A wave of shame washed over her. She had prayed, her silent request shouted to the heavens, for the misfortune to be with someone else. Anyone but Ollie. And her wish had been granted. Now a husband, perhaps even a father, was burned. Dying. She told herself that destiny’s card had already been played and that her prayer had little to do with who was lying in that hospital bed. But she still wanted to cry. Before she did, she took Bertie’s arm, and together they left the hospital.

Reaching the truck, Bertie opened the passenger door and said, “My dear, would you mind terribly if I drive?”

Susan noticed a weariness in his eyes. Normally, she’d insist on driving. His legs didn’t need the extra stress. But she didn’t argue, sensing her grandfather needed to distract himself from what he’d seen at RAF Hospital Ely. So she slid into the passenger seat, tucked her skirt under her legs, and shut the door. Through the windshield, she watched him labor around the truck and get into the driver’s seat.

Bertie’s hand trembled as he tried to insert the key into the ignition. The tip scratched the insert, but never found its destination.

“I believe the key is swollen,” Bertie said. “Like my knees.”

Susan steadied his hand.

Bertie slipped the key into the ignition and started the engine. “Thank you, my dear.”

Susan took one last glance at RAF Hospital Ely and wished she hadn’t. Two orderlies emerged from the side of the building carrying something wrapped in what looked to be a soiled mattress cover. A woman wailed, causing the hairs to stand up on the back of Susan’s neck. And it was then that she noticed the line of funeral cars. Family members gathering on the lawn watched with somber eyes as the orderlies placed the body into a hearse. It appeared to Susan that the entire left wing of the hospital was being used as a morgue. Her hands trembled. A hospital was supposed to be a place of hope. A place of healing. But not today. Or tomorrow. Not while bombs were still falling. As the truck pulled away, she closed her eyes and hoped she’d never see a hospital again.

Susan didn’t speak for much of the drive home, distracting herself by watching Bertie shift gears and maneuver the truck around gaping pits in the road. The maintenance crews had enlisted and were now shooting bullets instead of filling potholes, and the roadways were quickly becoming a crumbled mess.

She noticed an abandoned vehicle left on the berm with its doors wide open and thought of Ollie. “Where can he be?” she asked, cracking open her window. Cold air filled the cabin.

Bertie sighed. “Perhaps he went home.”

Susan looked at him.

“It’s not his war.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Bertie scratched the whiskers on his chin.