Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B

as he listened.
“So, I came along in part because I needed to see if there was a light at the end of the tunnel,” Myla continued. “Well, you have both convinced me that one can heal.”
“But we’re…” Sam said hurriedly.
“Oh no, I’m not saying you guys are a whirlwind of perfumed letters and heated glances that’s waiting to happen,” Myla said. “But you have been good for her these last couple of days.”
“I hope I haven’t given her the wrong impression,” Sam said quietly. “I don’t want to her to think I’m interested in a relationship.”
“She’s no more ready for a relationship than she is ready to fly to the moon,” Myla observed. “Indeed, part of her will probably feel guilty about having fun, but she needs to go on living.”
Myla laughed at that last part.
“I know I feel a bit like the kettle talking about the pot here,” she said. “But part of me is still holding out hope Ian will walk through that door, pick up his son, and then ask me how the last year has been.”
“That could still happen,” Sam said hopefully. Myla smiled at him kindly.
“Thank you for saying that,” she said. “If it does, I promise to write you a letter saying you were right. But I, for one, have lost almost all of my hope.”
“Sam, could you bring out the turntable from the cabinet behind you?” Norah asked. “I think we could all do with some music.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Myla said. “Allegedly Sam here is quite the dancer.”
“Whoever told you that apparently has iron bars for their feet,” Sadie said.
“Thanks Sadie,” Sam replied. “I may have imbibed a bit at your wedding before dancing with the bride.”
“Which wedding?” David asked, getting a playful slap from his wife.
“Which wedding?” Myla asked.
“Civil and church ceremony,” Sam said.
“I found him to be quite the charming dancer,” Beverly said, standing up. “If he hurries up with that record player, I might be sober enough to avoid making him catch me.”
Sam looked at the four empty bottles of wine sitting on the dining room table.
Sadie didn’t have any, I have had maybe a couple of glasses, and David’s been being very careful how much he drinks so he can drive home, Sam mused. No wonder Myla, Major Haynes, and apparently Beverly, are all three sheets to the wind.
“That’s not hurrying,” Myla said quietly.
Sam smiled in response, then went to go get the appliance.
I better just shut up and embrace what the universe is throwing at me, I guess.

Honolulu Public Library
1400 Local (1900 Eastern)
Honolulu
29 July
“Well, you look like you’re ready to stab a few people in the throat,” Josephine “Jo” Morton said as she stood up from the bench in front of the local library. “I sincerely hope it has more to do with the reason you’re a couple hours late rather than anything I’ve done.”
Jo almost ducked back behind the bench as Patricia glowered at her.
“I may kill that man,” Patricia spat.
“To think a few weeks ago I would have had to ask you which man you meant in particular,” Jo replied. “Your fiancée, one of your brothers, the two sailors who keep looking at your ass like we’re not standing in front of a reflective glass.”
The two men in question jumped at Jo’s barked tone, both blushing. Jo continued to glare at the duo, her olive complexion preventing her face from coloring so she could have maximized the angry effect.
Bad enough you guys sat there for the last thirty minutes without even giving the woman in green a second glance. But the minute Miss Alabama here walks up in a yellow number and suddenly you’re unable to tear your eyes away? Jo clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring as she continued giving both men an intense glare.
“Sorry,” one of them muttered as they both hurried into the library. Jo usually worked at the far smaller Pearl City Public Library, but had agreed to cover a friend’s shift due to the little matter of childbirth.
Sue Ellen doesn’t need any more on her plate, Jo thought. Not with her husband, like seemingly everyone else who was at this place a few months ago, somewhere in the Pacific.
“VICE ADMIRAL FLETCHER’S FLEET ON RAMPAGE!” a newsboy cried, holding up the latest copy of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. “ITALIANS FLEE CARRIERS!”
Or perhaps elsewhere. Her brow furrowed, thoughts turning to where Italians could be possibly running from Fletcher before Patricia interrupted.
“You know, I’m not going to spend my half day off listening to you poke fun at me,” Patricia snapped, then caught herself and drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Okay, I’m sorry, I should not be taking my anger out on you.”
“Your new boss is an asshole,” Jo replied. “It doesn’t help he’s got you working insane hours with an odd schedule.”
“Well, apparently that stopped today, and I got a half-day off as well," Patricia noted. “I don’t know who complained or if it was just a case of someone in payroll noticing the odd times, but he got quite the ass- chewing.”
Jo kept a poker face as she looked at her friend.
It’s funny that the daughter of a lawyer who has watched me pull several tricks out of the proverbial hat has no inkling just how her overbearing boss got set up It’s almost like I don’t know anyone in the Navy besides her brothers.
“Have you heard from Eric?” Patricia asked as they stopped before crossing a street.
“No,” Jo said, exasperated. “For Christ’s sake, Patricia, you think I wouldn’t have mentioned hearing from him? Especially since he's on the same ship as one Ensign Read, the man you've been raging against for not writing?”
Patricia shook her head, laughing.
“You’re right, that was idiotic,” she said. “I swear, I feel like we’re just tossing letters into the void.”
“I did hear from Dad though,” Jo continued brightly.
“Finally!” Patricia said. The two of them stepped into The Flying Pineapple, their planned lunch destination. Both women stopped as