The Pieces We Keep(130)

“Viel Feind, viel Ehr,” Gene said, now filling the doorway. He was reading the engraved necklace that dangled from his fist. “Let me guess. It means he’ll love you for eternity-am I right? That somehow you lovebirds will always be together.”

Tears stung her eyes. Stiffly she shook her head. “No.”

“What, then?”

“It’s just an old German saying. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So, why’d you keep it? If it doesn’t mean anything.” His neck muscles flexed as he answered his own question: “Because you still love that Kraut traitor. That’s why!” He pitched the necklace across the room.

Vivian recoiled into herself, her arms and legs quivering. Every second slogged by as if dragged through mud. She doubted she would ever move from this spot.

After a time, she registered only quiet in the room, aside from her choppy breaths.

She edged her head upward and found Gene still there, yet with an altered demeanor. Hands fisted at his temples, he stood with his back against the doorjamb. Though his eyelids were shut, she knew what lay behind them. It was not fury, but pain and fear. He wasn’t battling Vivian, or even his suspicions, as much as himself.

She unfolded her body and rose to her feet. Tears rolled hot down her face. “Gene, please ... listen to me.”

He showed no sign of agreeing, but she walked toward him regardless in slow but determined steps. “I know I hurt you. With all of my heart, I am so sorry for that. If you need to hear it a thousand times, I will gladly say it. Or if you need something else, please tell me. Otherwise, you have to stop punishing me for a past I can’t change.”

She was a few feet from him when his arms lowered to his sides. His eyes eased open, but his gaze remained on the floor.

“If we’re going to be a family,” she told him, “if we’re going to have any chance at happiness together, you have to find a way to forgive me, for both of our sakes. And the child’s.” She moved an inch closer, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to scare him away. “I know you still love me. And I love you too, despite what you might think.”

She waited for a reaction, anything at all.

Finally, gradually, he raised his eyes but stopped before her face. “I have to go,” he said, and turned to leave the room.

“Gene, no. We have to talk.” She followed him toward the door. They needed to finish this, to see this through. “Don’t run away.” She grabbed his arm to keep him there, but he jerked himself free, throwing Vivian off-balance. She stumbled backward into the wall and slid down onto her tailbone.

Gene stared, frozen, but just for an instant. In a panic he collapsed onto his knees. “Oh, Jesus.” He reached for her belly but drew back, as if his fingertips were fashioned with blades. As if somehow, the hands of his father had replaced his own.

She saw this in Gene’s face as he said, “My God, what have I done?”

“It’s all right. . . .” Vivian felt only a throbbing on her backside, the coming of a bruise. She knew with certainty no harm had befallen the baby, and very little to herself. “It was just an accident. The baby’s fine.”

Gene nodded, though absent of conviction. “I’m getting a doctor.” He went to rise, and Vivian grasped his sleeve.

“Everything’s okay. Gene, please, sit with me.”

In his eyes a flood of emotions mounted. His lips tightened, upholding a crumbling dam.

This time he would not fight her. With great care, he took a seat at her side.

Together they sat in silence. No words would serve as a treaty. No utterance would magically rebuild the bridge. But Vivian had faith that if both were willing, they could repair the connection one plank at a time.

The thought brought to mind Mrs. Langtree’s house, a project not entirely different. In fact, it was during the eve of that day, riding in the truck Gene had borrowed, that he and Vivian had shared their first deliberate and meaningful touch.

Praying it could work again, she placed her hand over his. Just as before, he said nothing; just as before, he did not pull away.

Vivian tipped her head to rest on his shoulder. He smelled of soap and pine and home.

Seconds later, he did withdraw his hand and leaned forward as if readying to leave. Yet to her relief, he was only shifting his body to lay his arm over her shoulder. When his chin settled on her crown, she could have sworn a few tears dampened the top of her hair. She closed her eyes, treasuring his hold, and felt the numbness of her soul start to lift.





Years later, Vivian would look back at that day. She would realize it was in that very hallway, the two of them stripped to little more than bones, that not just healing began, but love. Real love, in the truest and deepest sense. A far contrast to the dizzying, volatile whirlwind she had once taken to define the word.