The Bungalow: A Novel
Sarah Jio
Language: English
Pages: 304
ISBN: 0452297672
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In the summer of 1942, newly engaged Anne Calloway sets off to serve in the Army Nurse Corps on the Pacific island of Bora-Bora. More exhilarated by the adventure of a lifetime than she ever was by her predictable fiancé, she is drawn to a mysterious soldier named Westry, and their friendship soon blossoms into hues as deep as the hibiscus flowers native to the island. Under the thatched roof of an abandoned beach bungalow, the two share a private world-until they witness a gruesome crime, Westry is suddenly redeployed, and the idyll vanishes into the winds of war.
A timeless story of enduring passion, The Bungalow chronicles Anne's determination to discover the truth about the twin losses--of life, and of love--that have haunted her for seventy years.
continued, nodding to Kitty and me. “I’m Anne.” “And I’m Kitty.” Mary tucked another rolled bandage into the crate on the table. “What brings you here?” Kitty opened her mouth, but I spoke first. “Service to our country,” I said simply. Mary smirked. “Isn’t that what we all say? No, why are you really here? We’re all running from or searching for something. What’s your story?” She looked down at my engagement ring, perhaps because I was tugging at it. But this time, Kitty responded before I
half.” “Well, that’s awfully generous of you,” I said, playing along. “Do you know what I’m going to do, after the war’s over?” “What?” “I’m going to buy this stretch of beach,” he said earnestly. “As much as I can afford. I’m going to build a house and raise a family, right here. My wife and I, we’ll watch the sun rise every morning from our porch and listen to the surf crash onto the shore at night.” “It all sounds terribly romantic,” I said. “But I think you’re bluffing. You’d actually
confidently. I turned away quickly. “Now,” he said, “let’s hear about you.” I tugged at a loose thread on my bag until the silence felt strange. “Well, there isn’t much to tell.” “I’m sure there is,” Westry said with a leading smile. “Everyone has a story.” I shook my head. “I was born in Seattle. I lived there all my life. I got my nursing license, and now I’m here.” “And there you have it,” he said dramatically. “An entire lifetime in three sentences.” I felt my cheeks get hot. “Sorry,”
where I found an engraving: To Anne, with love, Kitty. “It’s perfectly beautiful,” I said, pinning the piece to my dress. She grinned. “I hope it will be a symbol of our friendship, a reminder to us both that we’ll never keep secrets from one another, that we’ll not let time or circumstances change things between us.” I nodded in agreement. “I’ll wear it always.” She grinned. “Me too.” We sipped our sodas and scanned the bustling club, where friends, schoolmates, and acquaintances reveled in
“Go ahead.” “We never spoke of who the father of your baby was,” I continued. “I’d always assumed it was Lance, but now we have evidence linking the murder of Atea to—” “To the colonel?” “Yes,” I said. “You know?” “I do,” she explained. “And so did Westry.” “I don’t understand.” “He was protecting me, Anne,” she said, “by not telling. Before the murder, he’d gotten wind of my situation, even before you. He saw us together and overheard a conversation on the beach. Westry also knew the