The Pieces We Keep (3 page)

They were led down the aisle like prisoners to a cell. The silence was deafening, the stares nearly blinding. She wished her arms were wide as sails to fully blanket her son.

The plane tilted and lowered in a U-turn for the airport.

At the very last row Jack was directed to the window seat. This time he didn’t resist. Audra assumed the middle, the cushion warm from a shuffled passenger. She cradled Jack’s head to her chest, his trembling lessening with their steady descent.

A flight attendant took up post nearby. Spectators stole glances through gaps between seats. What a story they would tell. The online posts, the e-mails and texts.

Once parked at the gate, Audra waited for officials to help gather her and Jack’s belongings and escort them off.

“Look outside,” she told Jack. “See that? We’re safe now. We’re safe.” She offered the assurance twice, hoping through repetition to believe her own lie.

 

L
ight flickered over his face, a mask of shadows in the darkened room. Vivian James edged closer in the velvety seat beside him. Once more she exaggerated a sigh.

Alas, Isaak’s gaze remained glued to the screen. In black-and-white glory, a squadron of Spitfires roared off the runway. British military had become a standard of these newsreels, a flexing of royal muscle, a pep talk for patriots. From Isaak’s rapt interest few would guess he was actually an American, the same as Vivian. Before each picture show the RAF propellers would appear, and on cue his spine would straighten, eyes wider than a full moon over the Thames.

So easily she could see him as a child, even without the projector’s softening beam. Youthful curls defied hair tonic in his thick golden hair, and a light dimple marked his chin. His entire face had a striking boyishness, save for his gray-blue eyes that reminded Vivian of the locked file cabinet in her father’s den: prohibitive and full of mystery. A good reason, in fact, to have kept her distance from the start. After only three months of their clandestine courtship, her yearning to be with him, her fear of losing him, had grown to a point she despised.

Was Isaak aware of the power he held? She wondered this now, studying the profile of his handsome lips. His unbuttoned collar pulled her focus to his medium-framed chest and down the series of buttons. She forbade her gaze from wandering on.

Determined to balance the scales, she brushed aside finger waves of her long brown hair. The motion freed a waft of the perfume he had given her, Evening in Paris. Raising her chin, she exposed her neck, the slender, bare area he had declared irresistible.

A claim now proven false.

She recalled Jean Harlow, the elegance of her feline moves. Brazenly, Vivian arched her back as if stretching for comfort. Against constraints of a girdle, she showcased the curves of her trim, belted dress. She parted her full lips, painted deep cherry red, to complete the sensuous pose.

Still, Isaak stared forward, where Nazi soldiers paraded in goosestep. They steeled their arms in angled salute. A narrator recycled the usual reports: Germany’s pact for alignment with Italy, an increase of rumored threats to Poland, the troubling ambitions of Adolf Hitler. It was hard to fathom how a pint-sized man with the looks of Charlie Chaplin could cause such a stir. Back in Washington, DC, her family’s home until two years ago, he was surely fodder for the Sunday funnies.

“Isaak,” she whispered.

He nodded absently, not turning.

She said his name louder, with no distinct plans of conversation. A flash of his slanted smile would simply confirm knowledge of her presence.

But her efforts produced a mere
shush
in the row behind them.

On their last two dates he had been no less distracted. “Just have a lot on my mind, darling,” he’d explained, “with research for Professor Klein, and all the rumblings in Europe.”

Politics. The ubiquitous topic.

Her father, a veteran of the Great War, rarely detailed his work at the embassy. But that didn’t stop
politics
from maintaining a strangling grip on their home. That was not to say Vivian was uncaring, for Isaak’s family in particular. He had been born to Swiss emigrants in upstate New York, he’d explained, and was only fifteen when a factory accident ended his father’s life. Then Isaak and his mother had moved to Lucerne, where she now remained with family. Although Switzerland was famed for its armed neutrality, the expansion of Nazi power gave just cause for apprehension.

Vivian just wished, for a slice of a moment, that global bulletins would take a backseat. Did this stance make her selfish? She pushed down the notion. There were times when a woman ought to put herself first.

At a second
shush
from behind, Vivian became aware of her bouncing heel. She tended to fidget whenever her mind wandered. As she crossed her legs, a bold idea formed. Subtle options had failed. She inched her dangling foot over the border of Isaak’s space. With the toe of her slingback, she brushed against the calf area of his trousers.

Oblivious, or so it seemed, he moved his knee away.

Vivian retreated to her side.

His summer holiday, free from his classes at the University of London, was supposed to afford them quality time. But demands of his campus job had kept them apart this entire week. The separation should have caused his affections to spill over-as exhibited by the couples sprinkled about, already necking, embracing, hands roaming. Was this not the reason he had chosen a matinee? For its offering of relative privacy, an element he favored?

It had been Isaak’s suggestion, after all, to keep the relationship under their hats. His benefactor would be far from pleased, he had said, in light of Isaak’s studies; a romance was not to detract from his final academic year. Vivian had accepted this reasoning, admittedly enticed by the thrill of their secrecy.

But that thrill had run dry, and suspicions were trickling in.

While Isaak had asked plenty of questions about her life, her family-less a mark of interest, perhaps, than the habit of an aspiring journalist-he shared so little about his own. Did he view her as a passing fancy, a fling not worthy of investment? Maybe he was divulging a great deal, but to another girl.

He raised his pointer finger, a sharp signal to wait.

Vivian clutched her pocketbook. She would be a fool not to see where she stood. “A grand idea. Why don’t I wait outside?”

She rose and strode up the aisle.

“Vivian?”

In the span of her twenty years, she had rebuffed an abundance of other fellows. More than a few had likened her fair skin and fine features to a porcelain figurine, her copper eyes to a field of autumn leaves. Yet here she was, ashamedly willing and questioning her very worth.

No more. She was reclaiming her independence, a possession she swore she would never concede.

Sunrays blinded her as she burst from the theater and onto the sidewalk. The pain behind her eyes rivaled the squeeze on her heart.

“Vivian ...” Isaak’s raw, natural rasp tempted her to turn, but she resisted.

“How lovely. I have your attention.”

Dots of light faded from her vision, clarifying a view of honking Hilmans and double-decker buses. Hats of every sort floated through the West End: fedoras, flat caps, bowlers, and wide brims. Off in the distance the bells of Westminster chimed.

She raised her palm for a cab.

“For Mercy’s sake, where are you going?” He sounded bewildered yet almost amused, fueling her frustration. If she was acting dramatic, he alone was the cause.

He touched her elbow. “Darling.”

Shrugging him off, she lifted her hand higher. How could a single taxi not be empty?

“Miss, are you a‘right?” a man asked. He paused from pushing a cart of flowers for sale. “Is the gent ‘ere bothering you?”

“Yes, he is,” she replied pointedly. “But I’m fine. Thank you.”

Though reluctant, the man nodded. He disappeared behind a cluster of ladies, thick with pretension and talcum powder. Bags and boxes in their gloved hands denoted an afternoon spree at Marshall & Snelgrove.

“I don’t understand.” Isaak suddenly grew serious, his brow in a knot. “Tell me what I’ve done.”

For as long as she could recall, she had envisioned a future that broke the mold of convention. Yet because of Isaak, she had been tethered by emotion, her goal kept out of reach. She simply hadn’t realized it until now.

“I’ve meant to tell you,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I think we need a break.”

“A break?”

“Really, at our age, there’s no reason to be tied down to one person.”

A shocked, humorless laugh shot from his lips. “Whatever are you talking about?”

She gripped her purse with both hands, firming her will. “It’s over, Isaak. Please let me be.”

To hear an objection would be as damaging as his agreement. Not waiting for either, she bit out “good-bye” and headed for the Underground, longing to escape into the deepest levels of earth.

I
t was a striking visual of the entrapment Audra felt, yet a disconnect from her old self. In the gilded oval mirror, her reflection gazed back like a stranger stuck behind the glass. She leaned closer, hands gripping the pedestal sink. Could this person really be her? Maybe it was just the lighting, here in the home of Devon’s parents. But, more likely, the harshness of reality.

Though just over thirty-five, she could easily pass for forty. Gone was her youthful glow born of skiing and hiking trips, now faded by duties and worries. Circles under her hazel eyes, like stains of grief, had darkened even more from the past four days. The airport interrogation, the media evasions, the lack of sleep. Every night since the in-flight disaster, Jack had wakened her with his chilling screams.

Audra had never seen nightmares like these. Eyes wide open, he would flail around as if fighting for his life.
Get out! Get out! We’re gonna crash!
Over and over he would yell in desperation until exhaustion seized him fully.

You’re not supposed to wake them.
That’s what her husband had warned on the few occasions when Jack had sleepwalked. Devon even caught one on video. He thought it was adorable that their son, while asleep, tried to brush his teeth at midnight.

But this wasn’t adorable. It was terrifying—for Jack and Audra both. These went far beyond his bad dreams at age five, when comprehending that Daddy was never coming home. Audra had been grateful, so grateful, those teary nights had waned. The stab of self-blame had been painful enough without a child’s cries twisting the blade.

She tossed cold water at her face. It splashed the thought away, yet failed to make her more alert. Fortunately, the drive would be only fifteen minutes from here in Wilsonville to her job in Sherwood. Ten minutes shorter than her commute from home.

She had no obligation to work today—after all, she had taken vacation time for the trip—but the clinic remained her sanctuary. There was no better place to regain confidence from something at which she excelled. Of all days, Mondays offered ample opportunity, packed with pet mishaps from the weekend. Meanwhile for Jack, with no classes on a teacher in-service day, an afternoon with the grandparents would be a nice treat.

Patting her face with a hand towel, Audra winced at the tenderness of her forehead. A knot left from the plane. She smoothed her hair to cover the bruise, hoping to hide her emotions as easily, and headed for the backyard. On the way, she averted her eyes from the photos of Devon. They dappled the bookcases and end tables and walls, artifacts in a museum of memories.

She focused instead on her path through the house. Design wise, the English colonial was the perfect balance of luxury and practicality, as would be expected from the owner of a construction company. Robert had built the place for his wife, Meredith, soon after Devon was born.
A good cure for the baby blues,
Robert would say, explaining his motive behind the elaborate kitchen and elegant bathrooms. The walk-in closet off the master bedroom was half the size of Audra’s apartment.

Years ago, during a late night of holiday baking, after their spiked eggnog and laughter had dwindled, only then did Meredith tell Audra about her bout with depression. Though the comments were brief and slightly slurred, Audra gathered it was a much darker period than the family let on. She always wanted to find out more but chose not to pry. And now, with the widening gap in their relationship, she would probably never know.

“Well, I’d better get going,” she announced on the back deck, where a hammering noise drowned her out. Robert was on his knees, repairing a wobbly rail. She spoke louder: “I thought you were close to retirement. Don’t you have people to do that for you?”

He smiled, his silver-gray mustache trimmed as neatly as his hair. “Yeah, but then I’d have to pay them. And I’m way too cheap for that.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot that part.”

Robert rose in his carpenter pants and boots. Aside from a solid build, his rounded face and widened middle resembled a teddy bear from the county fair. “I imagine you’re looking for those two culprits.” He used his hammer to indicate the far corner of the yard.

Audra should have guessed where Meredith would take Jack on a sunny day. Already, just minutes after his arrival, his grandmother had him crouched down for a chat in her enormous garden. Lessons about nature—from roots and leaves to caterpillars and bees—were always appreciated. But inevitably she would move on to all the varieties of lilies Devon had given her, and the memories attached to each Mother’s Day on which he had planted them.

While the sentiment was a sweet one, Audra wished the woman would center on the future, rather than the past. At least where Jack was concerned.

“Hey, buddy!” Audra intervened. “Come on over and tell me good-bye.”

Jack came to his feet. He treaded over with his shoulders up and the bill of his baseball cap lowered. Raising his eyes, he said in a tight voice, “When’ll you be back?”

She recognized the true question, one she hadn’t detected in over a year: Would she ever be coming back?

The crushing doubts in his face tempted her to stay. Yet she heard the echo of a teacher’s voice, back when Jack started to cry during his first preschool drop-off:
By proving that when you leave it’s not forever, you’ll build your child’s trust.

Audra knelt on the deck and cupped his baby-soft cheek. “I’ll just be gone for a few hours, then we’ll go get pizza together. Sound good?”

After a beat, he nodded sharply in a show of bravery. But when she leaned in for a hug, his tentative hold confirmed that the boy she missed—the ever-beaming Jack who found wonderment in a potato bug and made drum sets out of Cool Whip tubs—was a thousand miles away.

She smiled at him. “You’re going to have so much fun today. I want to hear all about it when I pick you up.”

He didn’t respond, and it was plain to see that his summary of the day would be no different, regardless of her efforts.

“You know what, Beanstalk?” Robert said. It was a nickname from Jack’s first growth spurt. “Just remembered, I got a surprise for ya. Picked up a full-bird colonel for your collection.”

“Wow,” Audra said, “that’s amazing.” Then she whispered to Jack, “I have no clue what a full-bird colonel is, but it sounds very cool. And twice as good as a half bird, for sure.”

Jack’s mouth lifted, a shadow of a smile.

Meredith removed her garden gloves while joining them. “Dear,” she said to Robert, “why don’t you take Jack inside to play, and I’ll throw some snacks together?”

“As you wish, milady.” He winked at Audra and ushered Jack in the direction of the “music room,” a space that produced no music. The piano there, passed down through generations, apparently hadn’t been played since Meredith’s years as a music teacher. Now it sat in a tomb of canvas, retired—like Meredith—and being edged out by a battlefield. Spanning the room, more than a hundred tiny army men held positions behind Tupperware bunkers and bushes of packaged moss, soon to be joined by a full-bird colonel.

“Thanks again for watching him,” Audra told her by way of parting.

But Meredith cleared her throat, expression pulled taut over high cheekbones. Her hair was sleek and short in the fashion of an eagle, with eyes just as penetrating. “Audra, before you go ...”

“Yes?”

“I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

The intensity of her tone told Audra to sprint for the car. What usually followed were strong “suggestions” of putting Jack in a contact sport, or signing him up for an outdoors camp, or sending him to the Sunday school where Meredith volunteered. However well-intentioned, none of those ideas would keep Jack safe in a world that refused to be controlled.

“I really do need to head out,” Audra said, but Meredith persisted.

“How’s Jack been doing in school lately?”

The detour was surprising.

Then again, Meredith and her husband would soon be watching Jack on Audra’s workdays, same as they did last summer. The status of his academics would be helpful to his progress.

“He’s good overall. His reading’s still amazing, but he could use more practice in math. When school ends in a few weeks, I’ll drop him off with workbooks, so you can quiz him if you don’t mind.”

“That’s all fine. But how’s he doing with everything else? With other kids, I mean?”

“He’s great,” Audra lied. “Everything’s great.”

“The reason I ask is—well, I couldn’t help but wonder. Have kids at school been playing rough with him?”

Audra blinked. He had never mentioned it to her.

Not that he necessarily would these days.

“Why? Did he say something?”

“He didn’t. I just noticed, over in the garden ... I know he tends to bruise easily. But there are quite a few marks on his arms.”

The bruises. From the plane.

Audra had informed Meredith of the basics—that Jack’s “disruption” from anxiety had caused the pilots to turn back; that in the wake of 9-11, it didn’t take much to shake up the crew. Had it been up to Audra, she wouldn’t have shared even that much with her in-laws. But a Port of Portland authority had warned her that if the media pounced, local relatives were rarely spared.

She had little choice now but to elaborate.

“The plane ride might have been more ... involved than I mentioned. When Jack panicked, he actually tried to get off the plane, and some passengers had to hold him down.”

A crease divided Meredith’s brow. “But—that doesn’t fit him. He’s always been so agreeable.” Audra couldn’t argue with this. “Did you explain to him what to expect? About traveling on airplanes? Maybe that would’ve helped.”

With Meredith, every moment offered a teaching opportunity.

“He never seemed worried,” Audra said, “until it came time to board. You know how fascinated he’s always been with those model planes Robert gives him. I thought he’d love it.”

“Mmm,” Meredith said simply.

The woman was problem solving, but her remarks only magnified Audra’s insecurities of parenting without Devon. She felt her defenses rise.

“Doesn’t matter now anyway. They’re not going to let him fly for a long time.”

“Ooh. I suppose they wouldn’t.” Meredith tilted her head, thin eyebrow lifted. “So, does this mean you won’t be moving to Philadelphia? Since you missed your interview?” She didn’t do much to hide her enthusiasm.

“I’m still in the running,” Audra contended. “The owner was willing to set up a videoconference with me later this week.”

There were three other candidates being considered. Audra didn’t have to be told she’d lost her top rank, viewed now as a single mother whose “family emergencies” already interfered with her work. But she wasn’t up for dwelling on that.

“You know, Audra ...” Meredith blindly scraped dirt from the tips of her gloves. “I could be wrong, but maybe it wasn’t the flying part that Jack was anxious about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying. Moving him cross-country could actually be the core of the problem. A new school, a new city with nobody he knows. He’s already changed homes once this year.”

Yes, and Meredith had made it abundantly clear how she felt about that too.

“After everything he’s been through,” she went on, “I would think some consistency would be good for him. Maybe he’d prefer to stay where he’s grown up, close to where his dad is.”

“His dad?” Audra was astonished by the tactic. She understood why Meredith would want her grandchild nearby, but that didn’t justify using Devon as an excuse. And what about Audra’s needs? Every restaurant, every street here contained a memory dense enough to smother her. How could she possibly be a good mother until she could breathe?

Meredith clarified, “Oh, of course, wherever Jack is, I know Devon’s there, watching over him. I just meant it might be important for Jack, especially as he gets older, to visit Devon’s grave, to feel closer—”

Audra couldn’t take anymore.

“Devon is gone. In every way. Gone.” Her voice trembled, gaining momentum. “He’s not hiding behind a headstone. Not floating around like fairy dust. And he sure isn’t sitting on a cloud somewhere with harps and wings.”

When Audra stopped, silence burned the air. The heat of it crawled up her arms, her neck. In contrast, utter shock blanched Meredith’s face, triggering Audra’s mind to replay her own words.

Though formed in truth, the outburst wasn’t meant for Meredith. It was for the doctor who had given Devon a clean bill of health. It was for herself, for chalking up Devon’s headaches to caffeine withdrawal and his increased forgetfulness to being “a typical guy.” It was for every condolence card that insisted she cling to her faith, because goodness knows that her husband—at barely thirty-four, with a family he loved and a great consultant job from home—wouldn’t die in a blink without reason. It had to be part of a “bigger plan.”

A plan that didn’t exist.

Vision clouded by tears, Audra swiped at her eyes. Meredith’s gaze had fallen to the garden. From the pain in her features, an inescapable truth struck back.

Sure, Audra had lost her husband and Jack had lost his father; but Meredith and Robert had lost their only child. For any parent, was anything more devastating?

“I’m so sorry, Meredith. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to hurt you....”

Slowly Meredith looked at her. From the start, she and Robert had welcomed Audra without question or condition. They were the picture-perfect Christmas cards, the movie nights and cribbage games. They were everything her own parents weren’t.

I’ve missed you.
The declaration gathered on Audra’s tongue. But before it could find a voice, Meredith turned and left.