On an ordinary day the hustle and bustle of other people’s lives went unnoticed. Every ordinary day seemed like a mirage, a flashback, of days previous. Record names, weights, heights, measurements, and other strictly personal information and transfer it all into the creation of another professionally made customized fancy gown, or casual dress. Of course, these qualities only apply to a dressmaker’s ordinary day.

Nick was a bachelor by chance, not by choice. Since he was old enough to follow instructions he’d been working in his father’s dress shop, a boring, lonely existence. Most women were uncomfortable dating a man who knew how many inches they were from bust to buttocks. They flirted, of course. Boy, did they flirt. But he learned very quickly that the only time he was going to see a woman’s dress lying on his bedroom floor was if he worked into the night and fell asleep. Thus, Monday turned to Tuesday then to Wednesday and so on and everything was ordinary. Nick craved change, craved adventure and was always on the lookout for someone, anyone who dared to be extraordinary. 

It happened on a Wednesday. 

He was cutting fabric diligently, minding his own business when a chime went off letting him know someone had entered the shop. 

“I’ll get it!” Nick called back to his father, putting down his scissors. 

He walked to the front where a woman stood with her back to him. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, amazed as she turned around by her striking beauty. 

“Oh!” The woman yelped in alarm, not hearing him enter the room. “Well, you see, I’ve got this dress,” she said in a foreign accent, holdld up a beautiful silk evening dress, “I’ve ripped it. I was hoping you could fix it.”

Nick noticed her nervousness and figured that the dress might not be hers, “Of course. We’ll need it for at least a day. We have a lot of other things that I have to get to first.”

Her face dropped and she approached the counter slowly and methodically, “It can’t wait,” she said, a hint of desperation in her voice, “You see, I’m not supposed to have it. I have to return it immediately.”

Nick couldn’t help but smile, just as he had suspected, as he’d heard a million times before, the dress did not belong to her, “I’m sorry Miss you can’t jump the queue. I can have it to you by Friday at the earliest.”

“Please, you don’t understand!” her voice was high and panicked and Nick almost jumped when she reached out and grabbed his hand tightly, “My husband bought me this dress, it’s his favourite. If I don’t have this dress for tonight he’ll be furious. I’m not supposed to take it out. He was afraid I might ruin it and I did!” Tears were welling in her eyes, and he was a sucker for tears, so it didn’t take long before Nick was agreeing to fix the dress immediately. 

“Really?” she excitedly questioned, “Are you sure you can fix it that soon? I don’t want you to try the impossible and not fix it properly.”

He wondered why after all of her pressuring she was suddenly worried that he couldn’t do it. He knew that her obvious innocence and lack of social experience could attribute to her flustered ignorance. 

“Miss,” Nick planted a warm, reassuring smile on his face and took the dress from her hands. “This is 1939, anything is possible. Don’t worry about the dress, you’ll of course be charged extra for my time so I’ll make sure it looks good as new.”

She seemed relieved yet not unsettled by his declaration of extra costs. He knew that she had money. Designer shoes and handbag and this dress made of such fine silk he knew it must be imported, much like she seemed to be. They arranged a pick up time and when the bell chimed again on her departure he set to work on repairing the damaged garment over his lunch break. From how it was ripped he could tell she’d stepped on the train, pulling free a seam. He sat and wondered for a few moments; curious to know why this girl had tried on this forbidden dress and what she had done to rip it. 

It was a regular pastime of his, to try and think up different scenarios of how people ruined perfectly good clothing.

‘A forbidden dress,’ he thought to himself having never heard of such a formality. In a way he could see that maybe her husband kept the dress from her, knowing her klutziness, not wanting to damage his investment. He thought back to what she said about it being his favourite and he instantly knew the answer. The dress was power. She wore the dress when he wanted her to wear the dress and no other time. He didn’t even know the man but he knew he was a jerk and probably didn’t deserve his pretty wife. Pretty, she most certainly was; a redhead Greta Garbo, even. Long ginger hair, fair skin sprinkled with freckles, lean but not skinny, and short. Nick liked that.

The only thing he threw him off about her was how young she looked. He wouldn’t have put her a day over 16. When his father was young it was not out of the ordinary to see something like that but now, things were different; this was the future. Girls nowadays would at least wait until 18 until they got married, until they finished high school. They pushed the limits of modern society. Now it was becoming normal for them to get commissions for college graduation dresses before wedding dresses. Setting aside his thought of gossip he got back to work on the task at hand. 

“Is that Mrs. Henderson’s?” Nick’s father Robert asked as he walked into the sewing room. 

“No, I’ll get to that later. A woman came in with sort of an emergency so I said I would do her dress first.” Nick replied, not looking up from his work.

“Mrs. Henderson is a friend of mind, she expects things done in a timely manner.”

“It will be Sir,” Nick assured him, “I’ll work into the evening if I have to.”

Robert eyed his son sceptically. He knew that Nick didn’t want to spend his life being a dressmaker, especially now that the trade was predominantly run by women. Then there were department stores. Women were now running to department stores to buy the latest designs by the big new designers – like Chanel. Nylon stockings were replacing silk and everyone wanted to look like a movie star. So the days of dress making were slowly becoming replaced by the days of mending torn dresses designed by Jean Louis or Tina Leser; on the odd occasion they were trusted enough to fix the torn Chanel. It was for those reasons, but not those alone, that Robert knew Nick disliked his job. He never complained but he lacked the passion that his father, and father before him had for the art; for Nick to take on extra tasks was unlike him, and mildly suspicious. 

“So,” Robert began, watching Nick carefully. “This woman must look like Greta Garbo if you’re so keen to please her,” he knew that Nick hated when he teased him about his love for the Swedish bombshell. 

Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes, knowing his father would assume he had something up his sleeve, even if he did happen to think the girl looked similar to his favourite actress. “No, she was married anyway. She just seemed really upset and I wanted to help her out; besides, she’s paying extra.”

Robert smiled, his favourite game was getting Nick worked up because he always won. “Just make sure everything else gets done,” he said before leaving to tend to other business. 

Nick checked the time, one o’clock. Two hours until his mystery woman returned. He quickly glanced at the pickup receipt, looking over her name and address. “Mary O’Hara,” he read quietly. “She’s not quite Greta Garbo, but she sure is pretty.”

That morning’s incident with the dress had left Mary flustered. At first she wasn’t sure what to do then she remembered seeing a seamstress when she and her husband Jonathon had last been into town. To say she was surprised to see a man working there would be an understatement. She didn’t think men with a talent for sewing did anything but tailor men’s fashions. She certainly would not be comfortable having a strange man know all of her particulars, especially that man.

To Mary, Nick had come off as mocking, even borderline rude. Despite that she found herself strangely comfortable around him, drawn to him. He seemed like the kind of guy that away from work he could take you out and have fun, unlike the rest of the men in her life. 

Mary’s parents were wealthy, and they lived in Ireland next door to Jonathon’s parents who were not just wealthy; they were elite. Mrs. O’Hara knew from early on that no woman was going to fall in love with her youngest son. He was crass, rude, bull headed, selfish, and had most certainly scraped the bottom of the barrel in the gene pool when it came down to looks. They were quick to notice the pretty little girl next-door and just as quick to make an irresistible offer to her parents. Mary would come with them to America, she could grow up attending the finest schools and when she came of age she would marry Jonathon.

The offer seemed too good to be true; Mary’s room and board would be paid for, she’d become a part of a fine family, and would someday have a little piece of the O’Hara’s fortune. Before she could even protest Mary found herself packing, for the long voyage to America, with the promise of a better life. Better, it was not. Mary attended school for three years after arriving in Greenwich, Connecticut with the O’Hara’s. During those years she was tortured verbally by the other children for her funny accent. She began to talk without it and lost a fair amount of it, but a few words and pronunciations always got away from her.

Home life was even worse.

Sheila O’Hara was getting anxious for Jonathon to get married. He’d gotten a position working at a bank and bachelors didn’t get invited to a lot of social events. In Sheila’s opinion, Mary only need know how to read a recipe card and count out the milk money. As soon as she could she pulled Mary out of school and planned a wedding. By thirteen she was married, they had Mary lying about her age (Jonathon knew that is coworkers would not approve of a girl so young) and mysteriously Mary’s parents never said a thing about their daughter’s sudden nuptials. Sheila had thrown an extra thousand pounds in their direction for the early marriage. That was nearly four years ago. Mary thought that she and Jonathon would move onto their own lives after the wedding but he had different plans. He was not interested in Mary for anything more than a date to work functions. He had not, much to her joy, even tried to consummate their marriage.

Sheila, on the other hand, was now anxious for grandchildren. Her husband had died the previous year so she lived with her son and his wife, trying to encourage the girl to do her wifely duties. She even tried to bribe Mary, making Jonathon buy her expensive things (like the now damaged dress) to try to get her to love Jonathon enough to get pregnant. Children were the next logical step up the social ladder.

The only things Jonathon cared about were money and work. You have to work, to get more money. He was ridiculously cheap, like many wealthy people, and could not in his mind justify giving Mary expensive gifts. He didn’t trust her with the spoils of his hard work so he locked all of her presents in a closet, only unlocking it when they had to go out so she would look rich to all of his friends. He told her he was just worried about spills or tears on her nice dresses and was afraid the maids might steal them from her closet.

Being young and naïve, Mary bought his story but only for a short while. She quickly saw through his lies, she learned to pick locks and she played dress up for hours in his precious frocks. The house, of course, had to be empty for this kind of play. On that day it had been, and she had paraded around in the most precious of them all – a dress handmade for her in France by a woman whose name she chose to forget.

She was dancing with her shadow in the foyer when the sound of keys in the front door made her realize she’d lost track of time and Sheila was back from tea. Mary had bolted for the stairs, making it to the last step when she heard the tear. She ran to her room and grabbed one of her housedresses, using all her strength to tear it near the hem. She changed and hid the silk dress in her bag then explained to Sheila that she’d ripped her favourite housedress and was going to have it fixed. Though she didn’t question it, Sheila silently wondered why Mary couldn’t fix a simple cotton dress herself, but the thought didn’t linger long.

Mary checked the time, nearly three, and decided to go see if the dress was done, partly because she was anxious to return it and partly because she was curious to see the shop owner again.

~*~

The door chimed brightly, announcing the arrival of a customer. Nick left what he was doing and walked to the front, mildly surprised to see Mary standing in front of the counter.

“You’re a little early,” he said, checking his pocket watch (the only family heirloom he would ever inherit completely non-business related).

“I know,” Mary said apologetically, “I just got anxious so I thought I would come see how it was going.” 

She took him in as he stood before her, not realizing the last time she’d come just how good looking he was. Tall, tan, blond hair, blue eyes, he was simply a vision of aesthetic perfection. That being said, after looking at Jonathon all of the time, anyone would look great. He truly was attractive though and there was something about him, something she couldn’t place. She thought for a moment of all the romance novels she’d secretly read, having taken them from one of the maids when looking for reading material one day. They described her feeling the best. Nick stirred something inside of her. The something she’d been thinking of, of course, was sex. She found him incredibly sexy. Maybe it was the firm way he spoke to her, (as if she was not a young lady but a mature woman) that she knew she wanted him to walk over and tear her clothes off. Just like in all the books. 

Nick watched her carefully as she drifted away in thought. He took the moment to look her over, just as she had done to him. He couldn’t deny he liked her body, and found her all around attractive but couldn’t get over how young she looked. He blushed; embarrassed for thinking about her like that when she was probably only worried about the status of her dress. 

“I actually just finished,” Nick said, breaking the silence and a bit of the sexual tension, “You ripped it good.”

“I’m just glad you could fix it,” Mary said in a relieved voice. 

Nick went into the back quickly and retrieved the dress, smiling at her excitement over his work.

“It’s perfect, thank you!” Mary said as she took out money to pay. Nick pretended not to be shocked by the amount of bills in her wallet and accepted her payment graciously. 

As the bell chimed on her way out the door Nick could only hope it was not long before he saw Mary O’Hara again. 

~*~

When Jonathon came home one afternoon, seemingly ecstatic, Mary knew that something good had happened at work. He’d been promoted to assistant bank manager. The bank was even going to throw a party in his favour to celebrate. Sheila was the only one to notice how odd it was that her young daughter-in-law became very excited at the news. She seemed almost giddy about the party when normally she would not have cared. 

“What are you so happy about?” Sheila asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, nothing,” Mary replied coyly, “I was just thinking that with this promotion party I’ll have to get something new.”

”Like...”

“Like a new dress! Maybe I’ll have one made; a special occasion deserves a special dress.” Mary grinned, excited about the prospect. Not of the new dress but of the dress’ maker. She knew that Nick could avoid her no more so as soon as she could Mary went down to the dress shop, to inquire about her dress. But much to her disappointment it was Robert at the counter when she arrived.

She looked around him, trying not to hide the fact that she was looking for someone else. 

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Robert finally asked once the girl had stopped searching the room. 

“I’m looking for Nick,” she got straight to the point.

“He’s not working today, he’s feeling a little under the weather,” Robert explained, “I’m sure I can help you with whatever it is.”

He couldn’t, Mary needed Nick. He fuelled her fantasies. A substitute dressmaker, no matter how similar they were in looks, would just not do. She thought quickly, not wanting to offend the man. 

“It’s not that,” she began, still working out her excuse in his head. “I’m a friend of his. He said I could…uh…borrow…a record! Yes, he said I could borrow a record!” One thing she had remembered about the times she’d come in was the jazz playing in the background. She quickly learned and committed to memory that Nick loved jazz. 

“A friend?” Robert asked quite surprised. First of all he knew that Nick didn’t own any records, nor did he even have a record player. He listened to the radio when he worked. As well, his son was not known for his social skills so for him to have someone calling, especially someone of the female persuasion was out of the ordinary. Who was he though, to not embrace his son’s sudden talent for friend making? This was something he’d wished for his only child, “I am sure he won't mind if you went up.”

Mary froze; she was only looking for a way out. She hadn’t realized that the shop was in their house, or that their house was in the shop. Either way, she was torn deciding whether it would be safe to take her obsession straight into Nick’s living room or whether she should reserve it for dressmaking. The decision, as it turns out, was not a difficult one to make. 

“That would be great! Thank you!” 

Robert showed her to a set of stairs that lead to the top floor of the building. It crossed her mind as she climbed the steps that her intruding on his personal time might upset Nick. She quietly opened the doors, which lead straight into their kitchen. She could hear the faint sound of the radio, followed by a sneeze, so she knew he was awake. She found him sitting on the chesterfield in the living room. Music playing softly in the background he sat in a pair of dark gray long johns, covered by a colourful afghan, reading a very thick, very serious, looking book. She worried about startling him since he seemed so at peace. Thinking it would be best to whisper, she quietly said his name.

Nick shot straight up, not expecting anyone to be in the room much less Mary O’Hara. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, feeling very exposed in just his long underwear. 

“Your father let me in,” she answered, having expected a severe reaction from him, “I said I was a friend of yours.”

“You WHAT?” Nick exploded, jumping from the couch. Sure to keep the blanket in front of him modestly he wagged his finger at the girl, “This has gone too far! At first I thought you were being sweet, that turned to borderline obsessive, and now you’re stalking me at home! What is it that you want from me? I’ll fix every rip in your entire wardrobe but I draw the line at you going around saying you’re my friend!” 

It had been a bad idea to come, Mary now realized. Somewhere in her overactive imagination she had imagined things going much differently. Men in her books would never yell at the heroine. 

“Why not, what’s wrong with me?” she pleaded with tears in her eyes, not knowing why he was so angry at the thought of them being friends when he didn’t seem to have any anyway. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Nick sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he sat back down, “That’s what the problem is, you’re a beautiful young girl, emphasis on young, you’re also married. Do you honestly believe that people would accept that we were friends and nothing more?”

“You think I’m beautiful?” she asked with a blush, completely disregarding the seriousness of his question.

Nick sighed again and motioned for her to sit down in an armchair. Once she had he cut straight to the chase, “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Mary replied honestly.

Hearing her speak the words made it all the more frightening for Nick. He had assumed she was young but had also left open the possibility that she merely looked younger than her years. He was right, on both counts. 

“I’m twenty-six,” he said, searching for a way to not hurt her feelings with his next revelation, “There’s no way we can be friends. A girl your age can’t have a man my age as a friend. People will talk; they’ll assume we’re having an affair. That could ruin your marriage and my business.”

“We’ll just tell them we’re only friends,” Mary suggested as if it were a simple solution. 

Nick couldn’t help but smile at her pure innocence, “It doesn’t work that way. Telling people the opposite of what they want to believe only fuels the rumours. The only way people would accept that we were completely platonic would be if…I was a co-worker, or a teacher or something.”

“Then I’ll come and work here!”

Nick was quick to firmly shake his head, “No way! First, we’re not looking for anyone. Second, you’re a young girl who should be in school, not working.”

Mary thought about his reasoning, knowing he was probably right. She only wished she could be like girls her age, in school gossiping about boys and fashion while playing field hockey in her spare time. Things were not that way though and no matter how Nick spun it she was still lonely. She didn’t want the company of just anyone she wanted his. 

“What if…” she held her hand to her mouth in thought, “I was to hire you too teach me how to sew?”

“I’m not for sale.”

“I didn’t mean you were! You said people would accept you as my teacher! Teach me how to sew. I’ve got no one here. You’re the only person I know,” she was swiftly interrupted by his soft but firm tone.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know,” she resumed, “I want to. Judging by your father’s reaction I’m going to assume you don’t really have friends either. All I want is some company; I haven’t been able to meet anyone else who even speaks to me like I’m human.”

He could almost hear the walls of resistance crumbling down around him. He felt sorry for the poor girl feeling completely alone, and he could feel sorry because he knew exactly how she felt. 

“All right, I’ll do it but you’d better be prepared to actually learn how to sew! I don’t plan on sitting around chatting like a couple of old ladies having a tea party. You’ll have to get your own sewing machine, and you are paying for materials. Please don’t make me regret this,” he warned.

Mary had never in her life been happier. She would no longer have to rip her clothes, and find excuses to go into town because she was getting lessons! She let out a girlish giggle and ran over to hug Nick tightly. 

He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

~*~

Mary was so excited about her sewing lessons that she wasted no time in talking to Jonathon about them. As much as she disliked it, he still had to give the okay on the idea. 

“Did you sort out your business about the dress for the party?” Sheila asked as she cut a tiny piece of roast beef on her plate. 

The truth was, Mary had completely forgotten to mention it to Nick, “Yes, and while I was there I found out that the owner gives lessons in sewing! I thought it would be a great idea and would save money on tailoring! It would be a very valuable skill to have, I think,” Mary didn’t mind lying; in fact she found it fun since they always fell for her stories. 

“I didn’t realize Robert Carter gave lessons,” Sheila said sceptically. Before Mary had the chance to tell her who the real teacher was, Jonathon chimed in with his surprising support. 

“I think it’s a great idea! I know for a fact that the bank manager’s wife, Helen Lawson, also has an interest in sewing! We’ll have to find you a top of the line machine!”

Money and networking were the name of Jonathon’s game so as long as Mary’s new hobby made him more interesting and kept her distracted he was fine with it. He couldn’t be bothered with trying to entertain her and was tired of her complaints of boredom. 

If sewing was what it took to shut her up then she could sew to her heart’s content. 

Everything seemed to be working out perfectly. In Mary’s mind, everything she wanted was playing directly into her hand. She could tell that Sheila was not entirely convinced. Jonathon may be gullible but his mother was not. She always expected the worst, never believed anyone had good intentions and was just generally pessimistic. Mary’s sudden interest in sewing, for instance, was something that she just couldn’t seem to grasp. No one got that excited about learning to sew. It was a chore, after all and O’Hara’s did not get excited about chores. 

The dinner conversation around the table then turned to politics (Jonathon named the topics then was sure to tell you how wrong you were on the matter). Sheila momentarily forgot about Mary’s new hobby while they talked about the President, and where he was taking the country. In her seat Mary could not stop thinking of Nick, and her lessons and wondered when they would begin. 

She knew she could only expect to be learning about thread and other such things but she couldn’t help holding out for the thought that things would continue to go exactly as she wanted. She wanted Nick to like her back; she wanted her romantic fairytale and most of all she wanted to feel needed, wanted and loved.

‘Sewing is boring,’ Mary repeated to herself for the third time in an hour. She’d had five lessons, each as dull as the next. Mary knew that Nick had been serious about teaching her to sew, she just never realized how serious. From the moment he arrived at her door until the moment he left the sewing machine would be going. The only time she stopped was when he was giving her the next instructions. It seemed that her streak of getting her way was coming to an end. 

Where Mary believed that Nick just wasn’t interested, he actually had different motives for his actions. His first visit had been completely supervised by the elder Mrs. O’Hara. He could sense that she didn’t want him there and was checking up on them. As each lesson came and went the older woman seemed to be looking in on them less and less and by this point, six weeks in, she finally decided to leave for her daily tea and bridge game. Nick was now worried about what was going to happen while they were alone. 

Mary had been trying, although poorly, to seduce him for months. During their lessons she’d lightly touch his back or arm and lean in very close while he spoke. She had also managed to wear the most revealing clothes in her wardrobe. He never let her know it but she was driving him crazy. Crazy with lust, that is. He was afraid that once they were alone Mary would make her move and he wouldn’t be able to tell her no. He didn’t want to deny her, but he had no plans on becoming a home wrecker any time soon. 

When the front door closed they both knew that Sheila was gone and anything could happen. Mary grinned and Nick immediately picked up the pattern they’d been working on, studying it like he’d never laid eyes on it before. 

“Looks like we’re all alone,” Mary said coyly, her hands playing with a piece of fabric. 

“Certainly seems that way,” Nick agreed without taking his eyes away from the pattern papers in front of him. 

Mary sighed loudly. She’d thought about this moment many times. In her head Sheila left and they would drop what they were doing and start tearing each other’s clothes off. 

‘What would the women in the books do?’ She questioned silently, knowing she could be as wild or daring as any one of the fictional romance heroines. Excusing herself to get a glass of water Mary ran to her room then grabbed her favourite silk robe and set her plan into motion. 

“Must be a really tall glass,” Nick muttered to himself as he waited for Mary to return. He was about to get up and see what was keeping her when she suddenly appeared in the doorway and cleared her throat.

He was frozen in shock, not from her magician-like entrance but because she stood before him in nothing but a small silk robe. He wasn’t sure what to do, his body was telling him to bow down at her feet and do her bidding but his brain was saying ‘RUN!’ He didn’t even get the chance to think before the robe hit the floor and all thoughts of leaving flew out the window. 

Nick was in awe, Mary was more beautiful than he had originally imagined. Perfect ivory skin, soft curves, and just a little bit fleshy – the way he loved his women. ‘Snap out of it!’ he scolded his overactive libido, ‘she’s married!’

“What are you doing?” he finally asked with a shaky voice. 

Mary loved his reaction but had worried momentarily that they would end up standing there all day in silence while he stared, “Do you want me to cover up?” she asked innocently, biting her lip. 

“No! Yes! Oh, all right, no, but you’re married so yes!” a jumble of words fell from his mouth quite ungracefully. He stepped towards her and picked up the robe then placed it back around Mary’s shoulders. 

She sighed, disappointed. Then men in her books would have never turned down an offer as good as the one she’d just presented to him. “Married?” she scoffed; “You’ve seen more of me today than my husband has since, well, ever!” 

“It’s just not right,” Nick calmly spoke. He could hardly believe that a man like Jonathon would pass up someone like Mary. He had the perfect woman and he was passing up the opportunity. He then realized what he’d been thinking, the perfect woman? No, Mary was the perfect girl. She was just that, a girl. She was perfect because she hadn’t had time to garner imperfections. She was young, naïve, and inexperienced. She also has money and was used to getting things she wanted. For some reason though, she wanted him.

“Why not?” she asked and her question broke him from his revelations. 

“Adultery is a sin,” Nick answered with a shrug, “Besides, I’m not sure I can give you what you want.”

“What is it that you think I want?”

Nick paused, knowing he would need to choose his words wisely, “I think you’re looking for someone who can teach you things... more than just about sewing but about relationships, about sex, and maybe even about love.”

“You’re wrong,” Mary said, her eyes glossy with tears she refused to shed, “I’m not looking for someone. I was looking for you.”

Nick never imagined he would ever be in a situation where he was telling a half-naked girl all the reasons why they shouldn’t be together. “What makes you think I can teach you those things? I’m about as inexperienced as you are in some ways. I’ve been in one serious relationship, in 1930 with a girl I didn’t love who I only ever held hands with. Nine years ago, when I was a year older than you are now, that hardly makes me worth learning from. Speaking of which, I’m too old for you.”

“I’m not asking you to be an expert, nor did I expect it!” Mary said, becoming more frustrated and embarrassed by the second. “Age is a number and I don’t like you because I wanted to learn from you. I just like you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I liked you from the moment I saw you. You’re different from everyone I’ve ever met! I didn’t marry Jonathon because I love him. I did it because my parents told me to. If I had a choice I would have married someone like you. If we’d met before, I would have married you. I can’t describe the way I feel except to say I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”

There was something about her that made it impossible to let her down. Nick didn’t know how to say no to her. Her words were so sweet and honest that he knew she would be able to change his decisions no matter what she said. 

“I feel that way too,” he admitted, tired of trying to pretend he wasn’t interested, “I was drawn to you that first day. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

They both breathed a sigh of relief after openly admitting their feelings. There was a few seconds of silence before Nick stepped forward again and slowly brought his hands to Mary’s face. His thumbs gently caressed her skin and he looked into her eyes. 

“Enough of this,” Mary grinned and grabbed Nick by the shirt collar. Pulling him flush against her she pressed her lips against his tightly. The kiss was chaste and after a moment Nick pulled away. He had been worried about what Mary expected but now that she had taken charge he was not going to hold her back. 

“Maybe there is something I can teach you after all,” he whispered. Nick caressed her jaw then went in for another kiss. This time though, he pressed the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth. Once she did he deepened the kiss, loving the feel of her soft tongue against his. He refrained from touching her barely covered body and kept his hands on her face. He merely wanted to take this moment to enjoy their passion. 

When they pulled apart again Mary had a dreamy look in her eye and swollen lips. She slowly smiled, pressing a hand to her chest as she spoke, “I do believe you just helped me commit a sin,” she joked flirtatiously. 

“I’m not actually Catholic,” he replied while running a hand over her hair. 

“Good, because we’re about to do it again,” she pulled him into an embrace, her lips quickly seeking his out.

Nick had a long talk with his father that night, and he knew as he got up the next morning what he had to do; he had to end things with Mary, it was the only way. Even though it had never been said during their talk, Nick had a feeling that his father was embarrassed by his actions. What kind of son was he to shame his family over a married woman? 

He went to the O’Hara’s at a time he knew Sheila would be gone for tea and Jonathon would still be at work. 

“Just couldn’t stay away?” Mary grinned as she opened the door but her smile dropped when she saw the serious and determined look on Nick’s face. 

“We have to talk,” The statement may have been cliché but it was direct. 

“Oh, okay,” May ran a nervous hand through her hair as she lead Nick through the house and out to the garden where she had been reading before he’d come calling, “What’s wrong?”

Nick took a deep breath, mustering the courage to do what he knew was necessary. Neither of them heard Sheila enter the house from the garden at that very moment. Her friend hadn’t been feeling well so she returned home early, surprised to see Nick’s bicycle sitting out front, since there was no scheduled lessons for that day. For that reason she was extra quiet when she came in the door. She checked the sewing room and found it empty, then moved about the house until finally spotting the two of them sitting outside. Sheila crept closer, being quieter than ever before in her life, and listened. 

“We can’t do this anymore,” Nick finally spoke, looking down at his hands. He knew that if he looked at her she would use her ability to win him over and then he’d never be able to break up with her. 

Mary played with her glass of iced tea, wondering what had changed since the day before when he was professing his love to her, “Do what?” She asked with faux naivety. 

“This relationship, this affair, all of it, It has to end now before someone gets hurt.”

“What you’re doing right now is hurting me,” Mary whispered with her voice full of tears. 

“It’s not all candy and roses for me either Mary but someone has to take responsibility here and think beyond dreams. You’re married and I can’t risk my father’s reputation knowing that nothing is ever going to happen with this. I want to be able to love you wholly, in front of everyone, and be loved in return but it’s just not what’s in the cards for us,” Nick was trying to be gentle but he knew by her angry tears that he was not getting off that easily. 

“You’re more concerned about reputation then you are about us! If you really loved me you wouldn’t care about things like that! You shouldn’t care what other people think!” 

“That’s not fair!” Nick snapped. He reached over and took her chin in his hand, turning her to face him, “I want nothing more than to be able to not care. You’re hiding just as much as I am. It’s because I love you that I worry about things like this, I don’t want anyone to get hurt if it can be avoided. I don’t want anyone to treat you badly if they find out either.”

Mary nodded her head and through her tears she silently wished she could make time stop, and just stay here with him forever. Nick had always treated her like an adult, it was one of the many things that she loved and respected about him so she didn’t want to act childishly and throw a fit. No matter how badly she wanted to. She quickly moved from her seat into Nick’s lap, kissing him deeply. She knew it was probably the last time and wanted to make it last. 

“You’re right,” she whispered as she pulled away, her fingertips touching his lips lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he returned. 

Inside, Sheila could hardly believe her eyes. She finally could take no more of their adultery and stepped out of the shadows. 

“You should be sorry!” both Mary and Nick turned at the sound of her voice, “You, you whore!” Sheila sneered at Mary before turning on Nick, “And you! I should turn you into the police for taking advantage of a poor, defenceless, young girl! You both disgust me! Mary, go in the house!” the older woman barked out orders, grabbing Mary’s arm while pushing her towards the French doors. As soon as it was just her and Nick outside, she approached him slowly and methodically, sizing him up. He opened his mouth as if to say something but before he could she attacked. He hand snaked out with lightening fast speed and before he knew it she’d slapped him across the face. Nick was genuinely surprised by her strength, his hand coming to rest against his reddening cheek. 

“If I ever see you near this house again I will have you arrested. If I ever find out you’ve had any contact with Mary, I will have you arrested. As for your father’s reputation – consider it ruined,” Sheila’s face was stone cold as she threatened the young man. People like him were like rocks in her shoe – annoying and completely insignificant in the end, “I’m sure you can show yourself out,” she sneered, walking back towards the house. 

“Yes ma’am,” Nick whispered, still holding his face as he walked out the back gate, then towards his bicycle. He sat for a few minutes in front of the house, trying to figure out what had just happened. If he hadn’t come over, if he hadn’t wanted to break up, if he had only waited, then things would be different. He would still be with Mary, they would be happy and he wouldn’t feel all the shame that he felt at that moment. He had let Mary down, as well as his father and he felt terrible about it. He felt more terrible though about the other feelings he was having. The ones that were telling him above anything that he’d made a mistake. He was never going to get over Mary, because he was always going to want her back.

He’d spent five months without her, five whole months, void of her touch, smell, and taste, without her voice. Nick was sure that he was going crazy. News of Mary O’Hara’s affair spread like wildfire, thanks to Sheila’s help, and he was seen as a wolf preying on poor Mary’s little lambs. Mary was being painted as a confused, self conscious girl who merely wanted to learn how to sew better, a quality any good wife could use. Nick wanted to shout at every one of them, grab them and shake them and scream ‘She came after me!’ but he couldn’t, because he loved her too much. Instead he put up with all of it, the glares, the behind-the-back whispers, and his new life of unemployment. No one wanted their daughters coming into the shop, and any woman who came herself was sure to request anyone other than Nick. Eventually, for the sake of the business, Robert requested that Nick take some time off – indefinitely. Nick wasn’t upset about the job as much as he was that he’d let down his father yet again. Dinners had become awkward and silent, neither father nor son knowing what to say. They hadn’t even really discussed the whole matter and Nick worried that his father may believe some of the gossip that had been flying around. 

“What do you want from life?” Robert’s voice broke through the silence of the room and he put down his book to look over at his son. 

Nick had been looking at a family photo, thinking of better times; when his mother was alive and everything seemed so simple. His father’s question was the same one he’d been asking himself every night since he lost Mary. 

He shrugged in response, still looking at the photo, “I suppose I want what every man wants. I want a good job, a good wife, and a good family. I want to be a good man, like you.” 

“I want those things for you,” Robert replied, “I want you to be happy.”

“Right now I don’t think I’ll ever be happy. I promise you I’ll try though.”

The next day Nick set out to keep his promise. First on the list was getting over Mary. He got a new job, working across the street from his father’s shop, stocking shelves at the market. It seemed like the people there, closer to his own age, didn’t care about the rumours and for the first time in his adult life, Nick had real friends. The first five months of personal agony melted away and it was only at night, when he was alone, that he thought about Mary. 

Soon a year had gone by, then two and by the third Nick had moved from stock boy to assistant manager, the position created exclusively for him after the manager had become sick. He often saw the O’Hara’s maids, and a few times, from a distance, he had even seen Mary. Seeing her stirred familiar feelings in him and he often thought to himself how she was more beautiful now, at nineteen, than she’d ever been. He’d dated, only once seriously, but everyone woman he’d taken out always had one problem with him. No longer were they concerned about him knowing their dress size, this time no woman could get over the fact that he was clearly in love with someone else. 

Nick always wondered if Mary thought about him as much as he did her. He knew it was silly, still loving her after all this time when their original time together had been short. He knew though, deep down, that she was his soul mate and not even three years could change his mind. 

He listened to the chatter around the store as he boxed up orders for deliveries. He wondered what everyone seemed to be so upset about and was even further confused when his father came through the door with a grim look on his face. He’d heard through the grape vine that Sheila O’Hara was in hospital, but he couldn’t see his father being upset about that. If anything, he would probably be elated. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

In the past few months it had become commonplace to see people crying on the street, or telling you of their child who’d been lost. Earlier that year an air base had been attacked in Hawaii and now the country was at war. The draft calls had been listed in the paper, and letters were sent out, but somehow Nick had managed to slip under the radar. He’s seen Jonathon’s name on the first list but knew he’d bought his way out of it since he’d seen him around town since the announcement. 

Robert took a deep breath then held up an envelope for Nick to see. The words ‘conscription office’ in the upper left was all Nick needed to see to send his heart into his throat. His father offered him the letter but he shook his head, not wanting to read it himself. Robert nodded then tore into the paper, pulling out the letter. They’d been nice enough to write a formal letter, explaining all too happily that there had been a mix-up with Nick’s file but it was now sorted and in two weeks he was expected to show up at their office to sign some papers before beginning his military training. 

“We knew it was inevitable,” Robert said, trying to convince himself it was true. He handed Nick the letter and watched his son’s face dropping as he read it. 

“I don’t want to go!” was the first thing Nick could think to say. He knew it was selfish but someone was essentially stealing his freedom out from under him. His father, he could tell, was struggling to stay strong. 

“Of course you don’t,” Robert said, choosing tough love as his course of action, “but neither did any of the boys who are out there now. You’re luckier than they are; you got an extra month to be with your family and friends. Besides, you’ve always wanted to go places and see new things.”

Nick knew it was completely true but chose not to believe it, “Not like this though. What am I going to do?” he asked softly, his question partly rhetorical. 

“You’re going to go serve your country, then come back here when it’s all over a hero.” 

“What if I don’t come back?”

Robert’s face paled at the thought but he pushed his fear aside and rested a hand on Nick’s shoulder, “You will, you will.”

Mary hummed to herself as she walked down the driveway to the mailbox. Just after Easter Sheila had been victim to a stroke. Since then she’d been in and out of hospital for treatment leaving Mary alone in the house all day. Mary loved the arrangement; she could do anything she wanted. She read, and cooked, and on one occasion found her way back into her sewing room but the memories of Nick were too much and she sealed the room back up.

There was many times in the past few years that she had found an excuse to go into town and see him. Whether it was through a window, or on the street, she didn’t care; she just wanted to make sure he looked healthy and happy. It made her jealous to know that he had moved on. He had friends, he had fun and he did it all without her. She often wondered if he ever thought about her. As Mary sorted through the mail, a peculiar envelope caught her eye. It was addressed to her, she never got mail, and the envelope was also clean of any stamps or postmarks so it was obvious that the sender had delivered it. She walked quickly to the house, dropping the rest of the mail on the foyer table. Mary ripped into her letter, a sinking feeling coming over her that it may not be good news. 

It wasn’t good news at all, she discovered immediately. The letter was from Robert; he wanted her to know that Nick was leaving for Africa in two days. If she wanted to say goodbye (for what could be the last time) then she should come to the train station to see him off. He also said that he always thought she was a good person, and was sorry the way things had turned out for her and Nick. 

She read the words over again; not believing it could be true. She knew it was a possibility, even Jonathon had gotten a draft letter but for some reason she never let herself believe that Nick might go too. He was going though; her Nick was going to war and might never come back. Her Nick. Mary couldn’t let him leave without seeing him first. She wasn’t sure why Robert had decided to write her, but she was forever grateful. She had to tell him how she felt so he could leave knowing he had to come back for her. 

So two days later she woke up early, watching the rain falling outside the window. Nick’s train to New York was leaving at eight and from there he would take a boat to northern Africa. She got out of the house before Jonathon woke up, having told him the night before that she was going to see his mother that morning in the hospital. She took a cab to the train station and pulled her coat around her tightly for warmth as she looked around at the sea of faces on the platform. Men in uniform, women in tears, it didn’t take her long to find Nick. He was standing with his father, solemnly and silently. Mary approached them, and Robert smiled slightly as he spotted her. 

Nick followed his father’s gaze, shocked to see Mary walking towards him, “What are you doing here?” he breathed, his eyes still wide. 

“I came to see you off,” Mary smiled brightly, not wanting to let on that she was nervous to see him and scared to see him go. 

Robert smiled then stepped forward to hug Nick quickly, “Don’t forget to write,” he instructed before giving Nick his goodbyes. 

The pair watched the older man walk inside the station before turning their attention back on each other. 

“Did he tell you I was leaving?” Nick questioned. 

Mary nodded her head and wrung her hands together nervously, “I’ll write to you also!” she blurted, looking up at him, “I need to know where you are and that you’re safe.”

“You actually think Sheila O’Hara would let you write to someone like me?” Nick asked sceptically. 

“I don’t care!” Mary stated firmly, “I need to know, I love you!” 

The last thing Nick wanted was another reason to wish he wasn’t going but he would rather go knowing that someone back home loved him and wanted him back just as much as his family. “I thought,” he began, searching for the best words, “I thought I had lost you forever.”

Mary smiled then reached up to touch his cheek, “Never, I’ll always be yours.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes, only interrupted when the train’s whistle blew and people started shuffling to get their things and say their goodbyes. 

“You better not come home with a girlfriend,” Mary teased.

Nick smiled in return, kissing the back of her hand, “I’ll be coming home for you.”

They hugged each other tightly then Nick picked up his bag and headed for the train. As soon as he was in a car he opened the window and waved to Mary.

“I’ll write you as soon as I can!” he promised.

“I’ll be waiting,” Mary smiled, her expression changing to shock as she reached for her purse, “I almost forgot!” she pulled out a photograph then ran over to hand it to Nick through the window, “To make the other guys jealous,” she explained with a grin. 

Nick smiled, looking at her face in the black and white portrait. The whistle blew again as the train started to move. From the platform Mary blew Nick a kiss, which he caught and put in his pocket for later. And as the train pulled away Mary wiped a solitary tear from her face, wondering how they could ever be together. 

She had to find a way.

It was another four months before the first letter finally arrived. Mary was overjoyed when she opened the mailbox and the letter on top was addressed from ‘Pte. N. Carter. US Army, 1st Infantry, 4th Brigade.’

She had learned just after Nick had left that the unit he was assigned to was not only prestigious but also know for seeing more combat than any other unit. During the great war of 1914 the first infantry was at the front of every big invasion and now was no different. Mary had taken to going to the cinema every Friday to watch the news from Europe, Africa, and Asia and silently hoped to see footage of Nick on the screen. She hadn’t yet but had found out that the First had lead the invasion into Northern Africa, only sustaining a small amount of causalities which was far too many for Mary’s nerves. The letter was reassuring that Nick had made it through the initial landing, but the slow mail made her worry that while she was reading his letter something bad may have already happened. Pushing her worries aside, she hurried back inside to read the letter. 

She had expected it to be longer, and she had also not been prepared for it to be censored. Obviously, the Army did not want people back home to know any particulars. Places, names, and anything they’d done had been blacked out of the letter. All she really learned from the page long note was that Nick had made it to Africa, it was very hot despite being winter, and he’d gotten sick on the boat ride over there. He was also allowed to say that he loved her and looked forward to hearing from her. 

She got a shoebox out of the closet and put the letter inside, before heading to her writing table to start work on her return correspondence. She had a lot to tell him; in the past few months’ things had definitely changed. Sheila wasn’t doing well, so Mary had cunningly convinced Jonathon to put her in a nursing home. He couldn’t expect her, his adulterous teenaged wife, to possibly be able to take proper care of his sick mother. She was also quick to point out that having a live-in caregiver was far more expensive than the home. She was amazed when her plan worked and Jonathon announced that he thought it was better for his mother to have ‘round the clock care. Mary didn’t care that he’d taken the credit for the idea; she knew she’d won. 

Without Sheila around putting her nose in where it didn’t belong, Mary was essentially free. She was excited to let Nick know about what had happened, but purposely left out her plans for the future. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, and just wanted to let things progress naturally. She had recently inherited some money from the death of her grandmother and had hid that money away in a bank account she’d opened for herself. She was putting plans in motion to slowly gain independence. Mary just needed the perfect moment to completely break free. She knew there was no way she could continue living the way she always had. She didn’t care though, the money meant nothing to her; class and status meant even less. 

By the end of an hour her letter was pushing five pages, so she wrapped it up with a goodbye. After addressing and sealing the envelope, Mary threw a stamp on it when went back down to the box to throw it in the mail. She couldn’t wait to hear from him again. 

~*~

Halfway around the world Nick was wondering if Mary had received his second letter yet. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said it was hot. Tunisia was the strangest place he’d ever heard about, let alone been to. During the days it was sweltering only to be freezing at night. The Army didn’t have uniforms for desert warfare of this style so they’d been at a disadvantage but had done all right for themselves so far. At home, what seemed like years ago, Nick had thought that he had it as good as it would get. Here though, he was part of a huge family, and was important to everyone. When he was a child he’d always wanted a brother and now he had 40 in his battalion alone. Each one of them had a talent that the others respected and encouraged. One was an excellent marksman, another good with explosives, one could cook things out of rations that actually tasted like food meant for humans, there was a singer, a poet, a counsellor, a translator for French, German and British (since they obviously seemed to be speaking a different language), one of Nick’s best pals was the local comedian; he could make any of them laugh even in the worst of situations, and Nick? He thought long and hard about what he could provide them before coming up with only one answer. 

“Well, I can sew,” he offered and was immediately taken up on it. 

It became known that if you had a hole in anything, whether it’s your sock or your tunic that Nick was the man to see. Every battalion in the Big Red One knew he was good with a needle and thread. Rumour had it that Nick would even give their mothers a run for their money. As a joke he had even sewed their names onto their extra socks and they used them as stockings on Christmas.

The only setback for Nick as company tailor was finding materials to work with. The other guys had no problem giving him their mending kids so he had lots of thread, needles, and buttons but what he really needed was fabric. Fresh socks, pants and tunics were not easy to come by so Nick had turned to his last resort. He introduced himself and his purpose to the officers at the field hospital and with their permission acquired material from the soldiers who needed it the least – the ones in the morgue. Sometimes the clothes would be too damaged, too bloody, too burned to use but Nick tried to make the best out of everything he could get. 

There was one day in the spring though, that it all became too much. He’d gotten letters from home (another letter from Mary to reply to, and one from his father as well), feeling particularly homesick as he normally did on mail days. Down at the morgue, sorting through uniforms is when he finally lost control. He held a jacket to his chest as he cried, wondering if this guy’s life was really worth less than his and why he’d died before him. He ran his fingers over the embroidered name on the left breast – Littrell. He wondered where this Private Littrell lived, whether his family knew he was dead, and he secretly felt jealous that this fellow got to go home before him, even if it was in a box. All he wanted was to go home, see his father, see Mary and work at the market again. Heck, he’d even work for his father again. 

As he walked back to camp with his newly acquired material, and puffy, just-cried eyes there was only one thing running through his mind – he loved his new friends, his new brothers, more than anything and wished that they had only met under different circumstances because right now, he wanted to go home. When he got back through, everyone was called into the commanding officer’s tent and his words further shattered their spirits. 

“Well boys,” Colonel Riley grinned, rubbing his hands together, “We’re going to Italy!”

Italy was definitely not home.

Sheila finally died in June of 1943. While Nick was on a boat headed to Sicily, Mary was burying not only her mother in law but her past as well. With the help of Robert she had been more than prepared for that day. The day after the funeral Jonathon was served with divorce papers (no need for judges to be involved because she wanted nothing), and she moved into her new home – Mary and Nick’s that is. Robert had helped her out with getting the mortgage for a small house within walking distance of Robert, and Nick’s job. Robert had opted not to bring Nick’s things to the house. Trying to be somewhat traditional, he wanted Nick to have at least proposed before they started living in sin. 

Now that Mary was on her own she was subject to things like food rations, a setback she’d been able to avoid at the O’Hara’s. Money really could buy you anything and now Mary was determined to make some of her own. The money she’d saved had gone towards the fees for her divorce and was also going to furnish their home. She needed a job; luckily it was not too difficult for a woman with her lack of experience to find a job nowadays. Most of the men were gone so almost everyone was looking for help. She wanted Nick to come home and see her accomplishments and be proud of her. She was excited at the prospects that lie in front of her and was quickly engulfed in the world of employment. She got the first job she’d interviewed for, a position at the library stacking books. The man in charge was impressed by her knowledge of books as well as her figure in the fitted dress she’d chosen to wear that day (admittedly one of Nick’s favourites as well). 

So far everything was falling perfectly into place. She was no longer subject to the O’Hara’s tyranny, and she had found a new family who loved and appreciated her. She received letters from Nick once (sometimes twice) a month depending on how busy he was and the speed of the mail and looked forward to his return every day. Mary longed to be a perfect wife for Nick and do all the things she’d been taught in etiquette school as a young girl; part of which, for her, meant brushing up on the skills he had taught her about sewing while he was away. After all, she needed something to do during the day once she was back to being housewife. Now all she needed was the “husband” back in one piece. 

The first accessory for the new house was a blue star service banner in the window, so everyone would know she had a loved one in the war. There were very few people in the upscale end of town who didn’t know that her flag and Robert’s were for the same person. In this neighbourhood though, very few people knew of her and merely saw her as a proud military wife. 

After a day full of painting and decorating Mary got dolled up then headed down to the cinema to meet Robert and watch the newsreel. He was also treating her to a picture. It was an older film, Camille, starring Greta Garbo. Robert had said Nick would love it if she saw the picture – it was his absolute favourite. 

Robert paid the half dollar for them to get in and they settled into their seats just as the news started. The invasion of Italy was first on the reel, and the reporter talked about how the First Infantry had encountered heavy resistance on the way in, and had many injured. The next shot on the screen made Mary and Robert both thankful and worried equally. As the voice described the scene of a young soldier temporarily deafened by a blast as he saved a comrade, video of Nick appeared on the screen. It was apparent that some people in the audience recognized him because gasps could be heard from other people watching the tape. He was filthy; his face caked with mud, and even with the fuzzy black and white picture there was no mistaking the blood coming from his ears. Just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone and the news moved on to something else.

“He’s alive,” Robert said reassuringly, patting Mary’s shaking hand. 

Mary could feel eyes on her from around the theatre as she resisted the temptation to get up and leave, “For how much longer though?” she whispered rhetorically, wrapping her arms around her body.

By the time Mary and Robert had seen the footage from Italy, Nick was already out of the hospital and back on the front lines. The ringing in his ears left nothing to be desired but the doctor had told him it was only temporary, and shouldn’t throw off his balance too much. But he suggested he definitely try to steer clear of .50 calibre machine guns for a while. When he finally caught up with his unit he found out that the initial fighting had died down and they were now going to set up a camp near one of the towns and spend time flushing out the nearby villages for enemy stragglers, and Stalin supporters just as they’d done to Vichy France in Africa.

He was pleasantly surprised to find a pile of clothes for him to work on sitting outside his tent when he woke up first thing in the morning. He chuckled and made sure there was nowhere he needed to be (the higher ranking officers were developing their game plan) before getting to work. While in the hospital he’d made dozens of patches, all of them shoved into his rucksack. He worked quietly, feeling as though something was missing. It was a lax day; normally the other guys would be playing football or checkers, singing, just about anything to remind them of home. This day was silent though, and it wasn’t too long before Nick realized why. It was hard to play football when your usual quarterback was dead, the checkerboard was lost on the beach somewhere, and singing would not only attract the enemy but also remind you that you probably weren’t going home until you, too, were dead. All the spunk they originally had was dwindling the longer they were away from everything they loved, and seeing your new friend lying in pieces twenty feet away was not a morale booster. 

Nick reached over and picked up Mary’s photo from his bag. He ran his fingers over it, wishing it hadn’t gotten so damaged from being folded and shoved in his bag every time he had to pack in a hurry. 

“Is that your girl?” 

Nick glanced up at the voice, taking in the young man in front of him. Tim Shepherd was new to his unit, having been transferred with a few others when they got low on soldiers. He looked at the photo again and nodded his head while handing it to Tim. 

“Wow,” Tim grinned, “She’s a beauty, looks sort of like – “

“Greta Garbo, I know,” Nick smiled then put the photo back into his rucksack. 

“Well, a few of us got permission to go explore the town a bit and wondered if you might join us?”

Nick pondered momentarily what could possibly be special about a town blown to bits by shelling and gunfire. Regardless, he agreed then got his rifle and headed out with the rest. Just as he had expected, the town was nothing special but they still had fun exploring the buildings and trying to read the Italian signs. They found a coffee shop where they procured some cookies from a jar on the floor, then relaxed and pretended to be on exotic holiday. 

“Hey Nick, you have to come see this!” Tim was grinning from ear to ear as he lead the other men across the street into what turned out to be a tailor shop. 

Suits on hangers lined the walls and even dusty, Nick could tell they were very well made. A few of the guys started trying on suit jackets while Nick moved debris in search of a sewing machine. They had been invented in Italy after all so he hoped this tailor had a good one. He finally found it after some digging and tested it out, happy to see that not only did it work, but also it was top of the line. Someone offered to go get the things he’d been working on back at camp and he agreed. The sewing machine would shed hours from his work. While he waited he joined Tim in checking out the tailor’s work. Tim had removed his helmet and coat, modeling a jacket. The two of them were laughing but in the back of his mind Nick’s inner voice was telling him he should be more aware of his surroundings. They’d been gone for hours and were now completely alone, with no communication back to camp. He pushed his worries aside and started looking in drawers for things he could use. The tailor would obviously have no use for these things right now, and he did. A better pair of scissors, some spools of thread, and a package of stronger needles found their way into his pack. 

“Do you hear that?” Tim’s voice broke through the silence of the room. 

Nick paused to listen, having to strain to hear over the buzzing in his ears. He faintly heard in the background the all too familiar and frightening chink of a tank rolling closer, “Tim,” he said in a panicked voice, “Move away from the window!” 

His instructions came too late, as a loud whistle could be heard seconds before the building exploded around them. Tim’s body was blown back, hitting Nick and sending him sprawling headfirst into the wall. Debris fell down around them, covering them in pieces of brick and glass. Nick could see nothing around him, and soon after fell into unconsciousness. 

~*~

It was days before he woke up, finding himself in the same military hospital he’d left just before the explosion. 

Nick knew there was no way Tim survived; he had taken the full force of the blast with nothing on to protect him. Tim’s welfare became the least of his worries as he fully awoke and was hit by a wave of extreme pain and discomfort. A nurse was immediately at his side telling him he was ok, making sure he knew where he was. Just in case it was possible for him to forget this nightmare. 

The pain was so intense, Nick cried out just trying to breathe through it. The worst if it seemed to be in his arm, he felt like it was literally on fire. Upon looking down to the source of the pain he made the brutal discovery that the pain could not be from his arm, because it was no longer there. His left arm ended just below the elbow, all that remained was his bicep and some bandages. 

“Calm down,” the nurse instructed, watching his breathing increase to a panic. 

“What happened to my arm? Who told you it was alright to take my arm? What the hell is going on?” He yelled in an unreasonably loud tone, refusing to look at the stumpy end to his former limb. 

“The Doctor will explain everything,” the nurse rubbed his shoulder, trying to calm him so she wouldn’t have to sedate him. 

“No explanation could possibly make this better!” he screamed, thrashing in his bed. Tears were rolling down his face, as a Doctor finally appeared to tell him about his condition. In the blast his arm had been shattered, had become infected, and gangrenous, and had to be amputated. It was either his arm or his life. 

“It’s my fault Tim is dead,” he whispered, “You should have let me die.” Nick cried for hours, and by the end of it he wasn’t sure what he’d been crying for. Had it been because he blamed his own negligence for Tim’s death, or maybe he cried for his lost limb, or maybe they were really tears of happiness because above all the rest Nick knew that one thing was undeniably true... 

An injury was a one-way ticket home.

Home was about more far away now than it had ever been. 

It was the height of summer and Italy was yet another locale where it was far too hot for Nick’s liking. Africa had been dry, baking, desert heat but here it was hot, humid, sweaty heat. The kind of heat that makes you wish it was socially acceptable to go nude – all the time. Nick could even deal with just some night time nudity. His bed was right next to a window, and at night he couldn’t sleep in the intense humidity, but still kept his hospital issued pyjamas in place as to not anger the witch nurse who prowled the floor at night hunting for delinquent soldiers. 

Nick had started a ritual of asking the Doctor on a daily basis when he was going to be released to go home, and every day he received the same reply. 

“You can go home when I think you’re ready, and not a day before.”

Dr. Burton wanted Nick in tiptop shape before putting him on a boat for home. He had Nick doing physical therapy four times a week to learn how to care for and manage his amputation. People take for granted the use of both hands so they never realize just how hard it was to learn to do everything one handed. Opening jars, driving a car, keeping the paper in place as you wrote a letter, lifting a casserole from the oven, and buttoning your clothing. All things he had to learn to do over again. Nick also had some less serious injuries to get over; bruised ribs, cuts, scrapes, and a diminished spirit. Dr. Burton wasn’t going to sign a single release paper until he felt Nick was both physically and emotionally ready. Every day he watched Nick stare at the now heavily battered photo of Mary (recovered still on him after the blast) but he never wrote to her. They offered him stationary, and a nurse even offered to let him dictate to her but he always declined, saying that he wouldn’t know what to tell her. 

“They’re going to worry about you if you don’t write,” Dr. Burton said, playing psychiatrist for the day. 

“They’ll worry more if I write them and say I’m in the hospital,” Nick shrugged, “besides, by the time they get the letter I’ll be home.”

Dr. Burton got up smiling and patted Nick on the shoulder. Nick had definitely become like a son to him, and he was going to do all he could to make sure that the young man got back on his feet. 

It wasn’t long before he found himself writing a telegram to Nick’s father, telling him to expect his son to arrive on the 1530 train from New York in a week’s time. Dr. Burton had told Nick the second the Army had approved his release. The young man was ecstatic on the outside but the doctor knew that not so deep down Nick was scared. Home was going to be a definite adjustment. He gave Nick a list of doctor’s in his area that he wanted him to go see (luckily a friend in the states had been quick about finding names for him.) One of those doctors was a man making groundbreaking discoveries in the world of prosthetics. As much as Nick said he wasn’t interested he soon relented when he found out the military would pay for it. It was the least they could do for those who nearly gave up their lives. 

It wasn’t until he was on the train that Nick really realized he was almost home. There were a few other military personnel on the train and each of them had given him a sympathetic look when they noticed the sleeve of his uniform pinned up so it wouldn’t hang empty. He didn’t want pity from anyone; he’d gotten enough of that already. So he was definitely going to make sure that the next time he went out in public, he was wearing his overcoat with both sleeves down. It hadn’t been the first time he’d shied away from pity. Back in the hospital several people from his unit had come to visit before they moved on without him. They reminded him of how useful he’d been as company “seamstress” which only led his mind to one thing – the explosion. While he and Tim had stood in that tailor shop he’d thought that maybe it was still the life for him. He’d imagined opening a joint store with his father’s which he would tailor men’s fashions. The faraway look in his eyes led his visitors to only one conclusion, and they apologized for bringing up sewing, “considering his condition.”

Nick knew his dream had been crushed (literally), but he didn’t need them to point it out and certainly did not need them to be sorry for him. 

The train slowing down broke Nick from his reverie, and he realized he was already home. Finally home, no leaving now, no way they could take him again, home. He could hear his heart pounding as he stepped off the train and he had to resist turning around and getting back on because now after all his wishing he wanted back. Back on the train, back on the boat, back to Europe, and far away from here. He wanted to know why he had to sacrifice just to come home and for a split second he was jealous again; jealous of damn Private Littrell, who he left in Africa without as much as a shirt on his back. Littrell got to go home with his family thinking he was a hero and Nick was returning ashamed, less of a person he was when he left. Self-pity was not subject to the same rules as the other kinds, in fact, it was welcomed. 

Nick was unaware that Dr. Burton had told Robert about his arm in the telegram, so he was sceptical when he spotted them and they didn’t appear shocked by his new appearance. 

In reality though, Robert was too excited to see his son alive, and Mary couldn’t wait to hug him and tell him all her news. 

“Well?” Nick asked, only moments after their reunion, his voice anger tinged, “Aren’t you going to ask me about it?” 

“About what?” Robert asked innocently. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my arm?”

“What about it?” 

Nick glared at his father, not in the mood to be playing games or skirting around the facts like he was trying to pretend nothing was different, “I left it in Italy.” 

“Oh,” Robert shrugged, “I didn’t notice.” 

Nick huffed and picked up his bag, barely acknowledging Mary’s presence, “You’re a terrible liar.”

Robert had expected Nick to be in a foul mood. When he had returned from the Great War in 1917 when Nick was only four, it had taken him time to adjust to being home. It was also not unusual for Nick to be silent, but by dinner that time he had practically turned into a mime; his words when he arrived having been the only ones for the day. Mary had tried to snap him out of his funk by telling him the news of her divorce and the house but he didn’t bat an eyelash, just pushed his food around on his plate. Robert decided then that Mary needed to leave. 

He walked her home after dinner, explaining that Nick might feel self conscious with her there, so he wanted a moment alone to talk to his son. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Robert inquired as he returned to their living area, hanging his coat up on a hook. Silence. “You’re selfish if you think you’re the only one adjusting here. I know what you’re going through, what you’re feeling, and you’re not alone.” At his words he watched Nick dissolve into tears then choke out an apology. 

“What are you sorry for?” Robert’s voice was soft and kind as he sat down next to Nick on the couch. 

“For failing you... again,” Nick sighed. 

“What do you mean ‘again’? You’ve never failed me.”

“I turned your store into gossip central, which probably lost you business all because of my thing with Mary and now…you told me to come back a hero and I couldn’t even do that,” Nick wiped at his eyes and sniffled, feeling more of the self-pity on the way. 

“What makes you think you’re not a hero?” 

Nick took a deep, steady breath and looked down at the floor, “I didn’t lose my arm in a battle, or getting Nazis. I was goofing around, taking someone else’s things without permission when it happened. I let my guard down, I let Tim down, I should have paid more attention but, but, I couldn’t HEAR anything! There won’t be any medals coming my way.” 

Robert had no idea who Tim was but didn’t press the matter as he thought about Nick’s confession, “Medals don’t make you a hero. Did you help at least one person, never run away from your fears, and do everything asked of you?”

Nick nodded his head, looking up to the man he admired more than any of those Generals out on the battlefield. 

“Then you’re a hero in my book.”

A year ago Mary was sure that she would never see Nick again. She would see him physically, sure, but emotionally he had been lost. With Robert and Mary by his side Nick had managed to beat his homecoming blues. They made sure he kept up with his physical therapy and had even convinced him to talk to a counsellor after a particularly rough battle with nightmares. Then one day it was like a switch had turned off in his mind and he was almost normal again. He felt secure enough to propose to, and subsequently marry Mary.

Before the wedding Nick had seen the prosthetics doctor that Dr. Burton had recommended so that he would have two arms for his wedding, his only requirement. Mary didn’t care either way but she loved the extra confidence he had with the prosthetic. As she had described it to friends, it was almost like he stood taller, not worried about hiding his arm. 

Overall, Nick’s emotional recovery had turned out to be faster (but not necessarily easier) than his physical one. He still had nightmares, and sometimes at night his arm would itch or ache for hours and the lack of relief would frustrate him. The biggest change in Nick’s disposition was his sudden drive for career success. He’d told Mary all about the vision he’d had for a partner store, despite believing it to be impossible. 

“Why can’t we do it?” Mary wondered, knowing that something had to happen since his money earned overseas was drying up, and her job at the library couldn’t support them, not to mention she would soon be leaving them. 

“Have you ever seen a one-armed tailor?” Nick asked dryly. 

Ignoring his attitude, Mary pressed on, “It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen you use a sewing machine with one hand. Anything that needs to be hand stitched either your father or I will help you.”

“You?” he asked sceptically. 

“Yes! Measuring, cutting, any of that I can help you with! It doesn’t matter how many arms you have, that can’t change your vision. That doesn’t make you any less talented. Besides, I love the idea of having a family business and if you won’t take over your fathers than we should at least have our own.”

Nick took a fair few minutes to think (too long for Mary) before smiling slightly, “Okay, let’s do it!” he said. He wasn’t completely sure about the venture but he wanted what Mary had said about vision and talent to be true. 

Nick thought back to a time where he would have called this idea boring. He’d complain about it being ordinary, unadventurous, and dull. Now that he’d had adventure, and excitement, the extraordinary life he’d always craved right at his feet, he realized that he had adventure right here at home this whole time. He watched Mary hold her stomach and smiled at the thought that their child would arrive in a few months. He was going to be a father. Now that was an adventure. 

Mary, their family, his new business venture, and his life in the most ordinary town in the country was all he could ever need or want and he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. 

FINIS

Some final notes before I wrap things up with yet another fic. 

I made some slight changes and improvements this time around, I made the chapters a little longer and hopefully made the continuity a bit more fluid. But I have to thank the people who were there right from the start. 

A big thank you to everyone who followed along with this story when it was first written. Especially Julie who was always the number one fan. I suspect it was her influence that resulted in this fic picking up a few awards along the way.

So, thank you! xo Julilly

This story is an award winner!

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