The Pieces We Keep(52)

Befuddled, she slid open the window.

“Morning, twinkle toes.”

In that instant, flashes of the prior night assembled in chunks. The dance. The flask. The stairs. She had kissed him. Or he’d kissed her. Had she only dreamt it? Oh, Lord, what had they done?

She pressed her fingers to her temples, dizzied from the unknown.

“Yep. That’s about how I figured you’d feel,” he said, then abruptly averted his gaze. “You might wanna ...” He motioned toward her body, which further confused her until she looked down. Her red dress hung in a crooked mess, half of her brassiere exposed.

Her mind snapped to attention, as if by a whiff of smelling salts. She covered her chest with a pillow, terrified to imagine just how much she had already shown him.

“Last night,” she said, “I didn’t—I mean, I think it was ... a mistake.”

“Yeah?” he said, now looking at her. “Which part?”

“I just-you know. With what happened.”

He raised a brow, waiting. An obstinate tack. A decent man wouldn’t demand an admission, much less take advantage of a woman in a vulnerable state.

Gene suddenly snickered. “If you’re referring to something between you and me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She would have been relieved if not for the implication that any temptation would be absurd. Then again, she was hardly his type, based on the bombshell he had dated throughout high school. Paired in photos, the sprightly cheerleader and quiet quarterback were a yearbook editor’s dream.

Vivian swallowed, her saliva like a layer of sap. “In that case, would you care to tell me what did happen?”

“Nothing to alert the cavalry over. We took a walk, you fell asleep. I flagged you a cab and delivered you home to Lu, safe and sound.”

It must have been past curfew, which meant he couldn’t have made it inside. Not without creating a scene. She dreaded to ask: “So, at that hour, how did you . . .”

“I maneuvered you through this window here. And the ladders were no picnic, let me tell you.”

She nodded, his answer a light balm. “Well. I appreciate all your help.”

He didn’t reply, just handed over a paper sack.

“What is this?”

“A plain breakfast roll and two aspirin. You’re gonna need them. Oh, and chug a gallon of water or you’ll be sorry tomorrow.” He spoke as if he had been in her condition many times before. It wasn’t behavior she admired, but in this case, it reduced her embarrassment.

“I will,” she said.

For a moment, his gaze drifted off to the side. He nodded at nothing in particular. “All right, then,” he said, and turned to leave.

As he navigated the metal grates, she sieved the sand in her head to find a suitable parting. If he hadn’t been at the dance, she hated to think where-or with whom-she would have landed.

“Gene!” she called out, too loud for her own brain. She dropped her volume. “If there’s anything I can do to thank you ...”

He halted mid-descent. A look of consideration played over his face. “Actually, yeah. There is.”

The words had spouted from her mouth as a courtesy. Already she sensed she would come to regret her offer. “O-okay. What is it?”

“I’ll pick you up at noon. Wear something you don’t mind ruining.”

“But-what are we doing?”

“Noon,” he said, and continued downward.

She sank against the window frame. Every fiber of her body wanted to soak in a tub and sleep the day away. “Should have kept my mouth shut,” she said under her breath.

“Noon,” Gene repeated, and strode off without looking up.



The morning flew by in a snap.

Food, water, and aspirin, plus a much-needed nap, had molded Vivian into something resembling a human. Unfortunately, the creaky rumble of the truck-a vehicle Gene had borrowed from the base-threatened to reverse her progress.

“Are you planning to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

“A house,” he said.

“A house.”

“Yep.”

“To do ... ?”

“A project.”

This was far from revelatory. His cuffed jeans and white tee told her as much. As requested, she had dressed similarly despite the undisclosed purpose. She was about to press him for more, but extracting details felt like tweezing invisible splinters. She rested her head on the side window and focused on the road, staving off a recurrence of nausea.

A few minutes later he pulled over to the curb below a gray Victorian house. Located in Ditmas Park, it had a turret, bay windows, and a wraparound porch.

Vivian followed Gene to the rear of the truck, where he released the tailgate and climbed on up. He handed her a large-bristled brush and two buckets of paint. As he lowered a ladder from the flatbed, she stared wide-eyed at the row of remaining cans.