Chapter 1

Chas sat on his bunk aboard the Naval landing craft repair ship, ARL-48 Arcas. A journal rested on his pillow as he scribbled that day’s entry onto one of the last pages. He was relieved that their ship was scheduled to dock in Toulon within the next few hours. Of course, he was always glad to be in Toulon. It sure beat being over in Vietnam. Chas had received letters from home saying some of his classmates and cousins had been drafted into service. It made him glad that the seven years he had spent in the Navy since graduating high school meant he was allowed to remain stationed in the Mediterranean, and that all his siblings were girls.

Still, it wasn’t as though life on the Arcaswas a pleasure cruise. Chas and his crewmates had to constantly be on alert to rescue American citizens on foreign soil in the event of hostile situations, or come to the aid of a ship in need of immediate repairs, or act as an emergency landing space for both American and Allied aircraft. The journal in which Chas was writing was full of stories of ignited fuel tanks, near crashes from helicopters, and withstanding fire from enemies who had taken friendly ships hostage. However, his journals weren’t simply diaries. They also contained stories he had made up and would read to his sisters when he returned home, anecdotes he had read or overheard and deemed worthy of recording, as well as the various thoughts that clawed at the inside of his mind incessantly until he released them onto paper.

The sound of a knock brought Chas from his world of ink and memory. His bunkmate, Don, was leaning against the doorframe.

“Land has been sighted. They say we should be in Toulon by sundown.”

“And how long are we staying this time?”

“I’ve heard we’re getting shore leave tomorrow and setting sail at daybreak the next day.”

“Neat.” Chas finished the sentence he had been writing, blew on the ink to dry it, and closed his journal.

“What are you always writing in there?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve seen the inside of your footlocker. You have an entire library in there. What do you keep writing?”

“Oh, you know, things. Things I have seen, things I miss seeing, things I want to see.”

Don grinned. “So it’s your hope chest in a book?”

Chas laughed. “Something along those lines.”

“Are you going to share them with your beau someday, or can the rest of us have a look at them first? Make sure you’re getting your stories straight?”

A twinge of panic shot up Chas’s spine, but he tried to keep a smile on his face. “Well, you know me. I’m waiting to give myself up to Mr. Right, and if you boys want a look into my private life, you’ll have to make me an honest gal first.”

Don chuckled. “I don’t know how you manage to say that with a straight face. Anyone else would have boxed my ears for insinuating they were a queer, but here you are, a boxing champ, and you just shrug it off.”

Not for the first time, Chas was glad he could hide his frantic heartbeat behind a nonchalant smile. “Well, I don’t have to worry much about rumors when I know the truth, right?”

“I guess so.” Don climbed onto his bunk to lie down. “Are you coming to La Sirènewith us once we dock?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Just making sure. You’re not going to order gin and tonic with cranberry juice again, are you?”

“I don’t care what you say. I like it so I drink it.”

“If you say so.”

Don didn’t press the issue further, much to Chas’s relief. He was often teased for his choice of drink, but he simply told them he had had a girlfriend who got him hooked on the stuff and he drank it to remember her. His crewmates accepted this without question, especially later in the night when they had had enough beers to slur their speech and stagger their steps.

Chas had a different reason to visit La Sirène. That night, after the Arcashad been anchored and secured at the Toulon military harbor, he and a group of other sailors made their way to the small but popular bar. He had his rucksack slung over one shoulder, containing the latest three volumes of his journal as well as his money and a couple gifts. The head barmaid, Madame Celine, nearly dropped the glass she was cleaning with excitement as the Navy boys strolled up to the bar.

“Ah! My favourrrite Amerrricans!” she said in her thick southern French accent, “Please make yourrrselves at ‘ome!”

“As always, Celine.”

Chas set himself on a stool along with his friends as they ordered their first round of drinks. He deposited his rucksack on the floor then leaned back and surveyed the room. It had been nearly seven months since he had been here last, but everything was much the same. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like sharp fog, sailors of all nationalities chatted up the local girls, and a wooden staircase led to a landing on the second floor where there were rooms for more intimate conversation and activities. Chas deeply inhaled the scent of smoke, perfume, and sea air. It was a familiar and therefore comforting bouquet that was made unique by the rosemary sprigs Mme. Celine used as decorative centerpieces on all the tables and at the counter.