“Good. Good, I’m glad.” She saved herself from tripping over her next words by focusing on her tea. It needed to be stirred and the temperature was just above comfort level, but she drank it regardless. She felt his gaze on her all the while.
“Audra,” he said finally, “about last week.”
She set down the cup, preparing herself for how he might phrase it.
“I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. You’ve got enough to worry about, and ... I hope you didn’t . . . that is, I’m sorry if . . .”
“Sean, please. Don’t.” Clearly he saw her participation as a merciful act. And he couldn’t have been more wrong. “I think it’s safe to say, we were both there for each other at a time when we needed it. Simple as that.”
He accepted her reasoning with a close-lipped smile. When their eyes connected, she had to prod herself to look away.
“So,” he said after a moment. “How’s Jack doing?”
It was the question she asked herself daily.
She pictured him building cyber igloos with Grace, zooming around on his scooter, welcoming his grandparents’ affection.
“We’ll have to see, but I think he’ll be all right,” Audra said.
True, Jack wasn’t the same child from two years ago—the boy with an easy laugh who drummed on Cool Whip tubs and played with potato bugs—but perhaps he wasn’t supposed to be. He was growing up and changing. They all were. Maybe it was time to acknowledge this, to stop forcing each other into a mold that didn’t fit.
“That reminds me,” Sean said, “I got a message from that sergeant’s wife I told you about. I haven’t called her back yet, but if she has any info—”
“Actually, she got ahold of me.”
“Oh, she did? Great,” he said. But when Audra didn’t expound, he asked, “Did she find anything that might help?”
“Nothing worth repeating.”
It was a truthful response. The woman’s report only raised more questions, none of which would ever really be answered.
“Turns out,” Audra said, “there’s a strong chance Jack was getting his ideas from other things. All logical ones. Looking back, it was pretty silly on my part.” She underscored the claim with a smile. “From now on, I’ve decided to focus on the present world—which I already have a hard enough time figuring out.”
“You and me both,” Sean said lightly.
She laughed, grateful for the elevated mood. They both sipped their drinks as a female barista called out customers’ names for drink pickups at the counter.
“So, how about your summer?” Sean asked. “You two have any special plans?” Obviously he intended to perpetuate their casualness, not knowing it was a subject Audra suddenly dreaded.
She shifted in her chair. “We’ll be ... moving to Boston. In the middle of July.”
“Boston?” he said. “You never mentioned anything.”
“Sorry, I probably should have. It’s just that the custody battle left us in limbo for a while. But they’ve dropped the case, so we’re able to stick with our plans now.”
Despite the disappointment in his eyes, it was ridiculous of her to feel even a twinge of guilt, or regret. They hadn’t known each other for even a month.
“Sounds like it’s all great news, then,” he said.
“It is. Really great.”
They were like two singles who had met at rehab, a transitional place meant for healing, not romantic hookups. Still, she hated the idea of walking away after all he had shared with her.
“What about you?” she asked. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Me? Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine.”
When he sat back in his chair, she searched his eyes for a genuine answer. “Are you sure?”
He contemplated the question and shrugged. “Each day’s getting a little better. I will admit, though, most nights have been pretty restless since the memories came back.”
If anyone understood that struggle, it was Audra. “Feel free to call me next time. I’m probably awake.”
He grinned and nodded as if he just might. Boston, after all, was only a phone call away.
“Are there other memories you’re getting? Good ones, I mean.”
“Yeah, more and more so. It’s like my mind was blocked by what happened over there. Now that it’s open, the rest of it’s starting to come through. I’m actually starting to feel like myself again.”
“Sean, that’s wonderful.”
He angled his body forward, hand resting on the table while holding his drink. “You know, I even ran into an old friend from the TV station I used to work at. Looks like a position’s opening up. So I was thinking of applying.”
“Oh, you definitely should. That’s amazing.” In her enthusiasm, she barely caught herself from reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. She pulled back and sipped more tea.
After a pause, she made a show of glancing at her watch. “You know, I ought to get going. Lots to do, with packing and all that.”
“Yeah, I should go too. I told Aunt Lu I’d run some errands for her after seeing you. So ...”
“You told her? And she didn’t warn you against seeing the crazy woman?”
He smiled. “She doesn’t think you’re crazy.” He almost sounded convincing enough to believe.
“Either way,” Audra said, “I’ve sort of accepted that crazy is the new normal.”
“That’s a huge relief—for me, that is.” The corners of his eyes crinkled before he rose from his chair. “Come on, I’ll walk you back on the way to my car.”
They tossed their cups into the trash and walked toward the apartment.
With the distance of one block, they rounded her building all too soon. Audra was searching for a non-cliché parting of If you’re ever in Boston when Sean came to an abrupt stop, his eyes straight ahead.
Perhaps another memory had come crashing back.
“Sean, what is it?”
“Aunt Lu,” he said, bewildered.
“What about her? Did you remember something?”
He shook his head, and motioned forward. “She’s here.”
Audra followed his indication and found Luanne in the parking lot. She had just stepped out of her car when she looked in their direction.
The expression on her face said the day’s discussions were far from over.
62
The announcement unleashed a torrent of emotions. In August of 1945, the Japanese Empire submitted its unconditional surrender. Vivian’s initial joy was as genuine as that of any serviceman whooping and hollering through Times Square. One by one the Axis powers had fallen-first Italy, then Germany-and now the six-year war had come to an end. Good had defeated evil, people proclaimed, a justification for atrocities best left unspoken. They would cling to this oversimplified truth while trading pats on the back and placing flowers on graves.
In the meantime, newspaper headlines would revert to Hollywood scandals, and radio broadcasts to programs of entertainment. Foreign lands and borders worth the fiercest of battles would soon be reduced to a footnote.
But not every facet of war would fade so easily.
Among the survivors, few were left unscathed. Vivian was no exception. Once the whooping and hollering quieted, she felt the tender flare of old wounds. Much had been sacrificed on the road to victory. It was this thought that brought Mrs. Langtree to the forefront of her mind.
Vivian had made a habit of sending baked goods to the lone widow, whenever Gene went over to help with upkeep and repairs. But this time, on a bright September morning, Vivian would present the dish herself.
On the bus ride there, with little Judith at her side, it occurred to her that if the woman was as stringent about etiquette as she had been about rules, an unannounced visit might be unwelcome. Yet it was too late to fret; they were already on their way.
They soon disembarked in Ditmas Park to reach the gray and white Victorian house. With a warm pie pan in hand, Vivian guided her daughter up th
e steps of the wraparound porch. The planks were the very same that Vivian and Gene had painted together.
“Be on your best behavior, now,” she reminded Judith, before ringing the doorbell.
The two-year-old nodded, bouncing her pigtails, then fidgeted with the ruffles on her pink dress, the latest indulgence from Vivian’s mother.
Judith was a petite creature since birth. Hence, for those who bothered to calculate, premature delivery made for a natural assumption. For the ones who enjoyed more scandal, it could be theorized that an intimate premarital date had hastened the couple’s vows.
Either way, a paternal question was never raised, thanks in no small part to Judith’s looks. Aside from a slight curl to her hair, she was the spitting image of Vivian, with thick brown locks and copper eyes.
Only on occasion would Vivian note a flash of Isaak, from a slyness in Judith’s smile or the way she crinkled her chin, suggestive of a dimple. And if the situation allowed, Vivian’s mind would dip into a well of the past. There she would bathe in her fondest memories, scenes from another lifetime, and emerge at least comforted by a sense of Isaak at peace.
Still waiting at the door, Vivian followed up with a knock.
“Piddy,” Judith said, pointing to the lace curtains on the large bay window.
“You’re right, lovey bug. Those are very pretty.”
Among the greatest aspects of motherhood, Vivian had learned, was experiencing the wonder of things, even the seemingly mundane, as if for the first time. She was reminded of this now while admiring the house, with its charming turret and columns and latticework. The whole neighborhood, in fact, could have been plucked from a storybook. As could Judith, for that matter, a precious pixie of a girl with a heart pure as Gene’s.
Finally, the door opened.
Hair in a loose French twist, more silver now than blond, Mrs. Langtree peered through her spectacles. Though her floral housedress was finer than most, the absence of a suit came as a surprise. Vivian realized this must be how the woman began to dress after retiring from the switchboard, when the operators made way for the military staff.
“Mrs. Langtree,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
In deciphering the silence, Vivian could not tell if the woman was merely surprised or recognition had yet to settle.
“I . . . apologize for dropping by unexpectedly. We thought you might like a nice autumn dish.”
Mrs. Langtree glanced at the gift that wafted with sauteed garlic and onions. “A Victory feast,” she guessed. She said this with a fitting hint of dryness. The sweetness of victory had been tamped by the bitterness of personal loss.
“Nothing that fancy, I’m afraid. Just a shepherd’s pie fit for supper.”
Mrs. Langtree studied Vivian’s face, as though in search of her true motives. The woman was once known for her keen detection of lies. Which, come to think of it, might have unconsciously been Vivian’s reason for not coming here sooner. Secrets were but a branch on the tree of deceit.
Thankfully, Judith intervened with a squeak, a sun sneeze that flopped her wavy pigtails.
“Bless you,” Mrs. Langtree said, beating Vivian to the phrase, then dipped her head toward the girl. “I take it you’re the Judith I’ve heard all about.”
Judith tugged at her lip in an almost bashful gesture.
“According to your father, you’re a brilliant, enchanting, and very artistic young lady.”
In lieu of replying, Judith returned her focus to the ruffles on her dress.
“Gene tends to be a bit biased,” Vivian said out of humbleness but also reserve. Such flattery from the woman was uncharacteristic. “Anyhow,” Vivian went on, “here you are.” She handed over the meat pie. The perfectly browned crust attested to her vastly improved cooking skills. She had accumulated countless tips from fellow Army wives, generous friends she had come to adore.
“That’s very kind of you,” Mrs. Langtree said.
“It’s our pleasure.”
Quiet rose between them, and Vivian worried that her presence had stirred up old tragic memories. “Well, I’d say we’ve taken up enough of your time. Judith, tell Mrs. Langtree good-bye.”
Judith stepped forward. But rather than speaking or waving, she wrapped Mrs. Langtree’s legs in a hug. The girl overflowed with affection at home-especially for Gene, who doted on her to the brink of spoiling-but typically not to strangers.
Vivian was about to apologize, out of courtesy, and nudge the toddler free when Mrs. Langtree tentatively returned the gesture. The lines on her face visibly softened.
After Judith let go, Mrs. Langtree cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, “I was just going to put a pot of tea on. Would you ladies care to join me?”
Vivian blinked at the invitation. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”
Mrs. Langtree looked down at Judith. “I think I could scrounge up a few shortbread cookies, as well,” she said, and with something resembling a smile she guided Judith into the house.
That single afternoon, much to Vivian’s amazement, soon graduated into weekly visits. Over tea and cocoa, and a pie or cobbler when they had saved enough sugar-one of the last items still rationed-an unlikely friendship steadily bloomed.
They would talk about canning and gardening and Judith’s latest feats. Mrs. Langtree would relay humorous switchboard tales in exchange for descriptions of London. Past these, she and Vivian discussed marriage and their parents and childhood trips to the shore. Sometimes Mrs. Langtree tossed out amusing tales of her late husband-though it was still a rarity for her to speak at length of her beloved son, Neal.
They continued this way for months. Of course, they included Gene, too, in their periodic suppers.
Then on a Friday afternoon in the middle of March, after Judith had devoured her cupcake, leaving chocolaty crumbs and three burnt candles, Mrs. Langtree turned to Vivian with a serious face.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you,” she said. “And now is finally the time.”
63
Audra hurried to fill a glass of water for Luanne, anticipating what the woman had come to say. Same as their initial meeting at the farm, tension lurked just beneath the surface.
“Thank you, dear.” Luanne accepted the glass, seated on Audra’s couch. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this. When Sean told me that he was coming here, I realized it would be best to talk to you both at the same time.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Audra said, settling beside her.
Sean borrowed a chair from the dinner table to join them in the living room. Squared to the couch, he sent Audra a curious look over the purpose of the gathering.
As Luanne sipped her drink, her attention drifted to the framed photo of Jack on the end table, an old snapshot taken at the zoo. “Is your son around by any chance?” she asked with forced nonchalance.
No doubt, the woman had been thrown off by Audra’s transcendental theories. Rather than dismissing them as she should have, perhaps Luanne sought grounds for validation.
“Not for a while. He’s at his grandparents’ house until tonight.”
“Ah.” Luanne nodded.
“Speaking of which,” Audra said, utilizing the segue, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for all my rambling at the gallery, about Jack and those ridiculous ideas. I really hope you haven’t wasted time on any of them.”
“No reason for apologies,” Luanne said, her eyes sullen behind her bifocals. “Not from you anyhow.”
Sean leaned forward, listening closer. “What is it you want to tell us, Aunt Lu?”
Luanne placed her glass on the table, the water’s surface rippling from the shake of her hand. She curled her fingers, layered them on the lap of her summer dress. “Audra, when your son came into the studio that night,” she said with a grave pause, “he called me Miss Moppet.”
Fabulous. The poor lady came all this way to decode a name derived from a cartoon
character. “I can explain that. It’s just a silly game we play. He was actually calling you Miss Muppet—a cute name he made up.”
Luanne brushed right by this. “Do you know who Little Lulu is?”
“Um ... yes. If you mean from the comics.”
“As a little girl, my friends often called me Lulu, short for Luanne. My brother, Gene, gave it a twist of his own. He must have used the name till I was twelve, when I insisted I was too old for it.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the connection....”
“Little Lulu’s last name,” she replied, “is Moppet. Gene was the only person who ever called me ‘Miss Moppet.’ ”
Audra flashed back to Jack’s journal. indeed, Little Lulu was one of the comic strips pasted inside. But then, so were Blondie and Calvin and Hobbes. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“The plane Jack was holding when I saw him. Does he carry it around a lot?”
“Yes—I suppose.”
“He rubs it like a worry stone.” It was less of a guess than a statement.
Reluctantly, Audra nodded.
“A family friend once carved Gene a toy wooden soldier. He took it everywhere as a kid, was always rubbing it with his thumb. The facial features were barely there when he was done with it.”
Audra glanced at Sean, who seemed to arrive at the same implication: that Jack’s behavior could be traced not to Isaak, but to Gene.
The clues skittered through Audra’s head. As an officer in Intelligence, Gene would have had knowledge of submarines and aircrafts and likely the saboteurs’ case. It was just as plausible, married to Vivian, he would have been acquainted with the necklace.
Again, though, the links were interpretative and far-reaching, skewed by personal hopes.
“Luanne, I’m sure there are similarities. But really, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have given you the impression that—”
“You talked about unfinished business. How some people believe that’s why spirits return, in one form or another. And I was thinking, maybe there are even souls who are in charge of carrying another’s message.”
Audra preferred to discount all of this but no longer felt an authority on absolutes. “I guess ... it’s possible.”
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