September 12, 1942
Jessica is wearing that dress I bought last spring. Standing there in her sunglasses, her hair blowing in a gentle island breeze, she waits for me to get out of the car.
I want to tell her she is beautiful, but I'll look right at her and probably say something more like "The sugar truck must've made its delivery early today, because right now I certainly see something sweet."
She smiles and leans in to plant one on me, when a crowd suddenly forms a circle around the two of us. Everyone is there, the men, that one lady who delivers the newspaper to my office, and even Commodore Driscoll glaring at me. I hear a faint alarm going off somewhere at the base.
"Captain!", 1st Lieutenant Martin says.
"Captain!" Commodore Driscoll says.
"Captain!"
I open my eyes to see Ensign Murphy standing at the door to my quarters.
Rubbing my eyes, with a frustrating exhale that whatever news he has couldn't have waited another few minutes to smell Jessica's perfume.
"Contact, Sir." Murphy reports.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Zero two thirty. Here is your coffee, Sir." he says.
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