First Chapter of I've Always Loved You

CHAPTER ONE

December 7, 1941 Cayucos, Central California
I was only four years old. I didn’t understand.
Today I played on the beach, unaware that my life would change direction today, like the tide before me. The sun brightened a cloudless sky, turning it that silvered winter blue, perfect for Sunday, Daddy’s day off. As he and Mom raced to the sea, the foam slapped against the shore, and one strap of her bathing suit slipped. In the water, she wrapped her arms around him, her neck pliant and back limber, as, despite the water’s chill, they rode the waves together.
Later, his black hair shone with a blue iridescence, when, dripping and sleek, he waded out of the water, dropped a few steps behind Mom, and watched her hips sway as she walked. Slowly they crossed across the sand, their white stucco house perched on a succulent-covered bluff ahead of them.
Relaxing on a picnic blanket, Mom examined her red fingernails for chips in the polish, and then turned over, the seawater glistening on her shoulders. She had wild auburn hair that she tried in vain to tame with combs and hairpins, but something excited Daddy about that hair; it reminded him of women dancing in Old West cafes while patrons drank their whiskey. Her eyes were gray, pure gray - no little leopard spots of brown or hazel.
I sat next to the blanket and began digging, while, deliberate as a fern unfurling, Daddy smoothed oil on Mom’s slim back and khaki-freckled shoulders.
“More on the right,” she said in her indolent voice. “That’s it . . . Up a little. Yes. Now over to the left . . . right there . . . good . . . I’ve got you pretty well trained.”
“That’s because you reward me.” The tones of a warm youth flowed through his voice, and, moving his hand to the small of her back, he began to sing, “Mary—Helen, Mary—Helen, my own Mary—Helen,” to the tune of their college fight song.
Daddy kneaded Mom’s shoulders, and then rolled over on his back. He winked at me. I knew what that wink meant: he loved me best.
“Nap time,” Mom said, so I ran away from her, heading toward the sea.
“Ann, come here this minute.” She caught up with me and grabbed my wrist. I had almost made it to the water. As we turned, an army officer appeared on the bluff. To me that bluff rose immensely high, and the uniformed man seemed to tower up to the sky, looking down like a god in the corner of an old map, one who determined destinies at his pleasure. Actually, the bluff was quite small, but I had the perspective of the very young.
“Captain Ribbel, the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor. Report for duty immediately.”
Daddy quickly got to his feet, stood at attention in his bathing suit, and saluted the officer.
“Darling _” Mom touched her cheek with her fingers.
“I have to get going, Sweetheart.”
Her eyes welled up, but she said nothing more.
He gave her a quick hug, patted me, and, in five or six strides, dashed up the bluff and disappeared into the house. She gathered up the picnic things and followed, shock slowing her walk. I trailed along after her, as the Pacific boomed and hissed.
Oh, Daddy, Mom. I can still see their faces before he went overseas: innocent, brave, unknowing, see the way they leaned toward each other as they walked along in step, naïve and graceful.
* * *
Hours earlier, Imperial Air Captain Mitsuo Fuchida had boasted that he’d pull the eagle’s tail feathers. He and 350 other pilots donned white hachimaki headbands to signify preparation for death and launched from the carrier Akagi in a long, vivid stream.
At Pearl Harbor, he called out the “Tiger” radio signal, “Tora-Tora-Tora,” and his men dropped their payloads. For two hours, they pelted our ships and aircraft, destroying most of our Pacific Fleet.
Later, aboard the flagship Nagato, Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, commander of the mission’s carriers, slashed the air with his father’s samurai sword. Sake arrived, and the celebration began. "Dai Nippon, Great Japan."
Tokyo shook with victory celebrations, throbbed with music, as gold banners fluttered, firecrackers popped. Women prepared white rice and red lobster symbolizing health and good fortune, and they flew victory kites with the rising sun emblem.
But on his flagship, Japan’s hero, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, said, “I fear we have awakened a sleeping tiger that will consume us.”