Identical (34 page)

were still only children. I must

have been twelve or thirteen,

and Lars was a year older.

Our love was pure, and born

of friendship. But when my father

found out, he forbade me to see

Lars. We met in secret, shared

kisses and laughter. Nothing more.

One day my father discovered

us together. He nearly beat me

to death. I feared he would kill

Lars, and so it was almost a relief

when Lars put on a uniform

and went to fight the Nazis.

Almost.
Her voice softens, slows.

I mean, he was only a boy inside,

although on the outside he looked

every bit the handsome soldier.

My father tried to stop me

from going to say good-bye.

But for once, my mother

intervened. “Let her go,”

she said. “She may never

see him again.” And I didn’t.

Not until a few weeks ago,

when he showed up here.

More than sixty years have

gone by. Sixty years we can

never get back, six decades

filled with things we will

never speak of. But we accept

that, and have promised

to share the few years we have

left, create new memories,

joyous and loving, that we

can take with us when we go.

After more than sixty years.

Must be that love never died.

And that means it had to have

been alive in the first place.

I want to know living love.

And I don’t want to wait for it.

I go through the motions of this

mindless work, mind totally

locked on Ian and possibility.

As soon as I finish, I call him.

He’s home.
Hey. I was hoping

I’d hear from you. So…

He doesn’t have to ask. “Pick

me up. Mom can wait.”

It’s an impossibly long fifteen

minutes. Finally I hear his bike,

and the sound of its approach

fills me with happiness. And

something else. Something

very much like desire.

And the warmth of his smile

intensifies the heat wave

flowing inside me. But I have

to play cool because that’s what

good girls do and I want to be

good for Ian. “Hey. Missed you.”

Not as much as I missed you.

Come here.
And he pulls me

into him and now we’re kissing

and I want to make this amazing

sense of belonging last forever.

Have I told you lately I love you?

I fold myself up into his arms,

close as one body can get to another,

except for…I go stiff at the thought.

No Kaeleigh, no. That’s not what

this is. It’s okay to be here, plastered

right up against this incredible guy.

But the magic has dissipated,

the warmth frozen over. Ian can’t

help but notice.
What’s wrong?

I shake my head, cling tighter.

In the past, Ian would have turned

away. Today he holds fast.
Stay.

I stay, and for once I stay

long enough for the ice dam

to melt, warm into an easy

flow, burgeoning into

a river

of need. My pulse picks up

speed and I lift my eyes to his,

have to look away or I might

go blind at the blaze

raging

there. “Oh God, Ian, I can’t

believe how much I love you.”

And he kisses me again, and now

I understand how love can come

alive

inside you, beneath your skin,

beneath your flesh and bone,

a separate entity, breathing

in and out its own special air,

expanding

to fill all those hollow places

that you can’t fill by yourself.

I want to be good. Don’t want

to go stiff. But if I don’t, this

sudden rush of want will become

unstoppable.

So maybe I’d better stop it now.

Is, of course, my dear grandmama.

And guess who’s going to get

ranted
at
. Spot on! It’s me.

Daddy:
Why didn’t you bother

to tell me about my father’s call?

I suppose I could deny knowing

about it. But why lie? I shrug.

“Guess I forgot. Sorry.”

Mom:
Sorry? That’s the best you can

do? Under the circumstances…

Patience was never my forte.

“Under what circumstances?

I don’t even know the man.”

Daddy:
Beside the point. You couldn’t

tell the message was important?

“The guy sounded like some sort of

nut job. Anyway, why don’t I know

him?” Way to flip the tables!

Mom:
Your father and I have reasons

for the things we do or don’t allow.

I hate her. She never lets her guard

down and always has a ready answer.

“So…
is
he a nut job, then?”

Daddy, trying not to lose it:

No, he’s not a fucking nut job.

Not doing a good job of not losing

it, Daddy, love. “Totally okay? Cool.

Next time I’ll pick up and talk to him.”

Mom, definitely losing it:

Are you
trying
to make us angry?

The game’s getting fun. Keep

playing. Smile pretty. “Why

would I want to do that, Mom?”

Daddy, closer and closer to losing it:

Extremely good question, I’d say.

All of a sudden, I don’t want

this to be a game anymore.

I want answers. Honest ones.

With Mom sitting right here,

Daddy cannot so easily dismiss

my questions. Valid questions.

I look him directly in the eye—

something I don’t often dare.

“Why don’t you talk to your father?

And why won’t you let him be a part

of our lives?” Like anyone is a part

of our lives. Including us. Truth is,

there is no “our.” No “us.”

Mom stares at Daddy, waiting.

Doesn’t she know? Daddy glances

back and forth between us, like a

corralled coyote.
Let’s just say he

made my childhood extremely hard.

If he thinks that’s communication,

he should think again. Whose

childhood isn’t hard? I shake

my head. “Like how, Daddy?

Can you be more specific?”

His eyes glaze over, and I know

he’s fallen into the past, a place

he most definitely does not want

to revisit. He exits quickly.

I don’t want to talk about him.

A little deeper into the shit pit.

What have I got to lose?

“If you won’t tell me about

my grandfather, what about

my grandmother? What’s all

the hype about, anyway?”

Daddy shifts gears to angry,

jumps to his feet, stalks

to the counter to refill his glass

from the fifth of Turkey, drained

half-dry since this morning.

It’s not even dinnertime yet.

I think he just might leave

the room, highball in hand.