The Pieces We Keep

by Kristina McMorris

  “Why?” Judith said. “What happened?”

  “I got back in my car, just to put my ticket stub on the window, and this elderly lady was waiting in her van. So I signaled I wasn’t leaving. She actually flipped me the—” He stopped to glance at Jack, who was suddenly captivated, and finished with: “A very ... not polite sign.”

  Jack chuckled a little, as though well aware of the censored word. Audra didn’t want to imagine what other off-color phrases had made it into his repertoire. All the same, she couldn’t help laughing along with Sean. It was encouraging to see Jack in a happy mood, which admittedly came more easily when Sean was around.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” a woman broke in. She wore cat’s-eye glasses trimmed in blue rhinestones. Presumably the gallery manager. “Judith, there’s a customer in the back interested in one of your new pieces. She’d like to discuss it with you if you’re free.”

  “Sure thing. If you’ll all excuse me.” About to dash off, Judith turned to Sean. “Oh, I meant to tell you, honey. There’s a guy here who says he’s a friend of yours. I didn’t catch his name, but told him to keep an eye out for you.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Audra heard the subtle dread in his voice, and she understood. A reunion with anyone lost to Sean’s memory would make for an awkward exchange, or at best require a convincing façade. Audra knew how it felt to stumble across old acquaintances who sought a friendly update, having no knowledge of your latest news.

  “So, what do you think, Jack?” Sean motioned to the closest wall. “You like this one?” The spotlighted piece was a multimedia creation of fairies.

  Jack scrunched his nose. “Tinker Bell’s kinda girly,” he said, though he did admit to liking the darker, more mysterious butterfly painting. As Sean guided him to the next wall, Jack pulled his toy plane from his pocket and stroked it with his thumb, as if detecting the common theme of flight.

  Luanne was nowhere to be seen.

  “If you two are okay for a while,” Audra said, “I’ll go see how Luanne is doing. Jack, do you mind?”

  He shrugged. “That’s fine.”

  “Do you need help finding her?” Sean asked.

  “Your mom says she’s resting in the studio. I thought I’d see if she needed anything.”

  Sean smiled in appreciation, causing Audra a twinge of guilt. “Come on, buddy,” he said to Jack. “We got some art to see.”

  Watching them venture off, Audra assured herself that confronting Luanne alone, without anyone knowing, was the right approach. As Vivian’s roommate and longtime friend, the woman must have been privy to details of Vivian’s life prior to Gene. But Luanne’s reasons for secrecy were yet unknown.

  At the refreshment table, Audra filled a glass with water. She took a breath before poking her head into the studio. “Care for some company?”

  Luanne looked up, seated by the worktable against the wall. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She returned a small frame to a lineup of photos.

  “Sore knees too, I hear.”

  “Ah, yeah.” Luanne swatted the air above her legs. “Live long enough, you need replacement parts for almost everything.”

  Audra stepped inside and closed the door, muffling the chatter and music. Shelves of art materials covered a full wall: foils and gems and wires and paint. Works-in-progress reclined on easels, their fumes wafting from drying acrylics.

  “For you, madame.” Audra presented the drink, which Luanne gratefully accepted. As Audra pulled up a stool, Luanne took a sip that caused her to scowl.

  “What in heaven’s name did they do to this water?” Luanne studied the pink-tinted liquid.

  “I think they soaked rose petals in it. Would you like something else?”

  “No, no. It’ll do. Just don’t be surprised if I start sprouting leaves.” Luanne grinned and set the glass down by the photo she’d been studying. A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a bright smile had his arm around Judith at a younger age; beside them hung a landscape painting in an array of vibrant hues.

  “That’s my Freddy there,” Luanne said, observing Audra’s attention. “It was the first time a buyer put Judith’s art on public display. By the fuss we made, you’d have thought it was at the Met, not a bar and grille.”

  Audra smiled, taking a moment to recognize the natural segue to Luanne’s past. “Sounds like you were great parents to her.”

  Behind Luanne’s bifocals, a tinge of somberness entered her eyes. “Yes, well. We weren’t the real thing. Just did the best we knew how.” She wiped a smudge from the frame, and a pensive smile warmed her face. “Freddy was a good man. And strong. Eight years ago, the doctors diagnosed him with colon cancer, gave him six months to live. But that stubborn fool fought for three more years.”

  Audra was suddenly tempted to postpone the pending talk. But then she thought of Jack and his nightmares and her longing to care for him until her own graying days.

  “Luanne,” she began, “I need to talk to you about something.”

  The woman turned to her, tilting her head a fraction. “What is it, dear?”

  “It’s about ... well, it’s about Vivian.”

  The name clearly came as a surprise. “Oh?” Luanne said.

  “I know this might be a strange question. But I was hoping you could tell me about her and Isaak, about what happened between them during the war.”

  At this, the wrinkles lining Luanne’s mouth deepened. She dropped her gaze to the lap of her floral dress, as if contemplating. “His name doesn’t sound familiar,” she said, and picked at invisible lint. Her hand appeared to quiver from a cause other than age.

  Audra had no desire to interrogate the sweet lady, but a remedy for Jack could be an arm’s length away. She couldn’t give up without reaching.

  “I understand how painful it can be, talking about loved ones you’ve lost. I genuinely do. But I’m begging you—as a mother who loves her son, just as much as I know you’ve loved Judith—I’m asking for your help.”

  Slowly, Luanne raised her eyes. They were bewildered and heavily guarded, but she was listening. And that was all the prompting Audra needed.

  Without reservation, perhaps from repetition, she delved straight into the major highlights. One event after the other, she recapped her skeptical journey. All along Luanne said nothing, not a single act of acknowledgment, yet Audra didn’t stop. She barely took breaths between sentences until she reached the end, at which point silence draped the room, far thicker than any paint fumes.

  Luanne stared at her distantly. A flush resembling a rash had crept into her cheeks.

  “I wouldn’t blame you at all for thinking I’m nuts,” Audra added, hoping to dispel the idea. “Either way, the fact is, I don’t know how to help Jack without knowing more.”

  A long quiet passed before Luanne went to speak. When she did, the words came even but firm. “I wish I could help you, but like I said, I don’t know anything about it.”

  Audra’s spirits recoiled. Outside of crawling on her knees, she could think of no other way to ask.

  All of a sudden, music and chatter from the gallery rose in volume. From the opened door Jack shuffled over. “Mom, what took so long?”

  “Sorry about that.” Audra tried to smile. “I just had to talk to Luanne for a while.”

  Sean declared from the doorway, “We need to leave early.” From his cool demeanor, it was clear he’d surmised the gist of the conversation and didn’t approve. He had, after all, warned Audra that dredging up the past would upset Luanne—and based on the woman’s expression, he was right. “Are you feeling well enough to drive home, Aunt Lu?”

  Luanne hesitated before nodding. “Yes ... I’ll be fine.” She said this while looking at Jack, who was surveying the shelves, absently rubbing his toy plane.

  “Come on, Jack,” Audra said, standing. “Let’s go.”

  “But, Mom”—he pointed at Luanne—“it’s Miss Muppet.”

  This was his personal nickname for
Miss Piggy, created from reruns of the Muppet Babies cartoon. He was playing their usual game, noting Luanne’s curly hair and now pinkish skin. But this wasn’t the time.

  Audra held his hand to guide him out.

  Sean had already disappeared into the crowd.

  At the doorway, Audra glanced back into studio. “Good night,” she said to Luanne, but the woman didn’t answer.

  46

  Afterward, neither of them spoke. The only sounds came from movement in neighboring rooms, murmurs from the hallway, cars on the street.

  Reclined on the hotel bed, Isaak watched Vivian replace her clothing. When she was ready, he walked her to the door. The word good-bye hung between them, though they knew better than to verbalize a thing so final. There was much unknown, with as many feelings unclear. They merely traded smiles before she departed into the hall. She rode the elevator with sunglasses on, scarf snug around her hair.

  Again, the grizzled man in the lobby did not look up.

  Through the dusty window, sunset was yielding to dusk. She strode out the door and down the street. For several blocks she succeeded in avoiding all thought. But her senses noted something behind her, perhaps Isaak gazing at her from his room. Unable to resist, she glanced over her shoulder and spied a man with a rifle.

  She removed her glasses to confirm the view. He and another man stood outside the hotel. Fedoras covered their heads. Trench coats layered their suits.

  Vivian slid behind a newsstand and craned her neck to keep watching.

  Before long, four other men emerged from the entrance. Among them was Agent Gerard, guiding Isaak by the elbow. In the manner of a captured prey, Isaak’s hands were bound behind his back.

  “No,” Vivian whispered. She was astounded, aghast. This wasn’t the agreement. He wasn’t a criminal. He had done nothing wrong.

  She launched into a sprint, dropping her glasses, not knowing how they had found him.

  But then she realized. Oh, Lord. She had led them here.

  The man with the rifle opened the door of a black Ford. Agent Gerard helped Isaak duck inside.

  “Stop!” she yelled, spurring one of the others to draw his sidearm. Agent Gerard, seeing her, reached over and directed the gun skyward.

  “She’s okay,” he announced to the others as Vivian stopped to confront him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she implored.

  “Calm down,” the agent told her, and ushered her aside. “The deal’s the same. His family, the whole bit. The big guys at the top just wanted to be careful.”

  “Isaak doesn’t need to be handcuffed. He was turning himself in.”

  “Look,” the agent said. “You remember that Sebold case I told you about? Thirty-three Nazi spies who were rounded up here?”

  “I ... Yes, I guess, but–”

  “Well, there was another espionage case before that. Back in ’38, we caught a Nazi agent named Rumrich. A German American, same as your fella here. He gladly cooperated and we wound up with a list of more than a dozen spies. In the end, though, all but two of Rumrich’s buddies got away, including the ringleader. The FBI came out looking like a cage of buffoons. We can’t afford to bungle a case that badly again.”

  “Hey, Gerard!” one of the men called out. Engines of the two Fords were revving. “We set to go?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Vivian peered through the car window and caught sight of Isaak. He shook his head at her, a tender smile on his lips: Everything will be all right. Her own assurance had circled right back to her.

  “Go on home, now,” Agent Gerard said. “I’ll take care of your friend.”

  She grabbed his sleeve and looked him in the eye. “You promise?”

  The man blew out a breath, his hand on the car door. Before climbing in, he nodded. “You got my word.”

  47

  The drive home from the gallery had worn Audra’s strength to the nub. If not for tunes on the radio, silence in the car would have swelled like helium, the pressure growing until something burst.

  Behind the wheel, Sean had trained his eyes on the pavement. Audra had hoped there was another cause for his glacial mood, but his two-word answers suggested nothing else. With Jack in the backseat, she had no opportunity to voice how and why she’d approached Luanne. When they rolled up to the apartment, Audra thought to invite Sean in; they could speak in private once Jack went to bed. But she simply said good night, figuring it was better to let everything settle.

  Two days and three voice mails later, however, he hadn’t responded. Though his reaction seemed excessive, she at least wanted to explain. She considered calling the house instead of his cell, but she refused to bother Luanne. Plus, by now he and his great-aunt had probably conferred over the police visit and custody case, further justifying his avoidance.

  On the other hand, maybe he had just been busy.

  The swirling thoughts were making Audra neurotic. At some point, couldn’t sleep deprivation literally make a person insane?

  She readjusted her bed pillow and rolled onto her other side. She wished her brain had an off switch. Tess and Grace had come by to steal Jack for an afternoon outing, first to a bookstore, then to ice cream, allowing her a much-needed nap. But now here she was, on a quiet Saturday, and her body wide awake.

  Finally she gave up.

  Needing an activity, she went to the kitchen for a snack. She had just reached the fridge when the phone started to ring. The cordless was missing from the charger.

  “Fabulous.”

  The ring trilled again and she froze, listening to trace its location. It was in ... Jack’s room. She jetted in there, and on the fourth ring she found the phone on his dresser—right where she had left it. She was definitely losing her mind.

  “Hello,” she answered, and was relieved the person hadn’t hung up.

  “Hi, Audra, it’s Russ. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Her relief ended there.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Great. Because I have good news for you.”

  For a blissful instant Audra imagined that the case had been dropped, that the other attorney had convinced Robert and Meredith to withdraw the petition. But then Russ announced, “Our court date has been set.”

  Audra’s silence must have communicated her failure to view the development as “good,” since Russ went on to elaborate. “The ‘housekeeping’ hearing will be in Just two months. Depending on how it goes, there’s still a chance you could keep your plans in Boston.”

  All things considered, that chance wasn’t a strong one, but she aimed for optimism. “You’re right. It’s possible.”

  “Would you like to hear the details? Or I can e-mail them over.”

  “Um, now is fine. Let me write them down.” She went to Jack’s desk and snagged a pen from the plastic cup that held markers and kid scissors.

  “Are you ready?” Russ asked.

  “Almost. Just need some paper.”

  “No problem. Take your time.”

  She opened the top drawer of the desk to discover a chaotic mound of old homework. The first two sheets were writing assignments with Super Job stickers at the top. She opted for a half sheet of pink paper—just a library notice from the school. She flipped to the blank side and said, “All right. Go ahead.”

  Russ rattled off dates and times and locations. When she had finished transcribing, she read them back for confirmation.

  “I’ll be in touch with more soon,” he said, and she thanked him before they hung up.

  A court date.

  A judge.

  This was actually happening.

  She sat on the foot of Jack’s bed, letting the handset tumble free. The page, though, remained in her hand. She gazed at the note unseeing.

  After a while she folded the paper half, putting the thought away, and a printed word leapt out at her: OVERDUE.

  It was an overdue notice for a book, checked out by Jack in March. According to the warning, if it wasn
’t returned by the third week of June, he would owe the school a replacement fee. The final due date was this coming Thursday, the last day of the school year.

  What book would he have kept for three months?

  She unfolded the note to read the title: Incredible Moments of World War II.

  Any book about war would be intended for older students—unless it contained only snapshots of the glorified aspects: Rosie the Riveters, victory parades, and patriotic banners.

  Then she remembered. She had seen a book in Jack’s closet. Last weekend, while scrounging for his helmet, she’d spotted an oversized paperback among his things. It was just before she’d stepped on the shreds of paper....

  As the elements collected in her mind, an indescribable dread seeped through her. The world went portentously still, an eerie calm that precedes disaster.

  Audra flung open the closet. She tore through the piles of clothes and toys. Beneath the tattered box of Monopoly was the book she recalled, edges worn and corners curled. A scrap of paper dangled from the inside pages.

  She flipped to that section, where various photographs had been cut out. He had never done such a thing before, destroying a book like that. What use would he have for the pictures? As a second grader, he’d have no school projects involving world war. Even if he did, the principal would have mentioned it during their last—

  Suddenly it came to her.

  The journal.

  She hurried to kneel by his bed and pulled out the book. PIECES OF ME. The title accurately described a life once whole, now shattered into jagged parts.

  She leafed through the collages she had already seen, the comic strips and candy wrappers, the magazine ads featuring families. This time she noted that the cruise ship was bound for Europe, and recognized the symbolism of the Eiffel Tower as the heart of the continent. She had gained a new perspective on these images, but they still fit the equation, just in a different way.

  Now to reveal the pictures beyond them.

  Fear expanded, encompassing her like a fog, as she turned to the next page. Thankfully, she discovered only more of the same. The London Tower, the Colosseum, remnants of the Berlin Wall. For several more pages the theme continued.