The Pieces We Keep (33 page)

W
ith no plans for the remainder of the afternoon, Vivian ambled through the city. She had left her meeting at the park in what felt a lone procession of mourning. Not until her feet throbbed from the endless clacking of her shoes, however, did she realize which grief surprised her most. For it was Agent Gerard’s parting words that seized her still, the wish for her to be happy.

At one time in her life, she’d had a clear picture of what happiness entailed. But no longer. It had become a term in a language she barely recalled. A dream she mistook for truth until waking, and like water through her fingers, it had slipped away.

She was reflecting upon this when her mind registered she had landed at the apartment. She fished the key from her purse, only to find she had left their home unlocked. Inside, she closed the door behind her. She had just set down her handbag when the clock chimed four.

Had she been gone that long? She had intended to swing by the butcher shop. She would have to rush there and back to have any chance of preparing a decent, timely meal.

Again she retrieved her keys. Clutching her purse, she opened the door.

“Going already?”

She spun around, heart racing, before she placed the voice. She calmed herself with pats to the chest and shut the door. Pulling on her six o’clock smile, she proceeded past the kitchen and found Gene tucked away in the living room. He sat on the sofa chair, slouched and cross-legged, a small glass in his hand.

“I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” she said.

“You don’t say.” He gulped down the drink, which she presumed to be water until he snatched the bottle from the end table, and he poured a hefty amount. Vivian had no need to read the label to recognize it as gin. It was not a liquor Gene typically owned, but she knew the scent from her mother.

He put the bottle aside uncapped, almost catching a corner of the table. “Well, don’t let me keep you, if you got somewhere else you wanna be.”

Due to his father’s past, Gene never indulged in more than a few beers at a time. A little wine or schnapps when hosting guests.

“I was just going to the store,” she said. “Gene, is everything all right?”

“Which store?” he said.

“The butcher’s. I’d planned to buy meat on the way home, but I forgot.”

“Must’ve had a lot on your mind. All that running around keeping you busy.” He swirled his gin with a loose wrist. His words slightly dragged as if formed by a swollen tongue. “What is it you were out doing anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She kept her answer simple, her uneasiness growing. “I just went to the park.”

“Ah, yeah. The park,” he said. “And ... ?”

“And then ... I walked around the city.”

“That’s it, huh? Nothing more to it?” He threw back half a glassful.

“Gene–”

“Who’d you meet at Prospect Park, Vivian?”

The question jarred her, as pointed as his gaze.

“As chance would have it,” he said, “I’d accidentally left a file for work here. When I came to grab it at lunchtime, I ran into Mrs. O’Donnell. Told me I’d just missed you. That she tried to say hello, but you were in such a rush you didn’t notice. Seems wherever you were going was pretty important.”

On the table, beside the bottle, lay a crumpled piece of paper. It bore words Vivian recognized and a jagged edge. He had ripped it from the scheduling book she had stored in her vanity.

Prospect Pk
.–
2pm
, was all she had written.

Her first instinct was to protest over the invasion of her privacy, and, more than that, his presumption of her guilt. Yet she reconsidered. She had entered an interrogation room, not her home. And this man wasn’t her husband, but an Intelligence officer on a mission.

“So?” he pressed.

“I assure you, it was nothing inappropriate. You’ve got the wrong–”

He slammed his glass down. “Tell me who you saw!”

Liquor splashed and Vivian flinched. She thought of Agent Gerard and envisioned Binnen Bridge, the setting of a past reunion she and Gene would never discuss, from a portion of history they pretended did not exist. These were the reasons she had skipped any mention of today’s outing.

Of course, if he wanted to know, she would supply every detail from the FBI-regardless of confidential status. But not now. Not in light of his current state.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she said evenly, “when you’re thinking clearly.” She turned for the bedroom to prevent their argument from exploding. Yet she went no farther than the gaping door, stopped by the sight.

Her garments had been scattered over the bed and floor. Drawers of her nightstand and vanity had been upended in a search. For what? Evidence of an affair?

Her jewelry box since childhood lay on its side. Trinkets and brooches had cascaded into a mound. Vivian’s head pounded as she knelt on the carpet and scooped them up. The necklace chains were kinked and snarled, a precise reflection of everything in their lives.

“Viel Feind, viel Ehr
,” Gene said, now filling the doorway. He was reading the engraved necklace that dangled from his fist. “Let me guess. It means he’ll love you for eternity-am I right? That somehow you lovebirds will always be together.”

Tears stung her eyes. Stiffly she shook her head. “No.”

“What, then?”

“It’s just an old German saying. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So, why’d you keep it? If it doesn’t mean anything.” His neck muscles flexed as he answered his own question: “Because you still love that Kraut traitor. That’s why!” He pitched the necklace across the room.

Vivian recoiled into herself, her arms and legs quivering. Every second slogged by as if dragged through mud. She doubted she would ever move from this spot.

After a time, she registered only quiet in the room, aside from her choppy breaths.

She edged her head upward and found Gene still there, yet with an altered demeanor. Hands fisted at his temples, he stood with his back against the doorjamb. Though his eyelids were shut, she knew what lay behind them. It was not fury, but pain and fear. He wasn’t battling Vivian, or even his suspicions, as much as himself.

She unfolded her body and rose to her feet. Tears rolled hot down her face. “Gene, please ... listen to me.”

He showed no sign of agreeing, but she walked toward him regardless in slow but determined steps. “I know I hurt you. With all of my heart, I am so sorry for that. If you need to hear it a thousand times, I will gladly say it. Or if you need something else, please tell me. Otherwise, you have to stop punishing me for a past I can’t change.”

She was a few feet from him when his arms lowered to his sides. His eyes eased open, but his gaze remained on the floor.

“If we’re going to be a family,” she told him, “if we’re going to have any chance at happiness together, you have to find a way to forgive me, for both of our sakes. And the child’s.” She moved an inch closer, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to scare him away. “I know you still love me. And I love you too, despite what you might think.”

She waited for a reaction, anything at all.

Finally, gradually, he raised his eyes but stopped before her face. “I have to go,” he said, and turned to leave the room.

“Gene, no. We have to talk.” She followed him toward the door. They needed to finish this, to see this through. “Don’t run away.” She grabbed his arm to keep him there, but he jerked himself free, throwing Vivian off-balance. She stumbled backward into the wall and slid down onto her tailbone.

Gene stared, frozen, but just for an instant. In a panic he collapsed onto his knees. “Oh, Jesus.” He reached for her belly but drew back, as if his fingertips were fashioned with blades. As if somehow, the hands of his father had replaced his own.

She saw this in Gene’s face as he said, “My God, what have I done?”

“It’s all right. . . .” Vivian felt only a throbbing on her backside, the coming of a bruise. She knew with certainty no harm had befallen the baby, and very little to herself. “It was just an accident. The baby’s fine.”

Gene nodded, though absent of conviction. “I’m getting a doctor.” He went to rise, and Vivian grasped his sleeve.

“Everything’s okay. Gene, please, sit with me.”

In his eyes a flood of emotions mounted. His lips tightened, upholding a crumbling dam.

This time he would not fight her. With great care, he took a seat at her side.

Together they sat in silence. No words would serve as a treaty. No utterance would magically rebuild the bridge. But Vivian had faith that if both were willing, they could repair the connection one plank at a time.

The thought brought to mind Mrs. Langtree’s house, a project not entirely different. In fact, it was during the eve of that day, riding in the truck Gene had borrowed, that he and Vivian had shared their first deliberate and meaningful touch.

Praying it could work again, she placed her hand over his. Just as before, he said nothing; just as before, he did not pull away.

Vivian tipped her head to rest on his shoulder. He smelled of soap and pine and home.

Seconds later, he did withdraw his hand and leaned forward as if readying to leave. Yet to her relief, he was only shifting his body to lay his arm over her shoulder. When his chin settled on her crown, she could have sworn a few tears dampened the top of her hair. She closed her eyes, treasuring his hold, and felt the numbness of her soul start to lift.

 

Years later, Vivian would look back at that day. She would realize it was in that very hallway, the two of them stripped to little more than bones, that not just healing began, but love. Real love, in the truest and deepest sense. A far contrast to the dizzying, volatile whirlwind she had once taken to define the word.

The most wonderful type of love, she had learned, was the kind built with care and over time, through forgiveness and understanding, compromise and compassion, trust and acceptance. It was hidden in the minutiae of everyday life; it was in the traded smiles during a radio show or the peaceful lulls on an evening stroll.

Pain and fear would not be erased like the marks on a blackboard. Nothing real ever disappears that simply. But over days, weeks, months, the good outweighed all, until the initial impetus of their wedding dissolved into the background.

Never did that hold truer than on the morning when the nurse summoned Gene. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” she asked.

The moisture welling in his eyes supplied the answer. As if handling fine crystal, he cradled the small bundle in his arms, and Vivian knew right then, with certainty beyond measure, that Gene-her beloved husband-would never treat their darling Judith as less than his own, that together they were a family sealed by a bond. A bond that nothing, and no one, could break.

I
t was the start of a family reunified. From the turn of events with Meredith, Audra’s mind was still reeling when she arrived at the coffee shop.

At a far table by the window, Sean raised his hand.

The mere sight of him placed all other thoughts on hold. In a flurry of images, their encounter in the barn came rushing back. She fended off the memory. There was no room for complications with just three weeks until the move. She was only here to say good-bye.

She walked steadily past the line of customers that stretched from the entrance. Patrons filled most of the tables in the room, chatting with friends, shuffling through newspapers, typing on laptops. The scents of espresso and warm muffins led a path to Sean’s table.

“Morning,” he said.

“Hi.” She glanced at his mouth, remembered how it had felt on hers, and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

“Oh, here. This for you.” He slid a paper cup across the table. The string from a tea bag dangled from the lid. “I got here a little early and the line was getting long. If you want something else, I’d be happy to grab it for you.”

She recognized the flavor printed on the tag, a decaf favorite named “Calm.” After the morning she’d had—make that the entire month—nothing sounded better.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat. “It’s perfect.”

He nodded. As she settled in, he drank from the slot of his lidded cup. He looked freshly showered and shaven in a collared, short-sleeved shirt. The bronze fabric complemented his eyes, which had notably relaxed since she’d last seen him.

“You look better,” she observed. “Not that you looked bad before. You just—never mind.”

A slanted smile crossed his lips. “It’s okay. I am doing better.”

“Good. Good, I’m glad.” She saved herself from tripping over her next words by focusing on her tea. It needed to be stirred and the temperature was just above comfort level, but she drank it regardless. She felt his gaze on her all the while.

“Audra,” he said finally, “about last week.”

She set down the cup, preparing herself for how he might phrase it.

“I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. You’ve got enough to worry about, and ... I hope you didn’t . . . that is, I’m sorry if . . .”

“Sean, please. Don’t.” Clearly he saw her participation as a merciful act. And he couldn’t have been more wrong. “I think it’s safe to say, we were both there for each other at a time when we needed it. Simple as that.”

He accepted her reasoning with a close-lipped smile. When their eyes connected, she had to prod herself to look away.

“So,” he said after a moment. “How’s Jack doing?”

It was the question she asked herself daily.

She pictured him building cyber igloos with Grace, zooming around on his scooter, welcoming his grandparents’ affection.

“We’ll have to see, but I think he’ll be all right,” Audra said.

True, Jack wasn’t the same child from two years ago—the boy with an easy laugh who drummed on Cool Whip tubs and played with potato bugs—but perhaps he wasn’t supposed to be. He was growing up and changing. They all were. Maybe it was time to acknowledge this, to stop forcing each other into a mold that didn’t fit.

“That reminds me,” Sean said, “I got a message from that sergeant’s wife I told you about. I haven’t called her back yet, but if she has any info—”

“Actually, she got ahold of me.”

“Oh, she did? Great,” he said. But when Audra didn’t expound, he asked, “Did she find anything that might help?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

It was a truthful response. The woman’s report only raised more questions, none of which would ever really be answered.

“Turns out,” Audra said, “there’s a strong chance Jack was getting his ideas from other things. All logical ones. Looking back, it was pretty silly on my part.” She underscored the claim with a smile. “From now on, I’ve decided to focus on the present world—which I already have a hard enough time figuring out.”

“You and me both,” Sean said lightly.

She laughed, grateful for the elevated mood. They both sipped their drinks as a female barista called out customers’ names for drink pickups at the counter.

“So, how about your summer?” Sean asked. “You two have any special plans?” Obviously he intended to perpetuate their casualness, not knowing it was a subject Audra suddenly dreaded.

She shifted in her chair. “We’ll be ... moving to Boston. In the middle of July.”

“Boston?” he said. “You never mentioned anything.”

“Sorry, I probably should have. It’s just that the custody battle left us in limbo for a while. But they’ve dropped the case, so we’re able to stick with our plans now.”

Despite the disappointment in his eyes, it was ridiculous of her to feel even a twinge of guilt, or regret. They hadn’t known each other for even a month.

“Sounds like it’s all great news, then,” he said.

“It is. Really great.”

They were like two singles who had met at rehab, a transitional place meant for healing, not romantic hookups. Still, she hated the idea of walking away after all he had shared with her.

“What about you?” she asked. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine.”

When he sat back in his chair, she searched his eyes for a genuine answer. “Are you sure?”

He contemplated the question and shrugged. “Each day’s getting a little better. I will admit, though, most nights have been pretty restless since the memories came back.”

If anyone understood that struggle, it was Audra. “Feel free to call me next time. I’m probably awake.”

He grinned and nodded as if he just might. Boston, after all, was only a phone call away.

“Are there other memories you’re getting? Good ones, I mean.”

“Yeah, more and more so. It’s like my mind was blocked by what happened over there. Now that it’s open, the rest of it’s starting to come through. I’m actually starting to feel like myself again.”

“Sean, that’s wonderful.”

He angled his body forward, hand resting on the table while holding his drink. “You know, I even ran into an old friend from the TV station I used to work at. Looks like a position’s opening up. So I was thinking of applying.”

“Oh, you definitely should. That’s amazing.” In her enthusiasm, she barely caught herself from reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. She pulled back and sipped more tea.

After a pause, she made a show of glancing at her watch. “You know, I ought to get going. Lots to do, with packing and all that.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I told Aunt Lu I’d run some errands for her after seeing you. So ...”

“You told her? And she didn’t warn you against seeing the crazy woman?”

He smiled. “She doesn’t think you’re crazy.” He almost sounded convincing enough to believe.

“Either way,” Audra said, “I’ve sort of accepted that crazy is the new normal.”

“That’s a huge relief—for me, that is.” The corners of his eyes crinkled before he rose from his chair. “Come on, I’ll walk you back on the way to my car.”

They tossed their cups into the trash and walked toward the apartment.

With the distance of one block, they rounded her building all too soon. Audra was searching for a non-cliché parting of
If you’re ever in Boston
when Sean came to an abrupt stop, his eyes straight ahead.

Perhaps another memory had come crashing back.

“Sean, what is it?”

“Aunt Lu,” he said, bewildered.

“What about her? Did you remember something?”

He shook his head, and motioned forward. “She’s here.”

Audra followed his indication and found Luanne in the parking lot. She had just stepped out of her car when she looked in their direction.

The expression on her face said the day’s discussions were far from over.