Prologue – 2005

This story begins with two unnamed characters. It is up to the reader to figure out their identity and their relationship and condition. The Prologue sets the stage for all to come, and for the novel's suprising conclusion.

       The couple sat quietly on the back veranda, slowly rocking and staring at the outgoing tide as though it could answer all their questions.
       A solitary loon bobbed on the current, occasionally ducking beneath the waves to search for fish, while an osprey sailed majestically overhead, no doubt looking for his evening meal before nightfall. No sound intruded on the pair’s solitude except the lapping of waves on the rocky coastline below and the rockers’ soft creak on hundred year-old floorboards--a steady, reassuring sound that promised some things lasted.
      “What really happened to us?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
      “I wish I knew.  All I ever wanted was to be with you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who only wanted to please me.”
      “And that always seemed to get me in trouble, didn’t it?
       Her low chuckle moved him, as always. The man reached out and took her hand across the narrow void between their chairs. “Yet, here I am, holding your hand again, and remembering all the joy you brought into my life…when I still had one. Now, I’m wondering how much of it I have left. I’m glad you came…one more time.”
      “You knew I’d come, soon as I heard. It’s been…too long.”

      The Maine breeze wafting off Penobscot Bay blew wisps of his newly graying hair over his forehead. Unconsciously, he brushed them back. His hand shook, she noticed, and his face was bloated and puffy, probably from the medication.
      She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his face. She struggled to conceal her heartbreak that his condition had so deteriorated since last they were together. That had been under such different circumstances. It’s hard to be with him now. It would have been harder not to be. Her thoughts brought tears, and she wiped them away with her palm, hoping he wouldn’t see.
     The man rose to his full height, pulled her to her feet and kissed her, softly and deeply.  “Don’t cry,” he whispered, as she buried her head on his chest. “This is just the way it worked out. We’re together for now, and even a few moments alone feels good.”
     It felt so natural to be in his arms--as though they’d never been apart. She could feel his long-remembered body against hers and closed her eyes.
    “The old fire is still there, isn’t it?” he said. “I can feel your heart beating…a sign…a comfort. This devotion for each other never really goes away.”
      She looked up at him with a sardonic smile. “I suppose we shouldn’t be feeling this now, in our sixties. Aren’t we supposed to be sedate and cool by now?”
       “I’d have to be dead before I’d regret feeling like this again.”

        His mischievous grin warmed her pained heart. Relaxing against him, she said, “I understand now why this is your favorite spot in the world. I can feel the peace, just watching the sea--or maybe it’s being here like this--with you.”
        Standing with their arms around each other, swaying a bit with the breeze in spite of the pain in his irradiated hip joints, the peaceful feeling extended longer than either realized. They watched the last errant folds of twilight sink into the black sea, neither wanting to break the communion of their spirits--or the touch of their bodies.

“Look at the stars--there’s the Big Dipper.” He leaned her back against him as he pointed out each constellation, one arm wrapped around the front of her shoulders.
       “Do you remember the first time you pointed out stars to me?”
       “In our attic in the Alps? One of the highlights of my entire life!” After a few moments searching the night sky, each remembering silently, he turned her to him again to kiss “…for old time’s sake,” he said

 “And this is all we’ll ever have, isn’t it? A chance to kiss good-bye, again.”
       “A pity. We dreamed of so much more. But this will have to be enough to last me until….” He didn’t finish the sentence.
       “We must be the poster children for bad timing,” she whispered.
       “It would be comic if it weren’t so tragic. Timing appears to really be, as the saying goes, ‘everything.’ It has certainly had its way with us.”
       “Even now, I don’t understand it.” She leaned her face back to look into his eyes, reaching up to caress his cheek. “Do you? We never meant to hurt each other, or anyone else. And everything seemed so…so right…so meant to be….” Her voice rasped into a sob. “I wish…before it all ends, I’d like to at least understand…where we lost the dream….”

With a soft touch to her temple, he pulled her head again to his chest and rocked her back and forth in his arms. “I don’t know, my dear. I wish I did. I would have preferred to spare you….” His sigh was laced with sad resignation. “Somewhere we missed a communication, I guess. The most difficult decision of a lifetime, regret from the choice, my fear-paralyzed inaction at a moment of truth--I’m not sure. It’s painful to remember….”

They fell into silence and the lapping of the waves finished his sentence.

     Regina’s steps slowed. Her neighbor was waiting near the gate as usual, balancing her young daughter on her hip. She dreaded the customary question.

    “Guten Tag, Frau Wolff. Any news? Have you heard from your husband?”

    “Not yet,” answered Regina. She didn’t need reminding. He’s been missing over two years with no word, she thought to herself for the hundredth time--but she quickly remembered to pretend he could not be dead. Never! Don’t think of it now.

    “And you, Frau Schmidt,” she answered evenly. “Has anything come from your Mann?”

    “Mail’s been scarce since the war’s so much worse. I’m afraid he may be lying dead in some frozen foxhole in Russia.”

     Regina saw tears form in the woman’s eyes and reached out to pat her arm “You mustn’t say that. You mustn’t even think it. None of the other women has heard anything either. The Russians can’t have swallowed up all our soldiers. The war will end, and they’ll all come home. You’ll see.” She forced a smile, waved, and moved away from their communal fear.

    Regina shuddered to block out thoughts her neighbor might be right. Were their husbands dead, captured, or terribly wounded? The disasters at Stalingrad with many casualties on both sides, had come and gone with no news. She sighed and walked on more slowly. She wasn’t sure she believed her own words of encouragement? At first, after Gustav’s last leave during Christmas, 1941, she had received his usual, loving letters--then nothing. Now, in 1944, she lived each day determined to lock her fear inside so the children wouldn’t see it. 

   She approached the house where her three little boys and their young nanny usually waited, but this time they came running down the walk toward her.

   Willi screamed, “Mutti, Mutti! Vati’s alive!”

   Regina reeled dizzily, grabbing a white picket fence to keep from falling. Willi screamed again at the top of his lungs, “Mutti, didn’t you hear? Vati’s alive!”

  “How do you know?” Regina gasped. “What’s happened?” 

   Elli pulled a letter from her apron pocket. “There’s no return address, but I think the envelope is in his handwriting.” 

   “Please, let me see!” Regina dropped her briefcase and ripped open the letter. Yes, it was from Gustav. Her hands shook. She wanted a moment of privacy to read it alone, but the children danced around her.

   Willi insisted, “What does Vati say?  What does he say?”

   She glanced at the opening line and froze.  Then she answered slowly, without looking up, “Vati says he is well and he loves you.” She felt guilty for making up the words, but she could not tell them what the letter really had said.

   Shaking her head and unable to speak further, Regina turned pleading eyes to Elli.

   The younger woman realized something was wrong, and began herding the boys back toward the house.  “Come boys, we must get our supper. We’re already late. Your mother needs some time alone.” 

   They skipped, chanting happily in singsong fashion, “Vati’s alive, Vati’s alive!” 

   Her husband’s first words burned in Regina’s mind. “Destroy this letter as soon as you’ve read it, and tell no one of its contents. You must get the boys out of Königsberg, now!”

And thus begins the journey of a lifetime that would change everything.

Megan James is a naive, grief-stricken widow in her early thirties who is leaving home for the first time in her life and traveling across an ocean to a temporary job with the Department of Defense Overseas Schools. She has no idea that her life will soon change in ways she never imagined as she confronts both the camaraderie and the secret intrigue of the Cold War Border running across a divided Europe. This excerpt is from her first introduction to flight, to Germany, and her shock at the less-than-modest  behavior of a new acquaintance. 

An ancient World Airways jet circled over Frankfurt Airport waiting its turn to land in the dense fog of morning.  Though most passengers were waking from naps with the aplomb of seasoned overseas military travelers, Megan James had not slept at all. She hated being the only person awake. Isolation brought thoughts of…well…ending things.

          Megan’s reverie was interrupted as the stewardess greeted each passenger with a hot morning towel. The stewardess paused as Megan pried her fingers loose from her death grip on the armrests and squirmed to ease the ache in her shoulders.

         “I’ve noticed you never got out of your seat,” said the stewardess. She smiled at the frightened young woman. “Apparently, you’ve been holding the plane up single-handedly this whole nine-hour flight from McGuire Air Force Base? You must ache all over.”

“I guess it was my vigilance, alone, that’s kept this plane safely in the air,” Megan tried to joke. “If these sleeping passengers only knew what a debt they owe me.”

The stewardess met her satire with a pat on the shoulder. “Good Girl. We’re almost there. Here’s a magazine to take your mind off landing.” She moved to the next passenger.

The date on the magazine was August 1974. Its well-thumbed pages fell open to the controversial cease-fire from the war in Vietnam flanked by photos of student riots and flag burning. Riot mentality sickened Megan, but she didn’t want to read about the ashes of Vietnam either. She slid the magazine into the seat pocket. She would learn about military life soon enough, and she wanted to keep an open mind.

What on earth am I doing here? I guess it was either take this job or slit my wrists--maybe both. Put any kind of face on it you want, though, you’re still running away. And now there‘s no going back. 

A ho-hum bustle identified the crowd as experienced travelers--mostly military men with families who moved every three years. Teens exchanged addresses with new friends made on the plane, youngsters played in the aisles, and long-time teachers chatted amiably as they returned for another fall semester. The pilot interrupted tired passengers with his announcement, “We’ve finally been cleared to land. Please return to your seat, put away carry-on items, and buckle up.”

But as the plane dove steeply through the clouds, bumping along with confidence and touching down to the applause of its passengers, Megan, a stranger to those on the plane, to Germany, and to herself, wondered what this new job held in store for her. It had been a long-held dream to do it together, and now… You can’t live a dream alone, she thought, but she caught herself drifting to the negative side, and forced away the idea for the hundredth time. With the rollout and taxi to the terminal, she noted among her peers a last sigh for an ended vacation, a last primp to the hair, a last stretch to the muscles, and the clicks from seat belts unfastened simultaneously.

Jet-lagged passengers waited to exit the plane and gathered in lines for passport control. Though Megan had no foreign language skill, a picture of a suitcase adorned every sign and passengers were funneled in the same direction as though the plane had been the only one arriving at dawn. Bags began bumping their way around the luggage carousel. Megan strained to see her hot pink Samsonite. The set had been a gift from her mother when she was hired for this overseas job. She’d never had luggage before. In fact, she had never traveled out of her home state of California before, and certainly she’d never before been on a plane.

She felt unsure why she had run away to Germany, and panic was setting in. “What on earth have I gotten myself into?” she whispered to herself. Everyone else seemed so casual about the whole international thing, while she wished there was a plane going right back home. But that would mean flying again--a frightening prospect. And home was no longer waiting for her, anyway. The person who’d made it home was gone.

           People at the front of the crowd began hooting with laughter, and Megan strained to see what was going on. A pretty young woman was grabbing all her dainty underwear and clothes from a section of misbehaving baggage belt that had mangled one of her suitcases.

          Megan gasped, as the blonde dove again and again at the belt, snatching up her belongings and dropping them into her luggage cart. Young men scurried to help, but they could not resist waving the lacy underwear like flags so their fellow soldiers could see.

How awful! How embarrassing for that poor girl! Forgetting her natural shyness, Megan dived into the fray to help. She gathered an armload of sweaters and slacks, dropped them into the blonde’s cart, and returned for another load.

          When it seemed that most everything had been recovered, the blonde spoke out loudly with a lazy southern drawl, “Now don’t any of y’all little soldier boys keep anything for a souvenir. I’ll be in this foreign country all year, and I won’t be able to shop for more frilly things over here in Germany. Now ‘fess up, please do.”

She flashed an unembarrassed smile that melted nearby observers. A small group of young GIs conferred, and one was pushed forward, sheepishly handing over a ruffled, lacy pair of panties to the blonde. Thanking him profusely, she kissed him on the cheek, and the crowd roared its approval.

Megan noticed the low cut bodice under the woman’s flapping coat. This person was not at all upset by the attention. Feeling embarrassed and vulnerable, Megan turned to her own suitcases, snatched them off the baggage belt, and swung them onto her cart. There was a vanity case under one bag. From its color, it could only have come from one place. She hurried with her cart over to the blonde and offered it shyly.

“Why, thanks, honey,” the younger woman said. “What a way to greet Germany--by losing my drawers.” She laughed and stuck out her hand. “I’m Lila,” she announced with husky force that denoted confidence. “What’s your name?”

            Megan looked around, wondering if anyone would think she knew this brazen woman. But she couldn’t ignore the proffered hand without being rude, and that was against her inner need to please others. So, with mixed feelings, she timidly offered her own hand. “Megan,” she said. “Do you think you found all your things?” She felt awkward at conversation.

            “Most of it.” Lila laughed loudly. “I saw one teen-aged kid slip some panties into his coat pocket, but I didn’t want to make a fuss and embarrass him. His hormones are raging, and I’ll bet he gets more mileage out of those skivvies than I ever will. He’ll be the hit of his class with his‘trophy.’”

Megan didn’t know what to say. She had never met anyone so open about such private things. She would have died of embarrassment had it been her own lingerie so exposed. Yet this young woman had carried off the disaster with ease and even now was returning the smiles of other amused passengers and patting her blonde curls into place.

Megan felt grudging admiration for one with such confidence, but became uncomfortable again as Lila bumped through customs with her open bag, piles of clothes and a disarming smile, saying, “I think y‘all might want to fix that luggage belt thingy next time you get a lil’ minute.” The customs officials didn’t speak English, but it was obvious what had happened as they moved Lila through the line with barely-concealed smirks. They offered a piece of rope. Megan lost sight of the young woman in the forward push of the crowd.

Outside the customs area, through frosted double doors, a mob of military personnel held up names and destinations on cardboard placards. Megan stood still, bewildered, not sure what to do next.  After a few moments, she heard someone a few yards away bellow out in a commanding voice, “Anyone else for Bamberg?”

Megan straggled up to a sturdily built female sergeant. “My orders said ‘Bamberg,’ but my friends at home couldn’t find it on the map of Germany. They claimed it must be a typographical error and Hamburg was where I was going. Is there really a Bamberg?”

           “Yes Ma’am,” said the sergeant, choking back her laughter. “There’s a Bamberg all right. Though some folks say there shouldn’t be one. It’s a small outpost, way out at the end of the food chain, but right at the edge of the Border. Are you my last teacher?”

“I guess so,” said Megan. She was engulfed in a bear hug from Lila.

           “Why Honey, you didn’t tell me you were going to Bamberg too. We’re going to have a great ol’ time. Kentucky men were rednecks and unadulterated morons, and I’ve had a steady progression of them. I have much higher hopes for some of those cute officers my mom said would lounge around any military base. I can’t wait for them to sweep me off my feet.”

            Megan cringed, wondering what she should say to such a woman.

                   Chapter 1  -  First Impressions  -  August 1977

From my first glimpse of D.D. Otero, I realized why the old axiom “never volunteer” was a good one. The idea of being a “meeter-greeter” for a newly-arriving overseas teacher had seemed reasonable back in June when I was heading for summer vacation Stateside. But now I understood why the other teachers had slunk out of the room when the principal asked for volunteers. I must have been certifiably insane, but I never dreamed that this particular person arriving to be my temporarily assigned responsibility would change my life forever.
        It had already been a bad day.
        I’d slammed my finger in the car door trying to hurry, tripped over a curb that ruined my nylons, ran through the Frankfurt International Airport to the concourse where military transport planes arrived, and stood in the crowd with my hand-lettered sign held high. None of the arriving passengers showed recognition. Maybe the school office had the name wrong. They hadn’t even said if D.D. Otero was a man or a woman.
        As the last passengers cleared customs, only one person remained at the entry door. She had to be D.D. I bumped against a pole while hurrying to help her, and reached up to rub my head, while pasting on my best smile. I swept by the customs counter with a wave, hoping this was not the new teacher for whom I’d be responsible. She was unusual, to say the least. Again I waved my sign, but the woman staggered forward so bogged down she didn’t even notice.
        She stood about five foot four, rather thin, probably dangling between thirty-six and forty, certainly older than me. In addition to hand luggage criss-crossed over both shoulders, which pinned down a large purse, she lugged one bulging suitcase and dragged another. Her purple flowered jersey dress hit at her calves in front and hiked up alarmingly in the rear, no doubt pulled up by the straps of luggage weighing down her front side.
        Hair of a faded light brown straggled from what must have started out as a demure bun, under a mousy little hat perched precariously on her forehead. No lipstick remained, if there ever had been any, but she kept running her tongue over her lips as though she expected to find some. She clutched her handbag in a death grip.
        For this assignment I left a sunlit California beach early and bumped my way back to Germany on a rainy flight? How in God’s green world can I introduce this woman to my friends at the Officers’ Club?
        “You must be D.D, ” I said aloud, trying to sound encouraging.
        “Oh, my,” said the woman, struggling with her luggage, “Mama told me not to come.”
        She won’t last long here, I thought.
        But, I had to recant that thought, since I’d probably looked a little disheveled and bewildered when I’d first arrived in Germany, too. And besides, it was Department of Defense Dependent Schools, or DoDDs, tradition that someone had to be the greeter to help each new teacher get settled, find an apartment, a car, and learn the ropes socially and militarily. Teachers willing to leave their homes behind to teach children of military personnel in far-flung places are a special breed. And they welcome their own. Pay it forward, right? Reminding myself why I’d come brightened my spirit a bit.
       “I’m Megan James from Bamberg. I’m here to welcome you to Germany. Here, let me help you with that suitcase you’re dragging. Didn’t you see the luggage carts when you got off the plane?”
       The woman turned toward me with a guarded look, and we sort of tugged back and forth several times with the heavy suitcase. I won the struggle when she dropped it on my foot.
       I limped backward from the pain.
      “Are you sure you’re from Bamberg?” she challenged in a high-pitched, screechy voice, as though she thought I might try to steal her suitcase. Her stare was pointed enough to pick out my tousled head and freckly face from any police line-up. I could see uncertainty in her eyes as she surveyed my daily collection of cuts and bruises. The glancing blow of that pole was now an angry red bump erupting from my forehead, my finger still throbbed, and I could feel my foot swelling from the suitcase crush. I lifted the offending foot gingerly. What is she carrying in there, anyway?
       “Of course, I am,” I groaned. “How else would I have your name on my little sign here?” I held up the sign, but she was still staring at my protruding forehead. “Don’t mind me. I just had a couple of little accidents. It’s nothing new.”
        D.D. shook her head. “How do I know where to go? I don’t know anyone here, and I don’t speak the language.” She sighed, the lines in her face deepened, and her shoulders slumped forward, reminding me that she must be exhausted. “Mama told me not to come,” she repeated.
        “That’s why I’m here, and I’ll help you with all that.” I ignored the Mama thing coming from a grown woman. I reached out to remove one of the bags from her shoulder, but she grabbed it tightly, throwing her free arm across her breast as though fearful of mayhem.
        “I’ll carry it,” she insisted, pushing her purse more pointedly under the straps.
        After that little performance, I was ready to walk off and leave the woman. I was only trying to help. But to meet and greet, one must actually meet and greet. This is your last chance, Missy.
        D.D. trundled beside me, watching me suspiciously as I dragged her bag forward to the customs officer. She had enough luggage for a six-week safari.  I stifled my urge to throttle her and forced one more smile.
       “One just can’t be too careful,” D.D. said. “Mama told me to watch my pocketbook at all times, and I can see she was right. There were so many people on that plane, and they all jostled me. I was so scared that I waited until everyone else got off the plane.”
       Now, everyone knows I’m scared of flying, but since I’m always convinced the other passengers and I will be sharing a fiery death at any moment, it sure never occurs to me to be scared of the passengers! I couldn’t believe D.D. seemed afraid of everyone.
      “I was too scared to check my bags.” She shook her head with wide eyes and looked around to see if anyone was listening. We were quite alone. “I argued with the stewardess because she said I had too much for carry-on, and I had to ride with my feet up on one suitcase, and my shoulder bags in my lap the whole way. It was really uncomfortable, but I couldn’t trust my suitcases with my iron and sewing machine to those baggage handlers.”  She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered, “I hear these airlines will steal you blind.”
       Well, now I knew what had crushed my foot.
       “D.D. It’s a military aircraft. These are all military people. They’re assigned to bases here in Germany, just like you. They aren’t going to steal anything of yours.” I tried hard not to sound irritated, but my finger, head, foot, and my patience, still felt battered. I helped D.D. peel off all her straps for the customs agent who drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting. Another agent strained to lift her suitcases atop the belt.
        “Where are they going with my bags?” It was a shriek.
        “Shh! They’re German customs agents. They just want to see if there’s any contraband.”
        Customs agents from the now-vacated belts gathered around us, barely concealing their amusement as Ms Otero got into another tug-of-war  for one of her shoulder bags.
        Pulling back and forth with the man, D.D. squealed, “Don’t let them open that bag. My unmentionables are in it!”
        Well, they’re hardly unmentionable any more!
        Her wild reaction convinced the customs man that she was carrying an atomic bomb in that bag. Everything was coming out of it into a growing pile. D.D. grabbed items out of the agent’s hands as fast as he picked them up, trying to stuff them into her purse.
        “Miss!” the beleaguered man shouted at her, and two more guards came rushing over.
        I squelched my own embarrassment long enough to pull her hands away before her actions single-handedly started World War III.
        “Look at me, D.D. This is important. They have the right to open whatever bags they want, and your struggling only makes it look like you’re trying to hide something. Back off.”  I tried to say it kindly, but there were tears running from her eyes as the agent popped the lock on every single bag and poked around inside.    
       “He shouldn’t be looking at my unmentionables,” she cried. “He could be a pervert. I want to go home.”
        I sighed. “D.D., everyone wants to go home when they first arrive in a foreign country. When I came, if there’d been a plane taking off from the parking lot, I’d have been on it, even though I hate to fly. You’ll get over it. Think of this as a great adventure, and you’ll love it your new home here in Germany.”
       She still looked scared. “I’ll help you. I promise. You’ll get through this.”
       As soon as I got the words out of my mouth, I regretted them. D.D. suddenly became pathetically eager, clinging to my hand and practically massaging it.
       I winced and tried to pull away when she squeezed my swollen finger.
       “Oh, thank you so much for taking me under your wing. I’ll try hard to get through all this, if you’ll just stay with me,” she gushed.
       “Great!” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but all I could think of was how much time and effort it would take to make D.D. even marginally normal. No hope for independent!  But, then, I’d be hard-pressed to say what normal was, anyway, given my background. I shrugged it off.
        As the agents closed up her bags and moved them down the glass cubicle, D.D. ran to grab her handbag. What was it she called it? Her pocketbook? I hadn’t heard that term since my great-grandma died. But, there was D.D., clutching it to her breast and again loading up with luggage over that terrible dress. That dress will have to go. Maybe I can manage to spill ink on it.
        I jerked my thoughts back to the present, asking carefully, “Is it okay if I help you with one of the shoulder bags to lighten your load?”
       A small, mincing smirk apparently was the best she could do for a smile. She nodded, so I guess I passed the test of trustworthiness. I threw the sign in the nearest trash basket, shouldered one bag and dragged another as we struggled through the myriad of underground passages to the trains and parking lots of Frankfurt Airport. The challenge to find my car was probably intensified as my mind frantically scrambled to figure how to avoid my new charge becoming my shadow for life. On the other hand, I grappled with my own mixed reactions. She really did need help, lots of it, and I had this empathy thing for puppies, babies, and the helpless.
       Finally, I spotted my nasty-tempered, yellow Fiat and managed to squeeze all D.D.’s bags in and still get the hatchback shut. “This is Bosco,” I said, by way of introduction to my car. “You’ll get used to him. He has a mind of his own.”
       Bosco started right away, which was a great relief. “Of course, that just means the Fiat is lying in wait to shut off at some more crucial moment,” I said, trying to make D.D. laugh.
       She didn't.

Oh well, nothing else has gone right today, either.

Soon we were out into the sunlight and onto the Autobahn, heading toward Nürnberg and eventually, 505 Highway north to Bamberg and the Border. I was on familiar ground now, and figured I’d try to draw this woman out on our two-hour trip, if only to make time go faster. “What does D.D. stand for?” I asked for openers.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             She looked up from digging in her purse. “Mama named me Dolly Dozie after my grandmother, and she always called me that. Daddy hated it, so he called me D.D. for short.  I have four older brothers and no other girls, so Dolly Dozie didn’t fit. The boys always made fun of it. I put D.D. on my DoDDS application because I didn’t want them to know I was a girl.”
         That’s odd. “Why not?”
        “Well, in upstate New York, they don’t hire girls as fast as they do boys. My brother said the Federal Government might be the same way, so I left the ‘m’ and ‘f’ spots blank and hoped.”
        I took another look at DeeDee and felt a little uncomfortable with someone her age putting herself in the category of “girls and boys.” From her dress and mannerisms, I guessed her at several years older than my thirty-five years.
       “I went to Catholic school,” DeeDee said. “The nuns said I was lucky my parents owned an Italian restaurant so I’d always have food. Mama cooks and Daddy’s the host, and my brothers wait tables—you know, a family business. They sent me to Catholic college, too, because Daddy said teaching was the only honorable place for a good girl, so I got my certificate. I taught five years in Ithaca, and we all lived at home, one big pasta-eating family.”
        DeeDee flashed a rare smile. “I make really good pasta, you know.” Then she sobered again. “My brothers looked out for me to be sure no one took advantage. They escorted me whenever I had a date.” She looked earnestly in my direction and said, “But it was the strangest thing. Even if I liked the boys who asked me out, they never came back after the first date, so I guess they didn’t like me. I must’ve done something wrong.” She shook her head slowly.
        She’s gotta be kidding? I avoided her pensive look. No, she was dead serious! Didn’t she realize no one would come back if they had to deal with her brothers? Was she really that naive, or had she just been sheltered too long? I heard no clue in her voice, so I changed the subject.
      “Didn’t you ever want an apartment of your own, or didn’t your brothers?”
       DeeDee’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, heavens no.” Whenever one of us wanted to move out or take a job in another city, poor Mama would have one of her sinking spells, so we always stayed together, don’t you see? We couldn’t let Mama get sick again.”
       “What’s a ‘sinking spell’?”
       “Oh, you know, she would clutch her heart and fall to the floor.”
       “Wow!” My head buzzed with the revelation in that statement. No wonder this woman is so unusual. I’ll be charitable and not think weird. “Did your mother have a heart condition?”
       “I don’t know. She would never tell, but she had sinking spells pretty often.”
       I’d better ignore that can of worms. “What happened to finally make you leave?”
       “I had my twenty-ninth birthday this year.”
       Twenty-nine! Boy, did I guess wrong. She was younger than me? Yikes!“
       My brothers had a council meeting and said I was going to be an old maid like my friends if I stayed there. They said I had to escape before that happened. Andy wrote off for the application to DoDDS and Tony helped me fill out the forms. They said I mustn’t tell Mama until it was time to go. But I was terrified for keeping a secret from Mama.” She shook her head slowly. “I always tell Mama everything, but Tony said I couldn’t tell her about leaving, and he made me double dare, pinkie swear, so I didn’t.”
       Double dare, pinkie swear? Whew! She was breathless in her rapid-fire tale by this time, and I was breathless listening to her. Were there still families like this in the mid 1970’s? Was it just Italian families, or families in upstate New York, or those with only one girl? It was like she’d sprung from another planet. Her monologue revealed undercurrents of being almost imprisoned by overprotective people. But, she obviously didn’t see that for herself.
      “I’m a virgin,” she announced, glancing out the car window as we passed Würzberg.
      Startled, I jerked the steering wheel back into my own lane with a BMW’s horn blaring behind me. Way too much information, I thought. This announcement was not what I’d expected for a first meeting. I hardly thought her sex life, or lack thereof was any of my business.
     “That’s nice,” I muttered. Well, what was I supposed to say to something like that?
Desperate for a safer topic, I asked, “How did it go when you left?”
     Tears again ran over her long lashes. “It was just terrible! The boys brought down my bags, and Mama followed me down the stairs crying and grabbing her heart. She almost fainted against the railing, and she said it would kill her if I left. She kept screaming, ‘Do you want to kill your own Mama?’ I felt so bad, I didn’t know what to do.”
      I handed DeeDee a tissue from the box I always carried between Bosco’s bucket seats.
      She honked noisily into it and mopped her eyes. “It was so awful, and I didn’t want to go, but Tony said he and Daddy would take care of Mama. Andy and Florio just picked me up by the elbows and dragged me out the door while Mario grabbed my bags. I could still hear Mama’s voice as they drove me away. Her last words were, “Keep your pants on.” I couldn’t imagine why she said that because I was wearing my best dress and she never approved of pants.”
      Don’t say anything, Megan, I told myself. You don’t want to touch that one!

What was that they told  me about never volunteering?