Key to Her Heart?

I didn't recognize anything either, but I had something more interesting. "I don't know," I replied, holding the book in front of me and shaking it a bit as if it was nothing. She caught it at once, of course.

"Kyle? What's that?"

"Umm, just something I found in Dad's office. I could be wrong, but I suspect, based on the date, it was originally in the trunk."

"Yay! Told you there might be treasure in there! Let's take a look!"

"Uhh uh. You're right, it's too hot up here. Let's go downstairs where it's cooler and we'll look at it there."

"Deal!"

The assorted "stuff" went back in the trunk in seconds and down the stairs we went. We made a stop in the kitchen where we got more drinks before heading to the family room. I motioned to the two socially distanced armchairs where we'd been sitting opposite each other earlier, but she shook her head but then gave a slow nod.

"I want to sit next to you, Kyle, but you're right."

To be honest, I was dying to sit next to her, too, and was far more interested in seeing more of her than what was in some dusty old book, but she wanted to find out more and I knew I'd do most anything for her. She usually dressed so professionally, so perfectly, that seeing her in such casual clothes in such a relaxed setting, her hair up in a ponytail with minimal makeup, if she was wearing any at all, made her look younger and almost made me forget that she was older than me. She was beautiful, though, with her blonde hair and green eyes, her face and shape right out of a supermodel's portfolio. With both of us being wet with sweat, I loved the way her form-fitting t-shirt was sticking to her, highlighting her abs and her sweet breasts.

Her sad look, obvious even with her mask, brought me back to what we were doing. "This mess is going to be over someday, Etta, and then...well, until then, we have to be careful whether we want to or not."

"Not," she agreed, tucking her legs up under her. "Read, okay?"

I slid the ribbon off the book and dropped it into the spot Dad had seemingly marked with the ribbon's tail. Then I turned to page 1.

The pages were unlined but the writer had done a good job maintaining even lines while using what appeared to be a fountain pen. The writing, while in cursive and definitely feminine, was exceedingly neat—

"Is there a name? Is it Amanda's?"

"No name, but I don't think it's hers. I think she was born in 1925 or so and this is dated...1917."

"Great! Read on!" she encouraged me after removing her mask.

I took mine off, too, and smiled across the room at her, feeling my heart race at her beauty. This, I realized, was going to be tough. Taking a breath and hoping she wouldn't notice my discomfort, I started to read.

***

Friday, July 20, 1917

The trip has been so boring, with only the fears of storms and German U-boats to break the monotony. Of course, I was quite sick for the first three days until hunger and exhaustion set in and my body began to accommodate whatever nature and the U.S.S. Sherman, our transport vessel, could throw at us. I was able to keep something down this morning, so I have hope that—

***

"The last line's a lot less steady than the neatness of the first couple of lines," I observed, holding it up for her.

Etta looked where I pointed and gave a chuckle. "It's pretty small from this far away, but thank God for airplanes and Dramamine. Can you imagine taking days—or even weeks?—to cross the ocean?"

"And having to worry about enemy subs?"

"Exactly! You might not know they were there until your ship blew up and started sinking." She gave a shiver at the thought and I so wanted to stretch an arm around her to give her a comforting squeeze but the distance between us precluded that.

"So...bored yet, or do you want me to keep going?"

She looked up at me and smiled. "Keep going, Kyle, please? I really want to hear this."

***

Saturday, July 21, 1917

Writing while the ship is moving is tough. I barely made it to the side yesterday before I threw up. With the wind blowing as it is, I hope it didn't spatter anyone on a deck below.

Marcella, one of the other nurses, suggested that I keep a journal to take my mind off the nausea and she gave me her spare volume since she said she hasn't even filled a page after almost a month of trying, leading me to question the veracity of her advice. Yesterday was my first failed attempt at recording our journey before it—oh, not again—

***

We both laughed at what we believed to be my ancestor's seasickness. Considering there was a date in the same handwriting just below and many pages that followed, it was obvious that she'd survived.

Whoever she was. With Great Grandma Amanda having been born in the 1920s, could this have been her mother, her aunt, or maybe her grandmother? Someone who was a nurse. Or maybe, I realized, it was the diary of a complete stranger she'd picked up at a yard sale or somewhere over her years.

I took too long so Etta said, "Give!"

Laughing, we both stretched as far as we could where she could take the book. I wanted so badly to touch her fingertips, to feel her hand in mine, but knew I shouldn't. With an inaudible sigh, I released it to her, and she continued our reading.

***

Thursday, August 2nd

No more writing on ships. Never again.

That said, we finally arrived in England last week and it was quite hot compared to what we'd been led to expect. After disembarking, we stood in line for hours to check in before being sent by train to a base somewhere southeast of London where....

***

Over the next few pages and days, we learned that the nurses in the group were being sent to a hospital in England rather than France, that the woman was born in the summer of 1897, that her name was Mary O'Grady, and she had a little sister named Clara.

"Ha! I'll have to check the family tree to be sure but I believe Mary O'Grady was—"

"Shh!" she said loudly. "Spoilers! Don't tell me!"

I laughed out loud but said nothing as Etta read a few more pages. Eventually though, I knew I had to get some packing done. It came to me then, the hook I needed, but to my great surprise, I already had it.

"Etta? I've got so much to do this afternoon. Think we could stop here and maybe pick up reading again soon?"

She looked a little disappointed but gave an encouraging smile and a nod. "I'd like that, but let's not wait too long, okay? Once you start your med school classes, you'll have as little or maybe even less time than I do."

"How about tomorrow morning? I'll come to you?"

"Perfect," she agreed.

We put our masks back on as I walked her out. At the front door, she turned to me and gave me a quick hug, with both of us turning our heads away and almost praying that the COVID bugs were far away.

"See you tomorrow, Kyle. 10 AM, okay? I'll fix us some lunch."

***

In the tale of "One Thousand and One Nights," the king discovered his wife was unfaithful to him so he had her beheaded. He then vowed to marry a virgin each night with the intent to have his new bride beheaded the next morning before she too could bring dishonor upon him.

When the beautiful and very intelligent Scheherazade, the virgin daughter of the king's advisor, began hearing of the deaths of so many of her friends, she volunteered to marry the king. With the supply of virgins being exhausted, the advisor was eventually forced to allow Scheherazade to marry the king. On the night of their wedding, she told a story that was so compelling it drew the monarch's interest, but she stopped her narration at dawn, promising to finish the story the next night. The king allowed her to live so she could finish the story, but when the first story was complete, she told the first part of another to keep him interested and always wanting more.

This, I realized, might be the key to Etta's heart. If I could always leave her wanting more, perhaps she'd be willing to see me again to get another taste of what she desired. In the process of doing that, perhaps she'd eventually discover that she wanted to see me as much as getting what she originally wanted. Could it be?

I went to Etta's apartment on Wednesday morning and we talked for a long while before reading. We swapped more stories of ourselves and our families, asking questions and getting to know each other better for a while. We discovered that we were both swimmers and that she was interested in target shooting but had never been, while I'd always dreamed of rock climbing more than the wall at Scout camp.

"Maybe we can do both together one weekend," she said. "I'll teach you about climbing, and you can teach me how to hit the broad side of a barn with a rifle?"

"Maybe even the narrow side," I agreed with a chuckle.

She laughingly threw a throw pillow at me for that, which finally gave me a better understanding of the name and added a fun new dimension to our discussions. Throw pillows would sail across our social distance space on bad jokes, silly innuendos, and sometimes, well, just because, leading to more laughter and grins.

"You want to read some more of the journal?" I asked after a while, starting to feel bad that I was getting all of the pleasure out of our meeting and Etta wasn't getting what she really wanted.

"That would be good," she replied, "but first let me tell you what I found out about the trunk." She scurried to her study (the second bedroom of her apartment) and came back moments later with a paper. She read off what she'd discovered in her research on the trunk—I didn't even dream there would be people interested in old trunks and websites where one could do such research.

"So if you wanted to clean it up and condition the wood but not do anything to the embossed metal or the hardware, it would be worth a pretty good bit of money," she concluded.

I shook my head. "It was my mom's and her mom's and her grandma's before that. I didn't realize how, when you lose your mom, how special..."

Tears filled my eyes as I thought of her and they coursed down my cheeks. Etta was there in front of me then, taking my hands and pulling me up from the couch and into her arms where she hugged me close. It was wonderful feeling her against me, arms around me giving me the comfort I needed—

Then it struck me.

"Etta! COVID!"

Sitting far enough apart, neither of us had been wearing our mask and now we were more than just close, we were physically touching. I started to try to pull away but she held me tight, not letting go.

"Fuck COVID," she whispered. "Fuck fuck fuck it!"

I'd never heard her say a bad word so the shock combined with the humor was enough to break my tears. She must have picked up on this, for she asked, "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good, cause I can't hold my breath anymore," she teased with a laugh.

We separated quickly and returned to our separate corners, me to the couch and her to her recliner where she sat cross-legged in the seat. I thought for a second that I was about to receive an incoming throw pillow, but she wrapped her arms around it and held it tight like she'd held me just seconds earlier. "Okay, mister, read."

***

Saturday, August 18, 1917

The first full week is over and I think God that I am sound in body and in mind for no one here is. No one in the wards, anyway. I noticed one of the younger doctors glance at me several times this week; unlike the patients, he appears to be in excellent health, and when he smiled at me...

***

We would read and discuss as we went, taking our time in doing so. It wasn't long before Etta grabbed her pad and we would look up events that were mentioned that we couldn't remember from our reading or past history lessons. I was surprised that Etta didn't push harder to finish more of the journal, but she seemed to be enjoying our relaxed speed as much as I was and since it aligned so well with my plan to stretch the journal out, I said nothing and was happy to learn some new history out of it.

We broke a little later and had the lunch Etta had prepared for us, grilled turkey wraps and a salad, and I told her goodbye with even more than my usual reluctance shortly after lunch. However, this was not before I had another reading session with Etta scheduled for Friday.

With our COVID masks in place, we avoided another hug as I left but that was tough. What I really wanted to do, I realized, was to hold her close and not let go.

***

My mind swirled as I drove home; the stops at a couple of stores to pick up things for my room in the apartment were blurs, leaving no recollection beyond the fact that everything I purchased was actually on my list.

Instead of concentrating on my move as I should have been, I was thinking of Etta, thinking of the forbidden hug we'd shared, violating social distancing, being close without masks, and risking it all. There was great danger from COVID, I knew, and my family had already been hit hard from it, but it felt really good giving the bug the middle finger, even if only for a moment.

I finished more of my packing that afternoon and evening, thinking of dear Etta and that hug almost all the while. It got to be too much as I got in the shower; I was giving her a standing salute and it wasn't long before I found myself closing my eyes, remembering her, remembering our hug, and wishing for so much more with her.

Slow and steady, my grip moved up and down, feeling her curves against me, her arms around me, and her comfort flowing through me. It wasn't long before more was flowing, spurt after spurt, as I relaxed in the great relief that washed through me while wishing we could be together for real.

***

Etta came over again on Friday, and like each of the days before, we talked for a while. I learned that she played video games at times, but she was an XBox girl whereas I was a PlayStation guy, and neither of us had been all that devoted in years, meaning there weren't any newer games with which we were both familiar. She told me to pick a multiplayer game from her list of games and she'd do the same from my list, and we'd see if we could find something fun. While I wasn't all that interested in the game I picked, I knew I'd play the game with gusto, solving every clue, finding every prize and every Easter Egg, and beating every Boss, whether I enjoyed it or not if it allowed me to be closer to Etta over time.

We read more that day, including how Mary became a nurse and how a Mrs. Cruickshank, the nursing school lady, stayed after her. Etta was reading the section snickering at times and I'd chucked a few times myself.

From the entry of August 21, 1917, she read, Most of all, she was a stern woman, rigorously enforcing the rules of nursing practice, of conduct, and of her perceptions of life. She frequently came down on me about some small infraction or another, making me wonder if she truly disliked me or if she just wanted me to be perfect.

"I'm not perfect, ma'am," I retorted one day, when I'd had enough, "but I'm doing the best I can."

She glowered at me and placed her hands on her hips. At about 5'-8" and somewhat over 200 pounds, she was much larger than my 5'-3" height and almost 110 pounds.

"Keep trying, Miss O'Grady. While no one is perfect, perhaps, if we're lucky, one day we'll find you approaching close enough, if, that is, you can stay away from those damn doctors."

I fought off the tears right then but let them flow later that night as Pa hugged me. The next day, though, I was back and doing my best, trying to improve, and Mrs. Cruickshank was continuing to gripe about the doctors who would take advantage of me as if I wouldn't have something to say about that.

Etta put down the book and looked at me, batting her long lashes at me from across the room. "Damn doctors who take advantage of pretty young things? Perhaps it's good that I'm having to keep my distance from you, Doctor Kyle."

"Hey, I'm not a doctor yet," I objected. "I'm only about to start medical school. But she didn't sound like she liked shysters, either. Isn't that what they used to call lawyers?"

Etta glared at me for a moment before snickering again. "Doctor and lawyer, huh? You know, Kyl-E, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

She absolutely butchered Bogart's accent in saying it, and trying to make my name sound something like Louis was even sillier, thereby making it all the funnier. I laughed, she laughed, and somewhere about that time I was wishing with all my heart that we could be close enough to be kissing. I knew it then, if it wasn't for COVID, if we could only be snuggled together, that would have been the kiss, the one I'd been wanting that would seal the deal between us, but COVID was still with us and we were still at least six feet apart, meaning the opportunity came and whipped by without a second look.

There was a strange look on Etta's face then and she said, "Kyle, I think I should be going. You think we can get together again, maybe on Sunday evening after I get back from Houston? I'm not sure what time that will be, but I'd love to see your new apartment, spend some time with you, and maybe read a little."

"Wish I could see you tomorrow," I said before thinking.

"You just want me to help you move, an extra set of hands," she teased before looking more somber. "I'm sorry, but I promised my mother that I'd come see her. We don't get along all that well but I try to stay on her good side, to the extent possible, by avoiding things like canceling on her."

We gave a very quick one-arm hug around each other as Etta left. Maybe it wasn't very smart, but it felt good and I hoped that she'd be back early enough on Sunday.

***

"Dad, I have a question."

It was early Saturday morning and we'd already rented the little U-Haul van and had it partially loaded.

"What is it, Kyle?"

"Great great grandma Mary's old journal in your office, well, I've been reading it. Based on the marker, I think you've finished it now, so I was wondering if I could borrow it for a few weeks until I finish with it."

He looked at me and nodded with a smile. "It's your family history, Kyle, so you're welcome to take and read it. I would like it back when you're done, though, so Kevin can read it someday, and your Aunt Erica might like a turn, too, if she hasn't already read it."

"No problem, Dad. I'm enjoying learning more of our family history through her eyes and experiences."

He nodded and gave a knowing smile. "Just wait."

***

Dad and Kevin helped me move into my new apartment only a couple of miles from the medical center on Saturday. I was taking the second bedroom in a two unit apartment being rented by Rolf Hagensen, a second year medical student. I introduced everyone when we arrived and Rolf left for the library just minutes later; I wasn't sure if he was going to study or just leaving to escape helping with the move. My new bedroom set, which Dad bought me as a college graduation present, was delivered less than an hour later.

"Mom and I had been discussing it before she got sick," said Dad, wanting me to know that it was from her, too, even if she wasn't in on the final selection.

Before the world went to COVID hell, the plan had been for me to move into an apartment as soon as I graduated. Instead, we'd been sent home from school in March, Mom got sick while caring for her patients and died just weeks later, and I graduated remotely while still living at home. Finding the apartment with Rolf was as much a matter of luck as it was with checking the electronic bulletin board where he posted the notice when his previous roommate decided to take a year of absence from school. I noticed and called within minutes of his posting, getting the room less than an hour before another student called to inquire about it.