The Pieces We Keep(37)

But now, here she was, and he had yet to show.

“Travel safely,” her father said, catching Vivian’s attention. “And don’t misplace your luggage tickets.” He glanced at the train. “Better not delay now.”

“I’m sure we have a little more time before we actually leave,” she insisted.

“The conductor already gave the last call.”

“Yes, but I’m sure—”

“Vivian,” her mother said, “don’t be difficult. If we don’t make it to Liverpool on time, we could miss the ship.”

Steam blasted from the locomotive like a kettle heated for tea. The train would pull away within minutes. Short of throwing herself on the tracks, Vivian could think of no method to stall.

“Wire me when you’re safely in New Hampshire,” she heard her father say. Until he joined them, they were to lodge with her maternal grandmother, a proper though pleasant woman, beyond her smell of mothballs.

He gave his wife a peck on the cheek. Then instead of separating, they simply stood there. Unspoken messages flowed between them before he leaned in and tenderly kissed her lips.

Vivian felt wholly intrusive, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She had never seen them exchange more than cursory affection. Dangers of wartime, she decided, inflated even marital emotions. Yet when their mouths parted, the truth of their good-bye became apparent. It held nothing in the way of passion, only a somberness so palpable it thickened the air.

Vivian’s mother caught her gawking, a jolt of awkwardness. “Say good-bye to your father,” she said, composing herself. She gripped her purse with both hands and strode toward the closest train door.

“Watch over your mother,” he said. “I’ll see you both when I can.”

Vivian nodded, still taken aback.

He took an audible breath and headed down the platform. He was about to veer around a porter, who was hauling a trunk on his back, when Vivian reclaimed her voice.

“Father!”

He twisted to see over his shoulder, and she realized she had no inkling how to fill this moment. Not with words anyhow. She rushed over and embraced him. There was a slight stiffness in his hold, as always, but she took no offense.

“I’ll see you before long,” he said, and patted the back of her wool coat.

She drew away and discovered on his face a wistful smile. It was a look she would carry with her like a lucky trinket in her pocket.

“Be careful,” she said, and he nodded.

Then he sent her off to the train, and she knew neither of them would look back.

As Vivian neared the coach, her thoughts cleared and anxiety over Isaak returned. For him not to be here, something terrible must have occurred. He couldn’t have changed his mind. Considering what they had shared, it simply wasn’t possible.

“Are you boarding, miss?” Atop the coach steps, the conductor extended his hand to guide her in.

She was clutching the railing, but her feet would not leave the platform.

“Well?”

“I ... don’t know.” She could stay with her father, wait for word from Isaak. Tell her mother she would follow.

“Vivian!” A male voice reached from a distance. “Vivian James!”

Her breath hitched. A plaid flat cap moved through the crowd and a hand shot up over heads. He shouted her name again.

She wasted no time running toward him. “Isaak!” She ignored the conductor’s chiding, overtaken by relief and joy.

In her mind she saw it all; together, she and Isaak would marvel at the Grand Canyon, dip their toes in a frothy sea. They would adventure through the plains, resting by campfire, and make love every night until dawn. “Isaak!”

She glimpsed his hat as it passed between people, winking like a star. She could not fathom a grander feeling, though she paused when she lost sight of him. Another man walked toward her, also in a cap, blocking her view. She tried to see around him until he spoke.

“You’re Vivian James. Are you not?”

“Well–yes–”

“This is for you.” He held out an envelope. Her name was penned across the front in familiar script. Isaak always curled the V in such a way.

Vivian was seized by her error. The stranger before her was the man who had called her name, waved a hand over the crowd. Not her beloved Isaak.

The locomotive creaked and hissed, its departure imminent.

“Is Isaak running late?” she demanded. “Shall I wait, take another train? Will he meet us in Liverpool?” Whatever the case, she needed answers this instant, for more than logistics. Prolonging the discovery would be altogether torturous.

The man raised the delivery toward her, an explanation inside.

“Please,” she begged. “You have to tell me ...”