The Pieces We Keep(144)

More aptly, the absence of a look. There was no anger or accusation. No bewilderment or betrayal. Strikingly, not even mild surprise.

In that instant she realized: “You already knew.”

He voiced no reply. But seconds later, he edged out a nod.

The shock of this caused her an intake of breath. She folded her arms over her middle.

Had every man in her life conspired to deceive her? If Gene had kept a secret of this magnitude, what else was he withholding?

Not to say she herself had always been a model of honesty.

“How long?” she asked, a near whisper.

“Just a few weeks,” he contended. “All these years I made a point of not seeking out information. I wanted to put it fully behind us.”

Her throat loosened a fraction, though not her arms, still snugly wrapped. “How did you hear?”

He sat on the foot of the bed, facing her. “When I was in DC, I was sifting through some documents for the Nuremberg Trials. I came across a file about the case. Did some digging around. That’s how I found out he’d been imprisoned all this time. That what you’d told me about him, about giving up the other saboteurs, it was all true.”

Now she understood Gene’s recent behavior. As she had guessed, the burden he’d been carrying did involve children of the war, but in a more personal way than she had imagined. She thought back to their discussion the night before, about his reluctance regarding the house, an investment in the permanence of their future together.

“So you also know Isaak was released,” she ventured.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

In the quiet stretch that followed, she imagined how she would feel if the roles were reversed. She could scarcely blame him for being cautious.

“I’m sure it would’ve been better,” he said, “if you’d heard it from me first. But I just . . .” He looked down at the letter in his hand, then to the floor, at the other strewn pages. “I was afraid of losing you. And Judith. She’s always thought of me like a father.”

“No,” Vivian interjected, causing him to look up. “Not like a father. You are her father.”

This wasn’t a generous placation but an irrefutable truth. Given his care for Judith since the day of her birth-taking shifts on long colicky nights, his solid discipline formed of compassion, his prideful praise for every significant milestone-no child, nor mother, could want for more.

Vivian walked toward him, longing to reinforce her assertion with physical contact. But just as she reached for his shoulder, he said, “Vivian, I have to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

She drew back, unclear where this was headed. “All right.”

Gene hesitated, as if needing to gear up for the question. “Look, it’s clear how much Isaak loved you-”

She shook her head. “Gene, he lied about everything, even his death.”

“–and I know this,” he finished, “because if I’d been in his shoes, I would’ve done the exact same thing.”

The sincerity and resolve of his words resonated inside her.

Though she had moved on with her life years ago, it would be false to say she didn’t wonder at times if Isaak’s feelings for her were real, or if the risks she had taken had been for a virtual stranger.

“What I don’t know,” Gene continued, “is if deep down you still love him. And I’ve got to know that, Vivi. Because I’d rather hear the answer is yes than carry around doubt for the rest of my life.”

She considered the issue carefully. He deserved a genuine response, no matter how difficult to craft. Consequences aside, she owed it to him, and herself, to examine what lay in her heart.

What she immediately discovered, however, was it required no more effort than determining if ice was cold or fire was hot. Some things in life bore such certainty, love being among them, they rendered opinions inconsequential.

Vivian took the crumpled paper from Gene. Letting it fall, she knelt before him and looked up into his eyes. “It’s true that on some level I’ll always care for Isaak. And in a way, he’ll always be connected to Judith. But that doesn’t mean what I feel for him is love. Love,” she said, “is what you and I have built together.”

She grasped both of his hands, the very hands that had held her and protected her and supported her in every way possible. “Gene, on the day we exchanged our vows, goodness knows the circumstances weren’t ideal. But I can tell you this. I would relive that day a hundred times over to become your wife.”

His eyes gained a sheen matching hers, and the relief in his face was unmistakable. He kissed her hand before leaning in to do the same to her lips. The gesture was as tender and warm as their very first kiss, from the night they stood on those brownstone stairs, but now with a fulfillment only history could bring.