The Pieces We Keep (29 page)

 

T
he message arrived on a Saturday morning. Vivian had just made her way down the stairs for breakfast when the courier arrived with a telegram. After assignments at three bases for a total of six weeks abroad, double the length first expected, Gene was taking a train ride home.

Vivian would have attributed her sudden nausea solely to anxiety over their impending discussion if not for news from the day before. Her fainting spell at work, along with fatigue and absentmindedness, had led her to see a doctor at Mrs. Langtree’s urging. Given that July heat and humidity were likely culprits, it had seemed an excessive chore-until the white-haired doc, with his deductive line of questioning, jarred Vivian with the truth.

She was pregnant.

Months ago, a revelation of the sort would have struck with the force of a wrecking ball. Yet since learning of Isaak’s death, perhaps due to familiarity of the loss, or maybe a shell erected of guilt, she instead gained a numbness that enabled her to function. Like moving underwater, it was a slow, surreal, muted existence. She had become a spectator of another’s woman’s life.

If you want to talk, I’m here,
Luanne recently offered. It appeared Vivian’s mood had been taken as an effect of Gene’s absence. Still, Vivian couldn’t help wondering if it was true what people said, about the telling signs when in the family way. Was it plain on her face, in her eyes?

Vivian feared this now as she caught her own reflection in the polished silverware on the table. She averted her gaze from even the waiters gliding by at the Waldorf Astoria. It was her mother’s preferred hotel during periodic stays such as this. In a corner of the restaurant, a harpist plucked chords beside a large topiary fashioned after a genie’s bottle.

“You’re not eating your lunch,” Vivian’s mother observed across the span of white linen.

Vivian glanced at the citrus salmon she had but pushed around on her plate. She should have interjected an alternative when the woman ordered on her behalf. The smell of seafood was making her queasy. “I’m just not very hungry.”

“Are you certain you’re feeling all right?” It was the second time her mother had voiced the inquiry. “You look ... a bit off.”

“I’m fine. Really. A smidge tired, is all.”

A commentary about Vivian’s job requiring too much energy would typically follow. Instead, her mother appeared on the verge of issuing a statement of import. But suddenly, as if to drown the words, she drained her gin and tonic. Then she set down the glass and resumed idle conversation between labored pauses and cigarette puffs. Her unspoken syllables screamed in Vivian’s ear.

Ask me!
Vivian wanted to say. For the more her mother fidgeted–with a fork, her lighter, the brooch on her burgundy dress suit-the clearer it became that, somehow, she knew.

Regardless of the consequences, Vivian felt a growing need to share her plight. She understood there were alternatives: giving the baby up for adoption, or a secret appointment with a willing doctor. But both of these were unthinkable. Hence, it wasn’t advice she yearned for as much as an assurance she would not endure this alone. Such a comfort might even shed the numbness encaging her.

“Well,” her mother said, an abrupt conclusion. She crushed out her half burned cigarette in the beveled ashtray. “I’d better fetch my belongings from my room.”

“Already?” Vivian said. “I thought there would be more time.”

“I’ve decided to take the earlier train, departing just past two. It’s unfortunate I’ll be missing Gene by just a few hours.” She waved her fingers at the waiter, a request for the check.

Perhaps she had altered her schedule in order to avoid the man presumed responsible for Vivian’s condition. After all, who else would it be?

Restaurant staff cleared the serving ware and settled the bill. All the while, Vivian mentally willed her mother to stay. But the woman closed her handbag and prepared to rise.

Vivian felt the world closing in. If she stayed silent, it would crush her into nothing. “Please,” she said, “if you have something to say . . .”

Her mother crinkled her brow as if at a loss. Quiet stretched the air, padded only by the harpist’s chords and surrounding chatter. At last, Vivian’s mother lowered her gaze and straightened in her chair.

“Very well,” she said, “though I don’t know exactly how to phrase this.” There was a stiffness to her jaw, adding a clip to her words. “It’s certainly not a lifestyle I’d foreseen. I suspect your grandmother will have plenty to say on the subject.”

Simple as that, the reality of disapproval crystallized into shards, each one aimed at Vivian’s heart. She couldn’t help questioning her decision to speak up. In the end, maybe she was destined to manage all on her own.

“The situation, you see,” her mother went on, “is that your father ... should be returning by month’s end.”

Vivian’s thoughts came to a halt, derailing. “Sorry?”

“He’ll be coming home. To DC, that is. We agreed, however, that it would be better-for us both-if I remained in New Hampshire.”

Absorbing this, Vivian flashed back to the couple’s parting at Euston Station. She recalled the way he had said good-bye even to Vivian. Messages she could not decode. She considered the makeshift bed in his study, his choice to stay in London. All were signs she had noticed but ultimately discounted. “So, you
are
divorcing,” she said.

Her mother’s eyes darted around them, a reflexive alertness of strangers. “Heavens, no.” She gave a nervous laugh and continued in a hush. “We just won’t be living under the same roof. Of course, whenever we can, we’ll all be together for the holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas. But really, with your being out of the house now, making your own way in life, I imagine there will be little difference for you.”

Vivian mined for a reply without success. She was stunned as much by the development as the sudden support of her own independence. It took her a moment to realize her reaction was perceived as a demand for explanation.

“The truth of the matter is, we got married on a whim,” her mother said. “We had been courting for less than a month. But the Great War, it amplified emotions, and he was so handsome, particularly in that gallant uniform. And we were very, very ... young.” Her focus drifted to her cocktail glass and held there. She seemed to view her memories in the melting cubes. “When he came back, after a few weeks, I told myself the war had changed him, and that with time he would revert to his old self. He was so serious and logical. Not at all how I remembered. It wasn’t until months later that I finally recognized the truth-the truth being we never actually knew each other.”

Vivian nodded slowly, comprehending the situation all too well.

After a pause, her mother finished off the watery drops in her glass. “Anyhow. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. But frankly, I was worried what you’d think.” She smiled awkwardly. “Silly, isn’t it? With my being the parent and you the child.”

The maternal reference spurred the recollection of Vivian’s own dilemma. Someday soon she would share it with her mother, but not now.

Vivian reached across the table and grasped her mother’s hand. “What I think,” she said, “is that I want you both to be happy.”

Her mother looked back at her, eyes welling. It was a moment of gratitude, of support and understanding. Vivian only hoped, when she most needed it, she would receive the same in return.

In the meantime, the impending reaction of another person would take greater priority.

 

Every minute between her mother’s departure and Gene’s arrival passed simultaneously too fast and too slow. On the platforms at Grand Central, servicemen of all branches reunited with their loved ones or traded good-byes with tearful sweethearts.

Vivian waited in the center of the bustling scene, attempting to remain calm.

The instant Gene stepped off the train, his face beaming bright as the sun, she felt a joy that conquered all dread. But the triumph didn’t last. His hug wrapped her waist and instantly reminded her of the secret that had taken root-one that, in all likelihood, would soon divide them.

Even so, she would plea for forgiveness and hold on to hope. It was thin as a petal and just as fragile, but she cupped it with care and smiled when he touched her face. She savored his kiss from start to finish, knowing it could be the last.

“I say we go for a walk,” he said.

While a delay of the conversation had distinct appeal, she had not foreseen the detour. She caught sight of the bulky duffel at his feet. “But what about your things?”

“I can carry it. Need to stretch my legs from the long ride. C’mon.” He gestured his chin down the platform. “After working so hard, I deserve to parade a pretty girl around town, don’t I?”

There was no argument to be made. Gene deserved much more than he knew.

Together they headed out of the station and through the balminess of the city. The scents of roasting nuts on vending carts provided relief from exhaust fumes and wafts of sun-baked trash. Gene used both hands to grip the bag over his shoulder, and thankfully so. Had he linked with her fingers, the nervous sheen on her palms would have made itself known.

He talked a great deal, seemingly more than usual, covering highlights of his tasks and travels. He glanced her way now and again, but his attention mostly roamed over the tall buildings and construction sites, the sea of cabs and pedestrians. Time away must have allowed him to experience the city anew.

“How about a quick break?” he said. Perspiration dotted his hairline. “Stuff’s getting a little heavy after all.” He dropped his Army-issue bag at the base of an apartment stoop.

Across the street, a woman with a kerchief around her hair was shaking out a rug. Dust motes in the late afternoon light drifted like snowflakes. A ways down, kids were drawing with chalk on the sidewalk while others played in water spraying from a hydrant.

Vivian realized this was where she would tell him. No amount of waiting would cushion the impact. She took a fortifying breath before bending to sit.

“Hang on,” he said, and gently tugged her hand, keeping her upright.

She expected him to point out something to be avoided on the step-a wad of chewing gum, a splinter of glass-but he merely stood there, his hand around hers.

“Vivi, every day we were apart-every hour, for that matter-it became clearer to me that you’re the girl I want to be with.”

She stared, trying to follow the aim of his declaration.

“If anything, I’m a dumbbell for not seeing it right from the start. I just feel like I’ve wasted so much time. With my job, the war, there are a lot of regrets floating around out there, and-well, the point is.” He wet his lips as if to slicken his pace. “The first time we were really alone together was here on these stairs. It was that night after the USO, remember?”

Her gaze shot to the steps as her mind raced to keep up, his intentions latching on.

“I didn’t know what was hurting you then, or who. All I knew was I wanted to hold you and protect you. I guess, ever since, I’ve never stopped feeling that way.” He gave a small shrug, and his Adam’s apple shifted. “I’d planned on taking you out for a fancy night on the town. Dinner, candlelight, all that business. Maybe I’m a royal heel for not doing it properly. It’s just that once I got on the train, this spot came to me and . . . it all seemed right.” With that, he looked into her eyes and lowered onto one knee.

“Gene,” she said on a gasp.

“Just hear me out,” he told her. “Sure, we haven’t been dating all that long, but when a fella knows, he just knows. There have been times in my life I was afraid of something like this, but I’m not anymore. Not with you. I want to have a family together, and spend my life with you. If you’ll have me, Vivian.”

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a gold band. “You don’t have to answer this very minute. I just want you to think about it. And if you’re not ready, I’m willing to wait. As long as it takes.”

The ring shimmered in the light, like a candle on a cake, the gift of a wish.

Be happy, darling,
read Isaak’s final letter.
Enjoy a long, splendid life with a man who adores you, children who illuminate your days, and all the happiness you deserve.

Slowly, she dared to meet Gene’s eyes. In them she saw a genuinely good man, one who was offering all of those things and more. A person she trusted with the whole of her heart. A man who loved her, and, in truth, whom she loved too.

Despite her mistakes, she could give her baby a respectable life, that of an Army officer’s child, not the bastard of an executed traitor. She could even save her parents the disappointment and disgrace of having an unwedded pregnant daughter. And through it all, she would never have to hurt the kind man before her.

There was only one decision that made sense.

“Yes,” she said, barely audible in her own ears.

“Yes ... you’ll ... think about it?” The tentativeness in his voice matched his expression.

She pushed out the answer before second thoughts could intervene. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll marry you.”

He appeared to be suppressing a smile until it broke free and overtook his face. After sliding the ring onto her finger, he shot to his feet. He gave her a kiss, brimmed with exuberance, and wrapped her in his arms. “I’m going to take care of you, Vivian. For the rest of my life, I promise you that.”

She clung to his pledge, his embrace, and said, “I know you will.”

A
udra now had a convenient excuse. Still without word from Sean, she’d been tempted several times to drive to the farm, wanting to clear up the issue. This morning, a voice mail on her cell phone gave her cause to follow through.

“Hi, Audra,” the woman had said, “this is Taylor, Sergeant Shuman’s wife. Sean Malloy asked me to do some digging for a genealogy project of yours. I left him a message about it, but haven’t heard back. Since he gave me your contact info, I thought I’d try you directly. I did uncover some things about Jakob Hemel that I think you’ll find interesting. . . .”

It was both troubling and a relief that Audra’s calls weren’t the only ones Sean was ignoring. She had honestly lost all interest in hearing about Jakob Hemel, and she would let the woman know there was no need for more investigating. But first Audra would make sure Sean was all right and, if so, assure him Jack’s antics had no real connection to his family.

At the front door of Luanne’s house, Audra knocked and waited. In the reflective glass panel she noticed strands fallen from her bound hair. She tucked them in and smoothed her fitted cotton shirt over the top of her jeans. She knocked again, but nobody answered.

Late morning on a Wednesday, she figured the chances were good of someone being home. She rang the bell with reluctance, not wanting to disturb Luanne if she was napping.

Again, no one came.

Since yesterday’s visit to the cemetery, Audra felt a renewed desire for closure in any area possible. There were only two days left until the start of summer break. Then Jack would be home full-time, limiting her opportunities to tie up loose ends. She had hoped to catch Luanne as much as Sean, still wanting to apologize for pestering the dear woman.

Audra scanned the property. Except for her own car, there were no vehicles around, though they could be parked in the garage. She retained hope based on the unlocked gate and chickens roaming the grounds.

Then a noise caught her ear—a thump—from the direction of the barn.

She treaded past the large apple tree by the weathered fence, where the goat and donkeys were grazing in the sun. They bleated and brayed a few notes of contentment.

Once at the barn’s entrance, she found its sliding door partially opened. As she proceeded inside, a square object flew through the air and hit the wall of an animal’s stall. It looked to be a chunk of hay, pitched from the loft above.

“Hello?” she called up.

The room was scented with straw and feed and the animals it kept.

“Sean?” she hollered.

All sounds of movement ceased.

It suddenly occurred to her that Luanne could have hired a helper, but then Sean stepped up to the edge. Protected by work gloves, he gripped the long handle of a pitchfork. Patches of sweat darkened his gray T-shirt, untucked from his jeans. He pulled out his right earphone, releasing the wire connected to an MP3 player.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“I’ve been ... trying to reach you.”

He shifted his eyes away from her. “Sorry,” he said. “Been pretty busy.”

She ignored his stock excuse. “Sean, could I talk to you?”

He used a forearm to wipe the dampness from his hairline. Dust and dirt smudged his unshaven face. “I really gotta get some stuff done.”

“You can’t take a short break?” she said, trying to determine whether his aloofness was specifically directed at her.

“Carl should be here soon. He’s a friend of Aunt Lu’s. Supposed to help me put in some fence posts. So some other time, okay?”

Audra conceded with a nod, the exchange just as labored as their drive from the gallery. She could push harder, but her energy was running on reserve.

“Is Luanne around by any chance?” A chat with his great-aunt could still make the trip here worthwhile.

“Nah. She went to meet some people. Her knitting group, I think.”

So much for that idea.

“All right, then.” Audra shrugged. “I’ll stop by another day.”

“Great.”

If his tone alone hadn’t make it abundantly clear that her company was unwelcome, his next act did. She didn’t so much as say good-bye and already he had returned to his work, no longer in view.

This was her cue to leave, but she couldn’t. His shift in personality too closely resembled that of her son.

She wasn’t willing to walk out of here without at least trying for an explanation. From what little she knew of him, this wasn’t Sean.

Audra made her way up the ladder. Before she stepped off, he glanced toward her, less than thrilled. His earphone still dangled down his chest, confirming he could hear her.

In an attempt to alleviate the tension, she scrunched her nose. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the kind who gives up very easily.”

He let out a sigh, almost a huff. “I noticed.” He dropped the pitchfork onto the floor, cushioned by stray leafs of hay. Down on one knee, he snagged a pocketknife from his jeans and cut twine from a bale with a sharp yank.

“Sean, if it’s about me talking to Luanne at the gallery—”

“That’s not it.”

One possibility eliminated.

She slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “To be fair, I should probably mention that I’m
really
good at playing Twenty Questions.”

He cut another piece of twine. “It just isn’t a good day, all right?”

A shallow laugh slipped from Audra’s mouth, not at him but at the mere suggestion. “Well, lately the occurrence of good days in my life is pretty unpredictable. So I’ve learned not to wait around for them.”

He paused for a while, as if he might confide in her. But then he went to work on loosening square blocks of hay. Audra walked over and sat on the bale closest to him, determined to root out the issue. Something had happened on First Thursday; if it didn’t involve her, it was somebody else.

She reviewed the event in her mind. After they’d arrived, he had a run-in with a crabby woman over a parking spot. But he’d laughed it off and didn’t appear agitated until his mother mentioned a friend keeping an eye out for him.

Audra had assumed the guys didn’t cross paths....

“The person who came to see you at the gallery. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Sean affirmed her guess by the forceful way he threw more hay off the loft.

“Sean, who was he?”

As he flung another handful, the scenario came together. “He served in the war with you,” she realized.

Sean stopped. Without looking at her, he said, “Seeing the guy’s face ... it brought back memories I thought I wanted. But I was wrong.”

She waited for more, but he shook his head and sat back against the bale he’d been trying to destroy. He took off his gloves and shuttered his eyes, either viewing the scene or blocking it out.

Audra moved down to the floor and settled beside him. “You can tell me,” she said. “If you want.”

After a moment, his eyelids lifted, but he wasn’t seeing the loft, not the bales or barn wall in front of him. This much was clear in his gaze, same for his tone when he spoke.

“We were on patrol in the Humvee, headed to Bagram from Kabul. I was the A-gunner. I’d hardly slept the night before, filling in for another patrol. So I decided to get some rest during the drive. In the rear, you could lay the seatback down and curl up on the floor. I remember Sarge was cracking jokes when I dozed off. Felt like I just blinked before everything exploded.”

His voice gained a slight quiver as he gripped the top of his bent knee. “There was blood and the sounds of screaming, but I was dizzy and couldn’t think. I blacked out after that. You realize I only lived because I was taking a damn nap, right?” He released a low, dark laugh. Then his smile dropped off and he raked his fingers through his hair. “Christ, what the hell was I doing over there?”

Audra had no clue what to say. There was no logic to be carved from a tragic fluke.

Aching with a need to comfort him, she reached out and laid a hand on his stubbled jaw. He flinched, startled from his thoughts. She expected him to stand, craving his private space. Instead he angled toward her. The grief and longing in his gaze were mirrored in her own. She had never been remotely close to a war zone, yet still she understood. It was futile, the struggle to comprehend why you survived when others around you didn’t.

She opened her mouth to say as much, but he leaned in and smothered the words with his lips. His hands rose to her face. He kissed her with power and wanting, and though she was first taken aback, any resistance quickly dropped away.

On pure instinct she ran her fingers over the broadness of his chest and down the length of his shirt. At his hips, she lifted the pool of fabric and reached beneath, seeking the feel of his skin. His stomach muscles tightened and his breath slightly hitched. As he laid her down, his kisses moved to her neck. She caught a sound, vaguely, and dismissed it when his teeth grazed her ear. The pressure of his body set off a charge inside her. But it wasn’t just desire. It was more than that, a sensation she couldn’t describe.

Not caring to try, she rolled her head to the side, an urging for his lips to follow the curves of her neck, to which he hastily complied. His hands had just grasped her sides, the vulnerable slope of her waist, when a voice sliced through the haze.

“Sean, you in here?” a man called from below.

They both froze, their breaths rough and heavy.

“Sean?”

“I’m here,” he answered, collecting his words. “I’m ... just finishing up. Meet you outside in a few.”

“All righty.”

Footsteps shuffled out the barn door.

As reality returned to the loft, Sean’s body lingered over hers before he pulled back to sit up, giving her room to do the same.

“Audra ... I, um ...”

“Yeah,” she said. “I should go.”

He nodded, looking as flustered as she felt. Once they stood, he gestured toward her. “Your, uh, shirt,” he said.

Audra glanced over her shoulder and brushed hay from the back of her clothes and hair. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

She pasted on a smile, her pulse not yet slowing. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yeah ... right.”

“Good,” she said. She went directly to the ladder and climbed down. She didn’t look up or reduce her pace until she was in her car, at which point she promptly zoomed toward home.

 

For half the drive, Audra couldn’t stop smiling. She wouldn’t be surprised if a blush covered every inch of her skin. She was a teenager after her first make-out session, a game of Two Minutes in the Closet—except a hundred times more exhilarating, aided by experience, and without an ounce of awkwardness. If you subtracted the abrupt ending.

And then she thought of Devon.

Her husband.

Her first love.

Only a day ago, she had knelt at his grave, grieving his absence, cherishing his memories. Yet not once had he come to mind while Sean’s lips and hands were on her body. Recognizing this, she waited for a rush of guilt or betrayal, which she expected would always follow her encounters with another man.

But it wasn’t there.

The truth was, she felt alive and, in a way, liberated. As though the part of her that she had taken for dead had merely been asleep and was finally awake. Maybe later she would reflect on the day and feel differently, but not now. For now, she would relish the sensation, unconcerned of what it meant or where it would lead.

Once parked at the apartment, most of the lot empty, she took a minute in her car to reset her nerves. Particles from the barn dotted her shirt. Tess’s advice flew back to her, about the need for a good old-fashioned roll in the hay, and Audra had to smile. She wiped off her shirt and pants. In the rearview mirror she checked for hay in her hair.

That’s when she noticed a man in the reflection. Sunlight made his face difficult to see, but one thing was clear: He was headed straight for her car.