Chapter One
Diary of Carrie Sue Justice
Monday, February 16, 1987
A chair–scraping the floor like fingernails on blackboard–jolted me out of my daydream and back to our staff meeting. I usually take notes during these weekly meetings. I’ve been known to fill half a reporter’s pad with my scribbles, but this morning my lovestruck brain refused to focus on work. I should have known better, but even if I’d been able to focus, I couldn’t have predicted the trauma to come.
Darla Denton grabbed her tote from the mahogany conference table and pointed to the starburst clock on the wall. “It’s five past ten. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my appointment.”
Marcus ran a hand through his dark hair. “I have one more thing to say, Wonder Woman.” We all called Darla “Wonder Woman,” due to her ability to sell ads for the Southern Journal and her likeness to actress Lynda Carter.
My eyes feasted on Marcus, handsome, in a heather-grey suit and blue tie. His navy eyes captured my baby blues. He hiked up one side of his top lip in a smile that could make dark clouds disappear. “I’ve proposed to Carrie.”
Lindsey Jernigan, the features editor, stood and picked off lint from her green suit.
“Proposed?” She reminded me of a young Jacqueline Kennedy.
Lindsey faced me and squinted her brown eyes, her version of x-ray vision. “Oh, wow, Carrie Sue. Did you accept?”
My heart hammered. Marcus didn’t tell me he was going to announce our engagement during our staff meeting.
Lindsey grabbed my left hand to examine the diamond and ruby ring. “Gorgeous. Does this mean engagement and marriage?”
My burning face must have looked as red as the rubies. “Doesn’t it usually?”
Thomas Anderson wrapped me in a tight hug. He smelled of Old Spice and reminded me of actor Jimmy Stewart in the movie Rear Window “Congratulations to both of you.”
Thomas taught journalism at Georgia State, my alma mater, until he retired a few years ago. Retirement didn’t suit him, so he joined our staff part time.
He draped an arm around his wife Lisa, twenty years his junior. “You’re not surprised. Are you, sweetie?”
Lisa, the office secretary and circulation manager, pushed back her flaxen hair and pulled me into a gardenia-perfumed hug. Her blue eyes filled with tears. “This is wonderful news. I wish your Mom and Dad could be here.”
I tried to bite back my tears, but they leaked out as I stuttered, “I’d…I’d like…like to think… they’re here in spirit.” I could almost hear Mom say, “Remember to pause and allow your brain to process what you want to say before you speak.”
Jackie Steiner shot me a green stare. “Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding. Didn’t you just get a divorce from what’s his face?” Jackie and I were around the same age, but she looked like a teen in her frayed blue jeans, oversized sweater and honey-blonde hair bound in a ponytail. Marcus had recently hired Jackie, a new grad from Georgia State.
I bristled at her candor, though she spoke the truth and had the guts to say it, which I usually welcomed, but not at that moment.
Lisa, our peacekeeper, stepped in to mediate. “Carrie Sue knows marrying Kyle was a big mistake. We all make mistakes. Let’s focus on the here and now. I’m more interested in knowing how, when and where Marcus proposed.”
“He took me to the Sun Dial Restaurant on Valentine’s Day.”
Lisa clasped her hands together. “An Atlanta landmark, perfect. Did he get down on one knee?”
Marcus smiled and nodded. “I did, but Carrie Sue made me wait. She didn’t answer right away.”
I sighed. “I was too shocked to speak.”
As everyone laughed and jabbered, my mind flashed back to the night Marcus proposed. He wore a tux. I wore a flashy-red sequined dress and let my bushy blonde hair fly wild and free.
A rare situation for me. In my job as a crime reporter, I dress much more conservatively. Our waitress said I looked like Barbie. Not one of my goals, but I thanked her for trying to flatter me.
Marcus and I ate a full course dinner, drank champagne and shared a baked Alaska before he kneeled and opened a black velvet box.
“Will you marry me?” His deep voice resonated through the crowded restaurant.
The blood drained from my head. My tongue froze.
A woman at a nearby table yelled, “Give him an answer!”
Marcus’ eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he continued to kneel, all 6-feet, 5 inches of him, patiently waiting.
Marcus drew me back to the moment when he said, “I hope I didn’t embarrass you, Carrie. I just wanted to share our happy news. If no one else has anything to add, let’s adjourn.” He motioned to me. “If your column is ready, I can edit it now.”
Thankful for the retreat, I grabbed my little Tandy computer from my desk and followed him to his office. He was closing the door when Lisa stuck her head in. “Marcus, you have an urgent call on line one.”
He answered the phone in his forceful baritone. “Marcus Handley.” After a moment, he grimaced, gulped and dropped down in his chair. “You’re alive? Oh god, Susan. What happened to you?”
I knew of only one Susan in Marcus’s life: his late wife, Susan Silverman. She was killed in a helicopter crash during the Vietnam War, he’d said. He was piloting B-52s at the time, and Susan was riding in a copter, near where he’d been ordered to drop his bombs. She was a war correspondent back then, and he had no idea she was in the path of his napalm, which burned her beyond recognition, he’d said. He still suffered from excruciating guilt and nightmares.
Marcus massaged his eyes and listened quietly for a few minutes. When he finally spoke again, his voice cracked. “How terrible. When are you leaving the Manila hospital?”
I moved closer, straining to hear the caller. Marcus held the receiver–almost buried in his large hand–tightly against his ear.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “When do you expect to fly to California?” He listened silently for a few more minutes. “Okay, take it easy. Get some rest and feel better. I’ll see you soon.”
His eyes locked with mine for a moment. Then he quickly looked away. “Me, too, Susan.”
My heart hurt. Did she tell him she loved him, and did he respond with, “Me, too?”
After he hung up, I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek to his chest. I could hear his heart thrashing. He smelled clammy like an injured pet.
He cushioned my face in his hands. “Susan is alive.”
“What, what are you saying, Marcus?”
“I thought my wife was dead, but she’s alive.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Marcus. You said Susan was killed in a helicopter crash.
How could she be alive?”
He groaned. “We thought we’d recovered what was left of her body. We found her identification and the identification of the pilot. Susan was inside the copter when it took off, according to everyone who saw her before she left.” He sucked in a breath. “She was planning to free Virginia Fischer. It was a secret mission, and I didn’t know about it. Virginia was one of her friends from college. After college, Virginia worked with the CIA and was captured by the Vietcong. I don’t have all the details yet.” His frown deepened as his eyes locked with mine. “Susan is at a hospital in Manila. She’s flying to California. She suffered head injuries and lost her memory for a time, or at least that’s what she said.”
I stroked his face. “Are you saying she had amnesia?”
Marcus shrugged. “I’m unsure of the medical diagnosis.”
“Marcus, if she survived the crash, I’m confused as to why you didn’t receive word she survived?”
He heaved a sigh. “She was captured and imprisoned. No one came forward with new information.”
“Someone should have notified you. The official report from our government stated all the prisoners of war had been returned. Those missing were believed to be dead. Isn’t that what our government claimed?”
“This was a secret mission and with the CIA involvement, I’m not surprised I didn’t hear anything.”
“Are you sure it was Susan you spoke to just now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re absolutely sure the woman you spoke to was Susan?”
“She and I grew up together. Yes, I’m certain.”
I longed to ask him other questions, but I doubted he’d be able to answer them, or maybe I feared the answers. How would he respond if I asked him: “Do you still want to marry me?” Would he hesitate, or not answer at all, or say no?
My body ached with grief. Marcus looked grief stricken, too. This puzzled me. He now knew he wasn’t responsible for his wife’s death. She was alive.
His eyes shifted from side to side, a signal he was processing information. What would he decide? Marcus disliked uncertainty. He needed to be in control. He made quick decisions. But this was not like deciding to cover one news story over another. This was his life, his future, our future, Susan’s future.
I grabbed my chest to ease the stabbing pain–like a knife in my heart. The Marcus I knew would never desert his wife in her time of need. His integrity wouldn’t allow him to divorce her. He’d known and loved her longer than he’d known and loved me, but I refused to doubt his love for me. Our love was like the song: How Deep Is the Ocean? How High Is the Sky? He’d played that song for me on his piano this weekend, as a serenade to our love, and even though I loved him deeper than the ocean and higher than the sky, I knew he would do what he thought was right, even if it broke both our hearts, and as this unbearable truth sunk in, I convulsed into sobs. Nothing was certain now, only heartache.
Marcus pulled me close and stroked my hair. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I’m not handling this well. I love you. Never forget that.”
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