The Pieces We Keep(113)

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.