What Happened to Lisa?

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The telegram arrived on Friday, posing a blunt question:

There was a Clearview number for me to call, and while I was waiting for the connection my mind went back to when I’d met Lisa. I’d been about ready for release from an army hospital, not caring much whether I lived or died. Then Lisa had given my life back to me.

She was tall, slender, dark-haired, with a strange kind of beauty. Her eyes never completely lost that haunted expression. It was as if a restlessness inside of her kept prodding her toward something she couldn’t name or would ever find.

I’d never brought myself to speak of marriage to Lisa. As I came to know her, I sensed that she had joined the nurses’ corps because the agony of war had made a deep and indelible mark on her. From unguarded remarks I gathered that she came of a family that counted its coin in six figures or better, while I was a hack reporter in civilian life, a lug. Yet right then I’d needed the fire and warmth of her. She’d sensed that as if it were her duty to get me again interested in living. Yet the way she responded could not have been motivated by duty alone.

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