The Bungalow (28 page)

I took a deep breath. “I never stopped loving you, Maxine.”

Her eyes sparkled as if it was the only response she needed. “Now,” she said, “eat your sandwiches and tell me about the South Pacific. I sense that there is a story that needs telling.”

I reached for a
croque monsieur
and nodded, eager to tell her the whole story. Well, parts of it, at least.

The rain cleared the next day, and as the clouds parted to reveal the June Seattle sun, my heart felt lighter.

“Morning, Antoinette,” Maxine chirped from the kitchen. “Breakfast is on the table.”

I smiled and joined Papa at the table, surveying my plate: fresh fruit, buttered toast, and an omelet—a veritable feast compared with the rations on the island.

Maxine hung up her apron and joined us at the table. Papa gave her cheek a nuzzle when she did, and I realized that while I may have accepted their love, it would still take some getting used to.
How is Mother taking the news?

“Papa,” I said cautiously, “have you heard from Mother?”

Maxine set down her fork. The air felt thick and uncomfortable. “Yes,” he said. “She’s in New York now, dear. Of course you know that. She’s written you, I gather.” He produced a scrap of paper from his pocket. “She asked that I have you call her at this number. She’d like you to come out to see her.” He paused. “When you’re ready.”

I folded the crumpled paper and set it down near my plate. She was shopping, attending fashion shows, no doubt.
But is she happy?

“Gerard phoned this morning,” Papa said, eager to change the subject.

“Oh?”

“He’d like to stop by this afternoon.”

My hands instinctively reached for my locket. For a sign.

“Yes,” I said, looking to Maxine for approval. “I’ll see him.”

Maxine’s smile told me I’d made the right decision. The first step in making sense of this new reality was facing Gerard and acknowledging the life we’d planned together. I rubbed my hand along the place where my engagement ring had once resided and sighed.

“Good,” Papa said from behind his newspaper. “I told him to come by around two.”

I heard Gerard’s car pull into the driveway, followed by the sound of his footsteps on the porch. I froze.
What will I say to him? How will I act?

Maxine peeked into my room and gestured toward the stairs. “He’s here, Antoinette,” she said softly. “Are you ready?”

I smoothed my hair and walked to the top of the stairs. “Yes,” I said, composing myself.

One step, and then two.
I could hear Gerard’s voice in the parlor talking to Papa. His nearness caused my heart to flutter in a way I hadn’t expected it to.
Three steps. Four.
The voices stopped.
Five steps, six.
And there he was, standing at the base of the stairs, looking up at me with such love, such intensity, that I could not unlock my gaze from his.

“Anne!” he said.

“Gerard!” My voice cracked a little. His left arm rested in a beige sling.

“Well are you going to just stand there or are you going to kiss this wounded soldier?”

I grinned, and sailed down the final steps, welcoming his embrace before planting a light kiss on his cheek, operating on instincts, or muscle memory.

Papa cleared his throat and nodded at Maxine. “We’ll leave you two,” he said, grinning. “You have some catching up to do.”

Gerard took my hand and led me to the sofa in the living room before closing the double doors behind us with his good arm. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” he said, sitting down beside me.

I’d forgotten how handsome he was, shockingly so. “I’m sorry I didn’t write often,” I said, frowning.

“It’s all right,” he replied lovingly. “I knew you were busy.”

“Your arm,” I said, touching his shoulder gently, then retracting my hand in haste. “Oh, Gerard. Papa says you may never use it again.”

He shrugged. “I should have died out there,” he said, looking at his lap. “All the men around me were shot down. All but me. I can’t make any sense out of why I was spared.”

I could see that, like me, Gerard carried a great burden in his heart, his a nobler one.

He reached for my hands, and then paused, holding up my left hand, bare without the engagement ring.

“Gerard, I—”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to explain,” he said. “Just having you here, having you back is good enough for now.”

I let my head rest on his shoulder.

 

 

September 1944

“Can you believe I’m getting married?” I said to Maxine, admiring the white silk gown Mother had shipped from France before the war broke out.

“You look beautiful, Antoinette,” she said, tucking a pin in the bodice. “We’ll just have the seamstress take it in a bit here. Have you been losing weight?”

I shrugged. “It’s nerves, that’s all.”

“Is something bothering you, my dear? You know you can tell me.”

The phone rang before I could answer the question. “I’ll get that,” I said bolting down the stairs to the kitchen. “It’s probably Gerard.”

“Hello,” I said cheerfully, a little out of breath. “You’ll never guess what I’m wearing.”

Static crackled over the line. “Anne?” a familiar female voice spoke. “Anne, is that you?”

“Yes, this is she,” I said. “Who is this?”

“It’s me, Mary.”

I gasped. “Mary! My God, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t have much time, so I’ll have to keep this short. I’m calling with some bad news, I’m afraid.”

I could feel the blood leave my face.
Mary. Bad news.
“What is it?”

“I’m in Paris,” she said. “I’m here on account of Edward, but that’s for another conversation. You’ve probably heard about the liberation of the city.”

“Yes,” I said, still shocked to be speaking to my old friend.

“It’s a dream, Anne. The Allies are here. For a while we didn’t think it would happen.” She paused. “What you need to know is that today at the army hospital I saw Kitty, and . . .”

I had thought of Kitty often, especially now that my wedding date neared. And now the mention of her inflamed the familiar wound in my heart.

“Mary, is she OK?”

“Yes,” she said. “She’s fine. But, Anne . . . Anne, it’s Westry.”

I sat down as the room began to spin, feeling a stray pin from the wedding dress jab my side.

“Anne, are you still there?”

“Yes,” I said weakly. “I’m still here.”

“He’s been hurt,” she continued. “He got hit. He was part of the Fourth Infantry Division, the men who stormed the city. But his battalion was struck in the fight. Most died. He somehow held on.”

“My God, Mary, how bad is it?”

“I don’t know for sure,” she said, “but by the look of things . . . well, Anne, it isn’t good.”

“Is he conscious?”

The line began to crackle again. “Mary, are you still there?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m here.” Her voice sounded garbled and more distant than it had a moment ago. I knew the connection could be severed in an instant. “You need to come. You need to see him, before—”

“But how?” I cried, panicked. “Travel is restricted, especially to Europe.”

“I know a way,” Mary said. “Do you have a pen and paper?”

I fumbled in the kitchen drawer and pulled out a notepad. It had Mother’s handwriting on it, which made me realize how much I missed her. After more than a year at home, I had yet to visit her in New York. “I’m ready,” I said.

“Take down this code,” she said. “A5691G9NQ.”

“What does this mean?”

“It’s a Foreign Service travel code,” she said. “You can use it to board a ship leaving from New York to Paris in four days. And when you arrive, come to my apartment: three forty-nine Saint Germaine.”

I scrawled the address on the pad and then shook my head. “You really think this will work?”

“Yes,” she said. “And if you run into any trouble, mention the name Edward Naughton.”

I clutched the receiver tightly, trying to hold on to the connection, to her. “Thank you, Mary.” But the line had been swallowed up by static. She was gone.

“Gerard, I need to tell you something,” I said that night at dinner. I pushed my plate aside. The dinner, even broiled salmon with new potatoes, hadn’t interested me.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” he said, frowning.

He looked dapper seated across the table from me in a gray suit. The war had rendered the Cabaña Club a ghost town without the buzz of people and the familiar fog of cigarette smoke. A lone saxophonist played on the stage. In some ways, it felt like a betrayal to be there, a betrayal to those who had lost their lives, or who were in agony in hospitals. I swallowed hard.

“What is it, my love?” he continued, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a white cloth napkin.

I took a deep breath. “While I was in the South Pacific, there was a man. I—I . . .”

Gerard closed his eyes tightly. “Don’t tell me,” he said, shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

I nodded. “I understand. But there’s something I need to do, before the wedding.”

“What?”

“I need to go away,” I said. “Just for a while.”

Gerard looked pained, but he didn’t protest. “And when you return, will you be yourself again?”

I looked deep into his eyes. “It’s why I need to go,” I said. “I need to find out.”

He looked away. My words had hurt him, and I hated that. His left arm, the bad one, hung from his torso, limp, lifeless. He didn’t like wearing the sling when we went out. “Anne,” he said, clearing his throat. His voice faltered a little, and he paused to regain his strength. Gerard never cried. “If this is what it takes. If there’s a chance I can have your whole heart again, I will wait.”

P
apa took me to the train station the next morning. It would be a long journey to New York, but it was the only way. I’d stay with Mother for a day before boarding the ship Mary spoke of. I prayed that Westry could hold on until I arrived. There was so much I needed to say to him, and so much I needed to hear him say.
Does the grain of love that still lingers in my heart remain in his?

“Your mother will be overjoyed to see you,” Papa said, looking sheepish, the way he always did when he spoke of Mother. It didn’t seem fair for him to use the words “overjoyed” and “mother” in the same sentence, given the state of their relationship, but I chose to overlook those details.

“You have the address, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, indicating my pocketbook, where my ticket and Mother’s address were tucked inside.

“Good,” he said. “Take a cab from the train station directly to her apartment. Be careful, kid.”

I smiled. “Papa, you’ve forgotten that I lived in a war zone for almost a year. I think I’ll be fine in the city.”