a gaping void at the table and a wound that neither of the young women knew how to heal.
"It's so wrong." Mira breathed, a tear breaking free.
Catie struggled to keep her composure. She managed a shaky smile as the small band sparked into a lively number. The life in the music revived Mira.
The bride sat up straight, brushing the tears from her face with a thumb as she glanced back towards Anthony. The groom looked over, his dark gaze tender as he observed his new wife.
"Joan would have wanted us to enjoy this day," Catie murmured, taking her friend's hand in her own, "We shouldn't let her down."
"No, of course you are right. Now where did Mr. Jarvis scamper off to? He’d better not neglect you," Mira stood, her eyes shooting towards the door.
"He went to get us some drinks," Catie dug into her clutch for her compact and lipstick.
Mira was quietly staring out at the bar, her mouth pursed tightly. Catie peered up at her quizzically.
"What is it?"
Ted couldn't imagine what possessed him to jump out of that cab. He threw whatever French currency was in his pocket at the irate driver and opened the door. The cab barely rolled to a stop before he was sprinting down the street.
The street signs were confusing. No matter how long he was in that damned city, he was sure he would never be able to find his way. Finally, he recognized some store fronts and the church from which the wedding party had emerged. The group was long gone but maybe he could find out where they went.
He tore open the oaken door and entered the silent, stone chapel. His steps were firm as he approached the altar and tugged his hat from his head. The Priest was neatening the sanctuary.
Ted cleared his throat, "Excuse me, S'il vous plait…"
The priest turned and adjusted his spectacles. The old Frenchman's face broke into a smile, "Ah yes!"
"Yes?" Ted repeated, confused.
"The wedding!" He replied in English, his accent rich as wine, "Yes, on Rue d'André, the hotel…" He snapped his fingers looking into the far corner as he tried to remember, "I cannot, how you say…recall. The hotel on Rue d'André."
"The hotel on Rue d'André," Ted repeated slowly, his face brightened, "The wedding party, there is a reception?"
The priest laughed and nodded fervently, "Aussi vite que possible, quickly!"
Ted was unable to keep from smiling as he backed up towards the door, "Thank you, father!"
His mother would have been horrified to see him running in a church. He bolted down to the door, the priest chuckling behind him. He had no idea where the street called Rue d'André was but by God, there wasn't anything that was going to stop him from finding it.
After nearly an hour and several difficult conversations in broken English, Ted McNeil stood outside the only hotel on Rue d'André. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the silvery, lavender glow of the Parisian twilight into the lobby.
Beyond the warm, red tones of the hotel lobby, he gripped his hat as he entered the bar area. He could hear music drifting in from a rented room next to it. His heart was thudding in his ears. Laying a hand on the sandy wood of the bar, he dared peek into what he assumed was the reception for Mira's wedding. There was a good sized party with servicemen mostly from the Air Force. He recalled from England that Catie had mentioned that Mira's man was an Airman. He recognized some of the girls from Aldbourne on the dance floor.
The next thing he knew, he was watching Catie. The man she had been walking arm in arm with on the street was dancing with her. Ted studied them with morbid fascination, the man's large hand was almost possessive as it lay on the small of her back. He was holding her other hand and she was glancing up with a faint smile. She bit her lip and laughed.
"Well?"
Ted's mouth was dry as he looked away, his eyes on the bar. The bar tender was wiping down a wine glass, his eyes disinterested as Ted looked up.
"What will it be?"
"Beer," Ted managed, sitting down at a stool, his shoulders hunching over, "S'il vous plait."
The bartender grunted and turned away. Ted ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to slow his thoughts. Her presence was burning into the back of his head. She was so close. The bartender slid a glass nearly foaming over towards him. Ted nodded and tipped the glass back.
"Excuse me?" Another man saddled up to the bar.
Ted looked over and blinked. It was Catie's date or whatever he was to her. For all he knew, the man was her fiancé.
"Scotch and a glass of white wine, please." He smiled amiably.
Ted took another pull from his beer. The Airman tapped his fingers on the bar, glancing back over his shoulder towards the room. Ted cringed at he felt the man's gaze drop on him.
"Hell of a place, huh?"
Ted coughed, nearly choking on a swallow of beer, "What?"
"Paris," He sat down with a smile, his southern accent refined as though he came from old money, "I have to admit, this is my first time in the city. It's a hell of place, I've got to say."
"It certainly is," Ted managed, trying to seem casual.
"Roy Jarvis," he stuck out a hand with a nod.
Ted shook his hand but stayed facing the bar, "Ted McNeil."
"Where you from, Ted?"
"Oregon."
"Oregon, huh? I have a buddy from around there, I think he said he's from Eugene?"
"Yeah, not far from me."
"Is that so?" Roy squinted with a grin, "Small world. So what do you do in Oregon, Ted?"
"We're just going to have to wait and see when I get back, I suppose." Ted shrugged. His brain hummed with the dread that this had been a mistake. A wildly disastrous mistake.
"I understand that. I'll be heading back to Natchez myself and joining my old man's law firm like I said I would before Hitler started this whole mess," Roy thanked to the bartender and paid him, "Still, I wouldn't mind doing some traveling a bit before settling down. Maybe New England, but who knows."
Ted tried to keep from visibly shuddering. He tipped his head back as he finished the beer in one swig. Ted set the glass down hard, Roy nearly jumped at the sound.
"I have to go, it was nice to meet you, Roy." Ted clapped him on the shoulder, his head buzzing with alcohol. He trotted out of the lobby and into the street.
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