kinda movie star, an’ put her on her feet again to give her a kiss.
“Wish I could marry you right now, doll.”
“You could,” she said impulsively. “Or tomorrow, at least.”
“Nah.” I brushed my thumb over her jaw and shook my head. “No, sweetheart, I wanna do it right. I don’t wanna be in a rush. And I don’t wanna—”
“Don’t.” She put her fingers over my mouth. “Don’t even say that, Gary.”
“I didn’t say nothing!” But I’d been gonna, and we both knew it. I’d been gonna say I didn’t want to risk leaving her a widow. I didn’t want to risk leaving her with a baby and no Pop for it. I didn’t wanna risk leaving her with a baby and me not being there when it was born, for that matter. But she didn’t want me to say it, maybe afraid I’d jinx something if I did, so I just took her hand away and kissed it again. “And I won’t say nothing,” I promised. “You write to me, though, all right, sweetheart? Everything about your day, so I know what I’m comin’ home to. Swear to God I’ll never get bored of it. It’s gonna be my lifeline.”
“Are you afraid?”
That wasn’t the kinda question a guy should answer truthfully, I bet. They’d been teaching us to fight, an’ teaching us not to think, but anybody with two brain cells to rub together knew war wasn’t safe. So it took me a minute to answer, standing out there in a park with a warm spring breeze playing with Annie’s hair and making everything seem all right with the world. “Not afraid. Kinda…apprehensive, I guess. I wish there as another way, but if there was—well, I wouldn’t have met you, if there was, so it ain’t worth thinking about. It’s gonna be fine, Annie. It’s all gonna turn out all right. I’m gonna come home to you.”
Her eyes were brighter than I liked to see them. “You sound so certain.”
“I am. I got a feeling.” I guessed maybe a lot of soldiers had that feeling at the back of their minds, saying they were coming home safe, or they might end up deserters. But mine was the one I’d heard before, telling me something was right or wrong, like Annie’s Pop being an artist, even if I didn’t know why it was wrong that he was. I trusted it, either way, an’ brushed tears off Annie’s cheeks before kissing her again. “I got a feeling,” I promised. “It’s gonna be okay. You wanna head back? Warm up?” I smiled. “Show off that ring?”
“Oh!” Tears or not, her smile came back. “You don’t mind?”
“Mind? Mind? Lady, what kinda guy minds if the most beautiful girl he’s ever met wants to tell everybody she’s marrying him? A’course I don’t mind! C’mon, doll.” I tucked her up against my side. “Let’s go tell the world.”
And my father. That wasn’t what she said next, but in the scheme of things, that’s what seemed most important. The friends, the congratulations, Andy wanting ta know if I needed a best man already, alla that was expected. Mrs. Macready looking happy and sad all at once, I figured on that too. But excepting the paintings, there’d been no sign of Annie’s pop, and he’d kinda slid from my mind. I woulda asked the old man for Annie’s hand in marriage before popping the question, if I’d known he was around at all to ask, but when I said that to Annie she shook her head and said it didn’t matter.
The day before I left, I found out why.
Annie didn’t say much on the long drive into countryside alternating between barren rock and crop fields. I tried to start up conversations a couple of times and got the message after that. Just when I was starting to think she was gonna kill me and dump the body, and about to ask if I oughta be worried, she turned down a paved road in the middle of nowhere, and idled the car while we waited for a big set of iron gates to open up. Two words were sculpted across the gates: BELLREEVE INSTITUTION.
Hospitals were one thing. Institutions meant somethin’ else entirely. I said, “Annie,” real quiet, and she shook her head and wouldn’t talk ‘til we were parked in front of the main building. A new building, big and clean-looking, with pillars like some kinda plantation estate moved a couple thousand miles west. Grass was cut short for