The Pieces We Keep(119)

Vivian had never noticed how rarely Luanne talked about home. All those years, she had always seemed so sweet and carefree, no one in school would have imagined.

Gene cleared his throat and turned to Vivian. “Point is, with me being away from you, and feeling a distance growing, I just . . .” He shook his head and clutched her hand on her lap. “I couldn’t risk losing you, Vivi. Not when I know we’re supposed to be together. I know it in my heart. And I have no doubt anymore about being a good husband. I’d take such good care of you, if you’d let me.”

“Oh, Gene. I know you would....” Her tears were falling now in a stream she couldn’t slow, couldn’t stop. After what he had shared, her confession would gain another layer of cruelty. “That’s why there’s something you need to know.”

He waited for her to go on, clearly recognizing her conflict as more than cold feet.

Perhaps, to some extent, he would relate to her feeling of deep regret, of being unable to change the past but wanting direly to make things right.

Vivian amassed the remnants of her courage, recalling a time she could now identify as both the beginning and the end. “I was living in London with my parents,” she said. “One day, I was at the market alone when the air-raid siren sounded. It was just a routine alarm. We had no idea-or at least I was too ignorant to realize how close we were to war. And how, because of it, my whole life would change.”

A rivulet of sweat slid down her back. She shifted her vision to an unseen, distant spot. She could only complete the tale if not faced by Gene’s reaction, including the inevitable revelation that the “friend” from Germany she had asked him to help was actually Isaak.

“At a vendor stand,” she said, “I knocked over a tomato. It landed on a man’s dress shoe, and when I looked up he was standing there. And he smiled at me.”

From there, Vivian pressed on, covering the highlights of moments that had shaped her life for the past three years. Meeting Isaak at the London cinemas, the secrecy of their courtship and his family in Munich. His professor at the university, the information gleaned from her father, the letter at Euston Station. She described the reunion   at Prospect Park, igniting confusion and fears, the resurrection of interred feelings. She spoke of Agent Daniel Gerard, the dealings of espionage that prohibited her from confiding in anyone, including Gene. And with a tightened throat, she detailed the legal dealings that had led to Isaak’s execution.

“Before that, though,” she said, fighting the shake in her voice, “I went to his hotel room to deliver a message. I never meant for anything more to happen. I swear to God, I didn’t. I was certain it was over for us-whatever it was that he and I’d once had. After he died, I was going to move on with my life. With you. But then, weeks later, I was at work, and I fainted. And they sent me to the doctor, and . . . and I . . .”

Struggling to finish, she angled toward Gene. She found his eyes lowering to her stomach, where her hands had unconsciously settled. He inhaled a sharp breath, and his neck trembled as though his head had become too heavy. He moved his jaw in several attempts to speak but failed.

“I am so, so sorry. Gene, the last thing I ever meant to do was hurt you.”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. A bead of perspiration trailed from his temple, just below his hat. When his gaze slid toward her, it was clear he could not see her. He had succumbed to a daze she too often made her home.

“I’d understand if you never wanted to see me again,” she told him. “But I pray that somehow you’ll find a way to forgive me.”

An infinite beat passed before he rose woodenly, wordlessly from the bench.

“Please,” she said, “don’t go yet.” She touched his sleeve, and he held there for a moment. If only he would look at her, he would see in her eyes and face how utterly sorry she was, how desperate she was to make it up to him.

But he didn’t turn an inch. He merely walked away, abandoning his belongings, leaving her behind.





55


The man strode onward with purpose. Audra detected this even in her rearview mirror. But not until she’d stepped out of her car did she catch sight of his face, and astonishment grabbed hold.

“What do you want, Robert?”

He slowed his steps and came to rest a few yards away. He displayed his palms in a show of harmlessness, a great irony in that. “I came by hoping we could talk.”

From the beginning, Russ had advised her that a potential settlement could be reached if both parties were willing to compromise. By now, it seemed an unfathomable option. “That’s not a good idea.”