“One more.”

  “You said that last time.”

  “When a clock goes forward it goes tic-tac, but when Rommel goes backwards, it’s tactic.”

  “Oh my goodness, that’s awful!” I giggled. “You’re so silly!”

  “You make me feel silly,” he smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Suddenly, I’m twenty again.”

  “Or twelve,” I said, trying to be severe.

  He reached out and took my hand. “It’s being here with you. You make this whole darn war worthwhile.”

  I sighed heavily, my lighthearted mood fading like morning mist.

  “Nothing can make this war worthwhile, except beating Hitler.”

  He nodded. “I know, and we will. We are. The Germans are retreating everywhere.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And there are tens of thousands of GIs stationed all along this coast, as well as the US Navy—we know there’s a big push coming. The war could be over by Christmas.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” I said sadly, drawing in a ragged breath.

  “Damn, honey. I was trying to make you smile. Do I need to tell you another of my corny jokes?”

  “No, that might finish me off completely,” I said, giving him a watery smile. “I’ll be bawling my head off.”

  “Well, we can’t have that. What say we take a walk down to the harbour? The moon’s bright tonight. Abaminekia is the moon of…”

  “…returning to summer camp. I remember.”

  His gaze was loving, the creases around his eyes deepening as he smiled. My heart gave a guilty jolt of happiness, like a car battery restarting after it had been parked for too long.

  “The sun and the moon played an important part in our yearly cycle. Maybe it still does.”

  He offered his arm, and I was glad to take it. The street was cobbled and it would have been easy to turn an ankle on the uneven surface. But more than that, I wanted the connection with him.

  In silence, our steps slow in the moonlight, it felt like we were alone in the world. The town lay in darkness, lives behind blackout curtains, not a single ray of light showing. When the breeze off the sea turned chilly, he put his arm around me. I leaned my head on his shoulder, and it was the most natural thing in the world.

  When he spoke, shrouded in shadows, his voice was rough and deep.

  “I badly want to kiss you right now, but if you say no, I promise I’ll never say it again. I know that I have no right to ask…”

  I reached up to touch his lips, feeling the silken softness, the warmth of his breath on my cold fingers.

  His eyes fluttered closed, simply accepting whatever I would give.

  My hands hovered across his face like a blind woman, searching, learning, caressing. Then I reached up to press my lips against his, and his sigh of pleasure whispered across my mouth. Then he kissed me, simply, gently, lovingly.

  When he drew me into his arms, my hands wrapped around the nape of his neck, the pressure of his kisses growing as our bodies pressed together. His tongue swept across mine leaving me dizzy with desire, and I kissed him back passionately, an edge of desperation that I had not known existed within me.

  A low, hungry groan fell from his lips, and I felt the full length of his body against mine. I was drunk on emotion, passion flooding through me, the electricity of his touch like lightning on my skin.

  We were both breathing hard when he pulled away, leaning his forehead against mine.

  “God, Sylvia…”

  I was standing on a precipice—we both knew it. But I wasn’t standing alone. We teetered on the edge knowing that with a single step, we would fall.

  My hand fumbled for his.

  “Hush, my darling, there’s nothing that needs to be said.”

  And then we jumped, falling, falling, falling.

  When we reached the hotel, the desk clerk was mercifully absent. I don’t even remember climbing the stairs to my room, finding my key or opening my door; I don’t remember kicking off my shoes or reaching my narrow bed. All I remember is the weight of his body on mine as I learnt to love him.

  His hands travelled up the backs of my legs, unhooking my stockings and drifting across the bare flesh of my thighs. Deft fingers unbuttoned my blouse as his hot breath warmed my neck in the cool room; his tongue tasted the contours of my throat and chest.

  I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, and as if reading my mind, he dragged it over his head in one sudden, jerking motion.

  His dog tags made a musical jingle as they settled between my breasts, and I sighed with pleasure as my hands swept across his broad back.

  I felt warm all over, my body alive under his skillful fingers, pulsing with desire, with need, and I had no regrets when his hard length pressed between my thighs and began moving inside me.

  He kissed, licked and sucked my breasts, arousing me, drawing unheard sounds from deep within me, then moved his hips faster as perspiration broke out across my body. Wave after wave of intense pleasure arched my back, my mouth opening in a silent scream as his body shuddered, his teeth sharp against my shoulder.

  My body was wracked by love, astonished that I could respond so vehemently. I had never felt this way before, hadn’t known that I could. Gradually, slowly, the madness abated and I softened against his burning skin, stroking the silk of his naked back and strong bare thighs.

  I was replete, unrepentant. I had leapt and I had found wings. I was in love.

  He pulled away from my body with a soft grunt, and I felt his fluid trickle down my leg. I should have cared; maybe I should have been embarrassed or ashamed, but I wasn’t. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

  We rearranged ourselves so my head rested on his chest, my fingers idly drawing circles on the muscles of his stomach.

  “You okay?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.

  “Yes,” I said simply. “It was wonderful.”

  He chuckled quietly. “I wanted to make it good for you but it was pretty damn hard to control myself.”

  “I’m glad,” I smiled.

  “But next time, I’d better use a johnny,” he said. “What do you Brits call it? You know, a French letter.”

  I didn’t know, not really. I’d heard of them—girls in the barracks talked, and Barbara had mentioned the subject once—but I’d never seen one.

  “Is there going to be a next time?” I asked.

  “That’s up to you,” said Charlie, “but I really hope so.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said happily. “I never want to leave this bed.”

  He gave a throaty laugh. “You might get kind of hungry.”

  “I don’t suppose they have room service here?”

  “You suppose right.” He paused. “I can go back to my room, if you want.”

  “No, please stay. I want to fall asleep in your arms. I want to wake up with you. I want … to do that again.”

  “Damn straight! I was hoping you’d say that.”

  He tucked me into his side, and soon his breathing became slow and regular.

  “If all we ever have is now,” I whispered into the silence, “I will have lived the richest life and count myself fortunate.”

  I watched the rise and fall of his chest in the moonlight until finally, I drifted asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Day Six, June 2019

  Fiona

  We were still at the Pow Wow at midnight and Dolly would have stayed longer but I reminded her that if she wanted to see the Canyon at dawn, that was just a few hours away, so she reluctantly agreed to return to the hotel.

  Joe had grown quieter than usual as the evening progressed, eaten little and said less, and even Amaya had given up on trying to get him to join in anymore.

  We thanked our hosts, said our goodbyes and climbed wearily into the Cadillac. A large bonfire shot sparks into the starry sky and was still glowing behind us, the sound of music fading as we sped away into the night.

  Joe prickled with tension, and despite my tiredness, I felt twitchy and anxious. It was Dolly who was brave enough to speak.

  “Dear Joe, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice sympathetic.

  He mashed his lips together, remaining mute.

  “We can’t help if we don’t know what’s upsetting you,” she pressed gently.

  He slammed on the brakes so hard, I had to grab for the door handle. He swerved to the side of the road, pounded the steering wheel with his fist, then slammed out of the car.

  “Joe! Joe!” Dolly called, deeply distressed. “Fiona, go after him!”

  I fumbled with the door, almost falling out of the car, stumbling in the darkness. I didn’t get far before I stubbed my toe on a rock, crying out as I flailed around.

  Joe was beside me in a second.

  “Fuck! Are you okay?” he asked roughly.

  I bent down to rub my throbbing toe, but it wasn’t bleeding, so I stood up shakily.

  “Yes, I’m fine. We were worried about you. Are you okay?”

  He didn’t reply, but put his arm around my waist, walking slowly beside me as I limped back to the car.

  “Joe!” Dolly cried out. “Fiona! Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. “Just stubbed my toe. It’s fine.”

  Joe helped me into the back, then slouched in the driver’s seat. We sat in silence, waiting for him to speak.

  “It’s all bullshit,” he said at last, his voice bleak. “I made it all up. I’m no more an Apache than you, Dolly. Fox isn’t even my real name—my birth certificate says Joseph Miller. My mom won’t tell me anything about the man who donated his DNA—he could have been Mexican or Italian or a fucking Eskimo for all I know. I don’t know what I am. She won’t tell me. I think she knows, but she just says he died and it’s in the past, whatever that means, so I invented a past. When I was in Third Grade, we went on a school trip to a cultural center of this Iowan tribe. All the kids said I look like an Indian, and I thought it sounded cool that they were from the Fox tribe, so that’s the name I took and changed it legally when I was 18. I chose Apache because … why not? And that’s what I became.”

  “But … you pray, every lunchtime. We saw you!”

  And I thought again of the utter conviction I’d seen on his face, the certainty that his gods had heard him. Had he made it all up?

  “Yeah,” he laughed bitterly. “I learned that from YouTube.”

  “It seemed so real.”

  “Don’t pity me,” he said coldly, but then he lifted his shoulders in a shrug as his head rested on the steering wheel. “It was a real ritual,” he said, his voice muffled. “Not that I know what the fuck I’m saying.”

  “Why did you lie about it?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  I gave him the same answer he’d given me when he asked why I dressed like Marilyn.

  “Try me.”

  “You probably come from a nice home, two parents, food on the table. We had nothing, dirt poor. I was just a filthy little snot-nosed kid. I wanted to be someone. I made up stories about my father being a Chief of the Apache and he was going to come and take me away one day. I learned everything I could.” He paused. “Mom had me when she was 15. She did a lot of drugs and I guess that’s where she met my father … and why she doesn’t want to remember him. I was mostly brought up in foster homes. They were okay … mostly okay. Mom used to do a lot of crack, but she stopped when she got pregnant with my sister. I used to sell weed to help out with grocery money…”

  He glanced at me.

  “Things had gotten a little better for my mom and sister when she met Erick, but he wasn’t so keen on having a ‘half-breed’ around. That’s what he called me. So I thought, yeah, that’s what I’ll be. I’ll be an Apache for real. They’re a proud people and I wanted to have some pride in who I was. What a fucking pathetic loser.”

  “You should be proud,” said Dolly. “You’re a good man, a wonderful man, and you’ve worked hard to support your mother and sister.”

  I saw Dolly reach out and touch his arm.

  “Joe, there’s no harm in becoming the person you ought to have been. And I for one feel sure that your ancestors were Indians—whether or not they were Apaches. It means something to you and that makes it real. Fiona dresses, walks and talks like Marilyn because it makes her feel more confident. And that’s real, too.”

  I shifted on my seat uncomfortably.

  “She isn’t Marilyn and never will be, but still, the past speaks to her, just as it does to you. And that’s her truth and it’s your truth, as well. We are not simply the sum of our parents, but of our hopes and dreams.”

  Joe was silent and I didn’t know if he’d heard Dolly, if he’d really listened to what she was saying. I wanted him to hear her; I wanted him to hear me.

  “I didn’t kick my boyfriend out when he called me fat and other nasty names,” I said in a low tone. “The truth is he dumped me. He wasn’t a nice man, but he was the only one who’d ever noticed me,” I continued, my voice cracking under the painful weight of truth. “So I tried to kill myself with pills. But I couldn’t even get that right. When they pumped my stomach in the hospital, I decided I couldn’t go on being Fat Fiona, so I became Marilyn.”

  And I still remembered Wade’s laughter as his new girlfriend stood in the street and yelled at me, “The only reason he slept with you was because you were convenient, you fat bitch.”

  “Oh, my darling girl!” Dolly cried out.

  “I’d been on a diet since I was eleven years old, and at high school I kept thinking that if I could lose twenty pounds, the boys would notice me—that one of them would love me. But I never lost the weight, and no one ever noticed me. If I’d died, no one would have cared.”

  Dolly shook her head, truly upset.

  “Life is precious, you must believe that! I’ve lived a long life and seen too many lives cut short or wasted. Your light is so bright, you and Joe, you’re precious. Promise me, promise me, that you’ll never let other people make you feel anything less than wonderful. Promise me!”

  I swallowed painfully, my throat as dry as the desert around me.

  “I’ll try,” I said. “That’s all I can promise, Dolly.”

  “Fair enough, my dear,” she said sadly. “Joe?”

  “Yeah,” he coughed. “I guess I’ll try, too.”

  I was exhausted when we arrived back at the hotel, drained physically and emotionally, and yet somehow a weight had lifted. Only the doctor and nurses who’d treated me knew what I’d tried to do. I told my tutors at cosmetology school that I’d been hospitalized with food poisoning. No one else knew a thing about it, and I’d carried it inside me like a malignant tumor. But now it had been cut out.

  I thought about Joe, how broken he’d looked when he admitted that he’d been making it all up. I guess in some ways we were all reinventing ourselves: him, me, even Dolly. I didn’t think any less of him because of it—it made me understand him a little better.

  Slowly, I helped Dolly into bed. This trip was taking a toll on her, I could see it. And now we had to be up in four hours to see the sunrise. I wanted to suggest that we postpone it, do it another time—but that would be a lie—Dolly wouldn’t be passing this way again. She knew it, I knew it, Joe knew it, and even the shaman knew it. This was Dolly’s final journey; I had to let her make it the way she wanted. And so I set the alarm for 5am.

  It felt like I’d only closed my eyes for a minute when beeping jarred me awake. Dolly and I stumbled through our morning routine, and Joe didn’t seem to have fared any better, dark circles like bruises under his eyes. I don’t think he’d slept at all.

  But the early start was worth it, watching the shadows bleed away as a blaze of color filled the sky. Our problems seemed diminished against the backdrop of nature’s slow passage of time.

  Dolly lifted her face to the rising sun and smiled.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  As the sun’s heat warmed the morning, we all piled back in the Cadillac and I honestly don’t know how Joe managed to stay awake to drive, but he insisted that he was fine. I was very happy to curl up on the back seat while Dolly nodded in the front.

  I gazed out of the window and let the passing scenery lull me asleep.

  When I woke, we were on the outskirts of Vegas. I sat up straighter, wincing because my neck seemed to have a crick, and the mirror in my compact reflected smeared eyeliner and hair that looked like something had been nesting in it.

  “You look fine,” said Joe, throwing me a tired smile.

  “I don’t, but thanks for lying,” I said, dragging a comb through my hair and patting a Kleenex under my eyes. “I’ll phone our hotel and see if they can give us an early check-in.”

  I unfolded the itinerary that I’d worked on with Dolly, dialed the number, and had a brief but illuminating call with a receptionist.

  “Are you sure? There’s no mistake? Well … I guess we’ll see you soon.”

  Joe glanced at me. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” I said slowly. “It’s just that, well, she said our Penthouse Suite was ready for us, and when I googled the hotel, it says that the Bellagio is one of the best hotels in Vegas.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “The penthouse? Seriously?”

  “That’s what I thought, but she said there’s no mistake.” I glanced at Dolly, still sleeping. “Joe, it’s costing more than $3,000! Can she afford this?”

  He didn’t answer but his lips flattened and he was frowning.

  We decided to stop at a coffee shop on the outskirts so we could wake Dolly and use the bathrooms, but mostly find out what the heck was going on.

  She was groggy and slow to wake, but when I held her thin wrist, her pulse was strong. I was relieved that we were at a much lower elevation now.

  I helped Dolly to the bathroom, combed her hair, and made myself slightly more presentable. To be honest, I was intimidated by the thought of staying in a nice hotel—budget motels were more my style; well, my credit card’s style.

  Coffee jolted my brain into a more alert mode and I cautiously questioned Dolly about the Bellagio.