The Pieces We Keep(105)
Now to reveal the pictures beyond them.
Fear expanded, encompassing her like a fog, as she turned to the next page. Thankfully, she discovered only more of the same. The London Tower, the Colosseum, remnants of the Berlin Wall. For several more pages the theme continued.
And then it all changed.
48
Vivian startled from her semi-conscious haze. A rapping on wood. Her bedroom door. She was about to plead for Luanne to answer but recalled her roommate’s absence, out for a late appointment at the beauty salon.
“Miss James?” The voice of the landlady.
“One moment.” Vivian maneuvered herself upright on her bed, noting her nightstand clock. Nearly six. After work she had dozed off while resting her head, which continued to throb from three weeks of harbored worries-over not only the FBI’s case but also her maddening indiscretion. With such compromised morals, she had needed no other reason to decline joining the WAAC.
Her one saving grace was the military assignment that had kept Gene out of town, hopping between bases. The separation should have enabled her to unsnarl her mesh of feelings. But how could she even begin without an update on Isaak’s case?
“Miss James.”
“Yes, I’m coming!” Vivian called out, rising to her feet.
“A gentleman is on the phone for you.”
Vivian halted.
Agent Gerard. The call she had been expecting all week.
In an instant, the haze dissipated. She scrambled into the hall, bid her thanks, and flew down the stairs. The man had repeatedly affirmed that the Hemel family had been moved to a safe, undisclosed location before all eight spies were apprehended. But there were no developments regarding Isaak. Only that visitors were prohibited until legal formalities were complete. Growing antsy, Vivian had recently left numerous messages at the New York Field Office, where a slew of meetings, according to the receptionist, had occupied the agent’s schedule.
At the entry table, praying for good news, Vivian snatched up the handset. “Hello? This is Vivian. Hello?”
“Hi ya, twinkle toes.”
Her chest constricted, stealing her breath. Her lungs refused to function.
“Sweetheart? You there?”
“Gene.” She hefted a smile into her tone. “You surprised me.”
“I know. Didn’t think I’d have a chance to ring you till this weekend. They got me running so ragged here. But turns out, I had time to spare and the phone was free. So, how have you been? You get my last letter?”
“Letter? Oh, yes. A couple of days ago.” She couldn’t bring herself to read more than half of it. She didn’t deserve his kind and doting words. “I’m sorry I haven’t written back. It’s been terribly busy around here too.”
“Sure thing. Not to worry. I just wanted to-” He stopped.
“Vivi, hold on.” He spoke off the phone, muffled, and returned with a groan. “Sorry about that. Looks like they need the line already.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Ah, doll. It’s swell to hear your voice anyhow. I hate that I can’t be there for the holiday.”
Vivian had nearly forgotten. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. With gunpowder needed for the war, she doubted it would feel much like a celebration.
“At any rate,” he said, “should be just two more weeks. After that, how about I treat my girl to a fancy night on the town? Even kick our heels up if you want. What do you say?”
She swallowed down the shame, the turmoil, rising in her throat. “Marvelous.”
“It’s a date, then. I’ll call again when I can.”
“Good.”
“Oh, and Vivi?”
“Yes?”
His voice dropped to a hush. “I love you.”
It was the first time he had verbalized the phrase. Her chest tightened even more. The reverent words formed a vice inside her, each crank the result of another deception.
That’s when she realized: With the saboteurs in custody, she could at last tell Gene the truth. How much he could bear to hear she didn’t know. Considering what Luanne had said about his former steady’s betrayal, the odds of his forgiveness were slim, the chances of hurting him guaranteed.
“Vivian?” He sounded tentative, fretting over her silence.
The confession gathered on her tongue. Like a cluster of pepper, it stung her senses and begged for release. Yet she couldn’t. Not over the cold, impersonal wires of a telephone. No matter how daunting it was, she owed him the admission in person.
“Me too,” she heard herself say, and detected his easement in a small breath.
Soon the line went dead, but the handset stayed in her grasp. A pair of female tenants entered the house and tossed out greetings in passing. They carried bags and hatboxes from an array of department stores. Sunshine had brightened their noses with rosy hues of summer.