Free Seasons of the Heart by Cynthia Freeman Page A

week or two of leave before being shipped out.
    That morning it had taken all of Ann’s strength to say goodbye to him without bursting into tears. At breakfast she had kept the conversation going with trivialities and had refused to turn on the radio for any reason whatsoever. Phillip had kissed her goodbye as if he were just going to the office. Ann held up until the front door had firmly closed behind him. Then she collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
    It was nearly four that afternoon when Ann was finally able to pull herself together. Sitting up, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face bore the same haunted look it had the day her father died. She couldn’t let Phillip see her this way. Quickly, she went to the bathroom and showered.
    After she had slipped into a blue silk dress, she appraised herself. Maybe a little more rouge might draw attention away from the dark circles under her eyes.
    She went into the kitchen and turned on the oven. Taking out a small chicken from the ice box, she prepared it for baking. She had just put it into the oven when she heard Phillip’s key in the latch. For a moment she panicked, trying to catch her breath. Then she took off the apron, patted her hair, and went into the hall to greet him.
    “Hello, darling,” she said, leading him into the living room. “What can I get you? A drink?”
    “That would be great, sweetheart,” Phillip replied. He sank onto the sofa while Ann poured him a scotch and soda.
    “How was your day?” Phillip asked cautiously.
    “Oh, I took a nap. I guess I was tired.” She paused. “How about you?” Her voice was even but her eyes were clouded with apprehension.
    “Long day … I’m sorry I’m late.”
    “That’s okay. I just put the chicken in, so it will be awhile until dinner.”
    An awkward silence fell between them. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Phillip said, “How do you like being married to a second lieutenant?” There—it was out in the open. Phillip laughed, hoping to erase the stricken look on Ann’s face. “I just might make this my life’s work. My base pay will be four hundred fifty dollars a month.”
    But Ann couldn’t smile. “I think I’d better go look at the chicken.”
    Sensing that she was unable to deal with all the implications of his leaving, Phillip said nothing more about the war that evening. But as the days passed and Ann asked no questions, Phillip realized that she was pretending that nothing was going to change.
    Friday, after work, Phillip picked up his uniform. He took it home and tried it on, unexpectedly feeling a surge of pride. Straightening his shoulders, he walked into the living room, where Ann was reading a magazine. At the sight of him, she jumped up. “Phillip!” Why couldn’t you have waited? she wanted to shout. How could you do this to me? But she bit back the words. It wasn’t Phillip who had done this to her—it was the world.
    For the next two days she steeled herself for the moment of Phillip’s leaving, and by Monday morning she felt strangely calm. Their separation had an air of unreality. Phillip would be so close, but he could not come home, and apparently he would be lucky to even call. But at least for the next few weeks he would be safe, and Ann was grateful for that much.
    Time passed faster than she could have believed. Phillip returned from basic training just one day before his orders arrived. They were brief and to the point: six days later he was to report at the Ferry Building on Market Street.
    They had so little time left—less than a week! They were determined to savor those last precious days as though nothing threatened their lives together.
    Ann cooked all his favorite dishes, wore her prettiest dresses, and joined him in bed with passion equal to his. They avoided talking about the war and spoke instead of their plans for when Phillip came home. What kind of house they would buy, how many children they would have. Four? Five? Okay,