The Pieces We Keep (35 page)

T
hroughout supper, Vivian consciously focused on the present, not the future. Her discussion with Mrs. Langtree from earlier that day made this a difficult yet necessary task. The topic wasn’t appropriate for company until Vivian could broach the matter with Gene, even if the guests were both family.

Luanne and Fred, married three months now, had come to celebrate Judith’s birthday. The couple had first met at a diner just blocks from the law firm where Luanne worked as a secretary. When they announced their engagement four months later, ending Luanne’s long run of passing courtships, Vivian’s initial shock fast became delight. Gene was as cautious as any big brother ought to be, particularly one in Intelligence, but Fred gave no grounds for objection. He was a kind, average-looking fellow enrolled as a medical student at NYU. He had discovered his interest in the field while serving as an Army medic primarily in Burma. Although he didn’t say much about his tour-a commonality among combat vets-his political opinions tended to flow a bit more after a glass of wine.

“I know there’s some folks out there who question it in hindsight,” he said between bites of glazed ham, “but I, for one, am grateful we dropped those A-bombs.”

Gene took another gulp of his milk, not one to indulge ever again in anything stronger.

“Those Japs never would’ve given up otherwise. I’m telling you, we’d be fighting Tojo to this day.”

Gene continued to eat his scalloped corn, adding nothing.

His silence was not missed by Vivian.

“How bad is it?” she had recently asked, regarding his analysis reports from Japan.

He had answered with a shake of his head, his eyes moistening before he looked away. And Vivian knew he would never burden her with gruesome details of the explosion’s aftermath. Nor would she press for more.

“Last I heard,” Fred went on, “Truman’s estimating up to a million of our soldiers were saved because of those drops. Is that about right, Gene?”

“So they say,” he replied, and took a hefty bite of his roll.

The sacrifice of a few for the good of many was no doubt a noble stance, but not one as readily accepted when those few had a face. Vivian could relate to this much firsthand.

At the sudden lull, she swooped in with a smile. “Who’s up for some lemon meringue?” From that point on, she aimed to keep the conversation as light as their dessert.

All the while Luanne stayed blissfully preoccupied. Making the
vroom
sounds of a plane, she flew spoonfuls of peas into Judith’s mouth. The youngster wriggled in her wooden high chair, giggling from giddiness, as she always did with her aunt. Luanne indeed was a natural-born mother.

It was for this reason that her lack of interest in Judith, back in her infant stage, had been an unsettling surprise. Despite Gene’s vow of secrecy, Vivian had wondered how much his sister truly knew. But then one evening, during a visit with Luanne, Judith suffered a spike in fever that resulted in a seizure. The episode was short and ultimately harmless but terrified both women regardless.

Therein a fresh bond was born, and once more Vivian witnessed the seeping of light through a moment of darkness.

An hour later, with Luanne and Fred gone, the dishes washed, and Judith bathed, Vivian prepared for her approach.

From the door of Judith’s room she watched Gene tuck their daughter into her crib. She looked so cozy in the new pajamas Luanne had made.

“Kiss ’Ippo.” Judith held up the floppy giraffe he had given her to mark the special day.

“Good night, Hippo.” Gene gave the animal a peck, snuggled it under the blanket, and said to Judith, “Sweet dreams, my little monkey.”

“Ooh-ooh, ahh-ahh,” she replied on cue. Gene had coined the nickname when, as a newborn, she would squirm, cling, and suck her thumb like a baby chimp.

Then he said, “I love you, Jujube. With all my heart.”

“I wuv you too, Daddy.”

He leaned over the rail and kissed Judith’s forehead. When he stood up, rather than clicking off her lamp, he rubbed her face with his thumb. The soothing motion caused her eyelids to droop, her blinks to lengthen.

While there was beauty in the scene, Vivian also sensed a heaviness. It was the tone of Gene’s voice, the intensity of his eyes. Over the past few weeks, she would frequently jar him from spells of thought. His work at the base appeared to be taking a greater toll than usual.

Perhaps he was picturing the images he had seen, the Japanese and European youth caught in the cross fire. Children who would never again hug their stuffed toys or sleep restfully in their beds.

Counting her blessings, Vivian left the sweet pair to their privacy. In the bathroom, then bedroom, she readied for sleep. As Gene did the same, she sat in bed, waiting. Propped against her pillow, she absently perused a magazine. At last, he settled beneath the covers in his boxers and undershirt.

“I saw Mrs. Langtree today,” she said, faster than intended.

Gene mumbled his acknowledgment and set the alarm on his two-belled clock. Vivian slowed her pace.

“Her sister, the one who lives in Tampa, she’s asked Mrs. Langtree to move in with her. Since Mrs. Langtree needs surgery on her knees, and with the start of her arthritis, she doesn’t think it’s wise to live alone much longer.”

“Yeah?” he said, putting the clock down.

“She’s considered listing her house on the market. With the flood of buyers these days, she could surely get a pretty penny. But, well, you see, she was hoping”–and here it went–“that maybe you and I would be interested.”

Gene adjusted his head on his pillow.

“Honey? Did you hear me?”

“Sorry. How was that?”

She withheld a groan, knowing better than to take offense. He typically afforded her his full attention. She set the magazine on her night table and cut to the point. “Mrs. Langtree wants to sell her house to us. For a whole thousand dollars under market value.”

Surprise shone in his eyes, though only a flicker.

“I know we were going to wait until next year to buy a place, but this is just too marvelous to pass up. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Vivi. Maybe.”

When it came to major decisions-marriage proposal excluded-he was not one to act on impulse. Yet in this case, the window of opportunity was narrow and closing.

“You’ve practically rebuilt half the place as it is. And Judith loves it there. Plus, it has all the things you and I have always talked about. A nice neighborhood, a large, airy kitchen, a wraparound porch. We could even hang a chair there to swing on.”

He sighed, eyes toward the ceiling.

Though at risk of pressuring him, she would have to address a sensitive but vital factor. Without it, he would not agree.

“If it’s a matter of the down payment,” she added, “you know I can help with that.”

“Vivian-”

“Please, just listen.” He was looking at her now. “I’ve thought about it all day. The can of money I’ve put away since I was a little girl. This should be what we spend it on.”

“Doll, that’s not what you saved it for.”

“No,” she conceded, “it’s not.”

What he didn’t know was that using the fund for something other than a cross-country family trip was not a new thought.

During the last year of the war, she had served as a volunteer for the USO. Most often, she would hand out coffee and donuts to soldiers at Grand Central. Occasionally, while Luanne babysat Judith, Vivian would find herself near the ticket booth, daydreaming of buying a pass, jetting off on a whim. But those moments were fleeting, and any notions of regret vanished at the sight of Judith’s grin or the milky scent of her head. At night, Gene would wrap Vivian safely in his arms, even in his sleep, and a feeling would overcome her, that everything in her life had led to this place.

“Gene, someday I’d love for us to travel together. But all of that can wait. Besides, you know I want to work again when Judith gets older, so I could just save up again. Until then, the house would be so big, it would be like living on our own island.” The thought of the home’s spaciousness guided her to the last missing component.

She ran her hand over the fabric of his shirt, the slightly softened muscles. “I should tell you, though, there is one problem with the house.” Arching a brow, she said, “We’d have an entire third bedroom to fill.”

He didn’t respond, even to her playful tack.

Few decent men would accept a dime from others, including their wives. At least not without minimal protest. This she had anticipated. But his resistance seemed to stem from something else. Something he wasn’t saying.

She flattened her palm over his heart, wishing she could read his pulse. “If there’s another issue,” she said, “you know you can tell me.”

He layered his fingers over hers, snug to his chest, as if to prevent her from floating away.

“Gene?” she said, leaning closer.

For several seconds he gazed at their hands, then into her eyes. Softly he replied, “We’ll buy it.”

She stared at him, disbelieving. “We’ll buy . . .”

“The house.”

“But–I thought-you haven’t-” She dropped her chin. “You’re not teasing me, are you?”

His lips curved into a smile, and he shook his head.

Vivian covered her mouth to keep a squeal from waking Judith. Like their toddler at supper, giddiness poured through her. She planted kisses on Gene’s cheeks, then lips, and it didn’t take long for those kisses to intensify. When at last she drew her head back, their breaths were equally ragged.

“So, what’s that you were saying?” he asked. “About a new bedroom to fill?”

She gave a shrug. “I thought a sewing room might be nice.”

“Sewing, huh?”

“Or a storage room. You know, for Judith’s old clothes and toys.” She worked to keep a straight face. “Unless you had another suggestion.”

She had barely finished her sentence when he rolled her onto her back. Her giggle became a soft moan from the feel of his mouth-on her neck, her shoulder, her chest-and the pressure of his body covering hers. His kisses then slowed, so sensual they made each of her toes curl. “I’ve got a few ideas,” he whispered, and he slid her nightgown upward.

 

In a daze from their night together, Vivian waded less than efficiently through the morning routine. She dribbled apple juice on Judith’s dress, added cream to her own coffee-she always drank it black-and fried Gene’s egg to a crisp. Not that he minded much. At the front door, his good-bye kiss made clear he had other things on his mind, like ways to demonstrate more of his ideas.

Returning from the entry, she asked Judith, “Are you ready for some toast, lovey bug?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” In the high chair, the girl had covered her tray with applesauce designs.

Vivian knew she should reprimand her for playing with her food, but Judith’s toothy grin won out. “Whatever am I going to do with you?” Vivian said with a smile. She grabbed a dishrag from the counter and discovered Gene had forgotten his lunch pail.

Apparently Vivian was not the only one distracted.

“I have to go catch Daddy,” she said, snagging the container. “You stay here in your seat.”

“I go too!” Judith stretched her arms and leaned over the chair, willing to dive headfirst. Tenacity was clearly a trait Vivian had handed down.

“Okay, okay. We need to hurry, though.” No time to fetch a sweater. With Judith on her hip, she sped out the door, through the building, and into the sunlight. Gene was already two blocks down. “Gene, wait!” she yelled.

“Gene, wait!”Judith parroted, loud enough to turn him.

Vivian raised the black lunch pail, summoning him back. Against the morning chill she held Judith close as Gene returned. He bypassed the metal pail to tickle Judith’s side. “Who you callin’ Gene, missy?”

Judith gleefully wiggled, making Vivian laugh. “Go on, now, Captain. You don’t want to be late.”

He smiled and kissed them both but stopped short of leaving. “Say, Vivi, why don’t we take a trip? Just the two of us. Get away for a while.”

“Well, I’d love to ... but Judith, she’s so young.”

“Oh, she’d be fine with my sister. They adore each other. Don’t you, Jujube?”

Judith was too busy licking applesauce from her fingers to reply.

Suddenly Vivian recalled last night’s discussion. “So, yesterday we were watching every dime, and now we’re the Rockefellers?”

“I wasn’t thinking of Paris, for Pete’s sakes. Somewhere like . . . Manchester, or Cape Cod. A cozy inn with candlelit dinners, strolls on the beach.”

“In the middle of March,” she said. “A little cold, don’t you think?”

“It’d be plenty warm in our room.”

She pressed down a rising smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. I’ll help pack when I get home,” he said, and with pail in hand he resumed his walk toward the streetcar.