The Pieces We Keep(129)

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.