The Pieces We Keep(47)

As though sensing this, he said, “If I don’t see you again, drop the book in the mail. But before then, for your son’s sake, please give it a try.”





22


The solution was clear. Vivian would start with a new outlook. Granted, she had no misconceptions when it came to her heart; part of her would always yearn for Isaak. So much so, she could not fathom loving so fiercely again. In fact, she flat-out refused to allow it. But that wouldn’t stop her from recovering at least a semblance of happiness. Life was too brief to waste.

Nothing had clarified the point more than the death of Mrs. Langtree’s son. The casualty of a training exercise, he hadn’t even left the States. He was supposed to be safe. But that word, safe—like innocence, according to Vivian’s father-did not apply to wartime.

She sat on her coverlet now and gazed about her room, at the walls painted buttery yellow. Since the addition of blackout curtains, the place resembled a hive. And Vivian felt the restlessness of a bee.

“I have an idea.” She tossed aside her magazine as Luanne came through the door. “We,” she declared, “are going out.”

“Out? You mean, tonight?”

“Not just tonight. Right this very minute.”

Luanne laughed, setting her toiletries down. “Then I hope it’s a pajama party.” She made an obvious point, with a pink scarf binding her hair and a robe on her small frame. Her evening soak in the claw-footed tub had cleansed her of powder and lipstick. In this state, she looked no older than the day she and Vivian met in home arts class. It was only from Luanne’s help, with sewing and cooking and diapering a doll, that Vivian had passed that tedious course.

“I suppose we do need to spiff ourselves up first,” Vivian said, noting her own work attire. She charged over to the closet and began to undress.

“What on earth’s gotten into you?” Luanne smiled from the vanity stool. She blotted lotion onto her hands. “I thought Fridays were your laundry nights.”

Sadly the remark was not an exaggeration.

Vivian deplored the thought of how dull she had become. “Not anymore,” she replied simply.

Weekends were hereby reserved for adventure. She was through eking out her days like a widow, cautious and passive and wallowing in grief. With Isaak’s necklace and letter forever stored away, she would behave as any spirited twenty-two-year-old should.

“Ooh, I’ve got it,” Vivian said. “How does roller-skating sound? It’s been ages since I’ve done that.”

“Sounds horribly painful. I’m awful on those things.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll do it together.” Vivian plucked out a peach skirt and modeled it over her slip.

“Even so, I really should stay in tonight. I need to finish packing.”

“Packing?” Vivian glanced up.

“For the morning train. Remember? I’m helping a friend in Poughkeepsie with a bond rally this weekend.” Luanne paused from applying lotion and sighed. “Have you truly forgotten?”

“Of course not,” Vivian tsked, although she had. Her mind had been much too preoccupied. “Tell you what. We’ll just catch the first half of a double feature. It’ll be good for us to get out, even for a little while, after being cooped up all week.”

The lingering bereavement in the switchboard room, despite Mrs. Langtree’s temporary leave, had made their workspace even more confining.

“Now,” Vivian said, riffling through blouses, “which outfit shall I grab for you?”

“I wish I could say yes, Viv. But with traveling, too, I’d be useless tomorrow.”

Orchestral notes of a drab classical tune reverberated through the hall. The landlady’s radio would be stuck on that station all evening.

Vivian had no choice.

“Okay. Dancing,” she said. “We can go dancing.”

Luanne slowed the rubbing of her elbows. “Mmm, that is tempting,” she cooed, and Vivian knew it was settled. “No. No, I really shouldn’t. I don’t want to show up looking like a hag tomorrow. Nobody will want to buy bonds from me.”

Vivian didn’t return her friend’s smile. She felt like a child finally permitted to swim, only to discover the pool had been drained.

Defeated, she dropped down on her bed. For certain, she would bring this up the next time Luanne begged her to go dancing at some servicemen’s club....

The thought jostled Vivian’s memory.

“The USO at Times Square,” she said, remembering.

“What about it?”

Vivian pictured the soldier from the cafe. He planned to hit the town tonight. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock. If she hurried, she might be able to catch him.