by Beau North
Ben shook his head. “I have no idea. God! The tattoo! He had a tattoo of a sacred heart just here”―Ben pointed to his own upper arm―“with that word just underneath.”
“Slim?”
Ben nodded. “Very helpful, I know. I always assumed it was his nickname, maybe from the army. He was a lanky one up till the end. Never got a paunch like me.” Ben patted his stomach, still full from dinner.
“I like your paunch,” she said with a grin, making him laugh. He reached into the pile and pulled out another envelope. Keisha handed him a letter opener from the cup on the desk.
“This one is dated 1946. And this one is dated 1972.”
She stood and walked around the desk. Her delicate perfume and the warm, fresh smell of her touched him. Combined with the astonishing prose of his father’s secret passion, Ben felt himself swept up in the moment. What they were doing just then wasn’t just romantic, it was incredibly intimate. He wanted to take her hand again and put it to his heart, wanted her to feel the electric surge in his blood and know that it was not simply because he was reading these letters, but because he was reading these letters with her.
“Okay, this I can do. I’m not kidding when I say ninety percent of my job is paperwork and organizing files. I am a master at collating. Do you have any Post-Its?”
“Keisha.” The tone of his voice, suddenly so quiet and so serious, made her look over at him. He did take her hand, but that was all.
“Thank you. For doing this with me. I know you don’t know me, and I know that—”
She surprised him by leaning down from where she stood over him and touching her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and full against his own, and when his lips parted to her, he tasted some lingering sweetness on her tongue. Her hands took his face, her fingers winding into his hair. A searing heat flashed across his skin, every part of him aching to feel her slightest touch.
She slid into his lap, making him groan against her mouth.
“Be careful,” he said as he kissed her neck, taking her earlobe between his teeth. “We can stop this now.”
“Do you want to stop?” she asked, breathless, her fingernails digging into the firm flesh of his arms and shoulders.
“Hell no.” His hand came up to cup her breast, deliciously warm and weighty against his palm.
She reached down between their clashing bodies, finding him hard and eager through his jeans. “Good. Now take me to bed.”
Ben opened the wine after all, and brought it back to the bedroom after. He couldn’t tell if he was walking or floating, but he suspected the latter. He felt better than he’d felt in months, maybe years, and considered that the magic he’d been feeling was the usual variety. That, he supposed, was the strange alchemy of new lovers.
She was sitting up against the pillows, her hair loose, the tight curls making a dark halo around her head. She smiled and accepted a kiss and a glass from him.
“What are we having? Is it fancy?”
He laughed. “It’s Côtes du Rhône, and it was eighteen bucks at Safeway. Enjoy.”
She smiled and brought the glass up and inhaled. He watched, fascinated as she swirled and tasted the ruby liquid. He put his own glass aside, untouched, and lay next to her, propping his head up.
“Can I ask you something?” His hand found hers and took it, gently kneading her fingers.
“No, we can’t use my handcuffs,” she said, making him laugh again.
“Not that. I was going to ask...why me? I’m so much older than you—”
“You keep up pretty well,” she said, grinning.
“How old are you?”
She tucked her lips together, squinching her face up. “Thirty-two.”
“Good lord. I was fifteen when you were born.”
“And if you tried this then it would have raised some eyebrows. But now, who cares? We’re both adults.”
“Some of us more adult than others,” he grumbled. “You still haven’t answered my question. What about this old man made the beauteous Keisha Barnes look twice?”
She shook her head. “You’ll think I’m crazy but... It’s just this feeling I have. Like I’ve known—”
“Known you all my life.”
“That day you answered the door, I knew, somehow. I knew who you were pretty much right away, because you look just like your dad.”
“And you went through all that rigamarole with my ID!”
“Hey, I still have to do my job.” She leaned down and kissed his temple in a gesture he found oddly touching.
“But I remember feeling...unsurprised that it was you. Almost like I’d been waiting for you, all this time, only I didn’t realize it until—”
“Until I saw you,” he said. “I know.”
“That’s strange, right?”
He sat up and took her glass, put it aside. He took her face in both his hands. “Maybe it is strange…hell, maybe it’s magic that you’re here with me now. Whatever the reason, I’m glad. It feels right, somehow, having you here.”
She leaned up and kissed him. The sheet fell away from her body; he could feel the firm points of her nipples pressing against his chest. Her fingers wound in his hair.
“Ben,” she whispered his name.
“Hmm?”
She pushed him gently back against the pillows, laying her body on top of his. He was ready again. They tangled together, hands grasping, lips tasting any part of the other within reach. She took him in hand, guided him to her.
“Ben,” she repeated his name as he slipped inside of her. “Ben, Ben, Ben. You’re beautiful, too.”
They started by organizing the letters by decade. Keisha put pink Post-It Notes in rows on his desk. 1940-1950, 1950-1960, 1960-1970, and so on. The letters seemed to get more sparse after 1980, with exception of the pile of sealed envelopes. There were a good many of those. Keisha opened them all with the letter opener, attaching a yellow Post-It to each one. “Marking it as an unsent letter,” she said. “It’s almost like a journal.” And those went into the corresponding pile.
“So many!” she said, sipping her wine. She made a charming picture, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her white undershirt and a pair of his sweats. She’d had to roll the legs up several times before she could walk in them without tripping.
“I have to admit, I had no idea Pop was such a prolific correspondent. I hope this isn’t too dull for you.”
“Are you kidding? A gorgeous older man makes love to me twice and lets me plunder his family secrets? This is a perfect date, Benjamin.”
He laughed and took a seat on the floor beside her. “Actually, my name’s not Benjamin. It’s Bennet.”
“Oh, that’s right. I looked at your ID. What a fancy lad you are.”
He laughed and took her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers. God, I feel like a teenager again. He picked up the letter sitting on top of the pile, dated 1941.
“Should we get started?”
4
Christmas Eve, 1941
Fitzwilliam House
Annapolis
Richard straightened his shirt before entering the dining room. Ideally, he would have changed into something that didn’t still carry the lingering scent of Chanel No. 5, but he was late, and tardiness was one of the admiral’s pet peeves.
No doubt his father would be even less pleased to know how his youngest son spent his afternoons. Lately, Richard was fully occupied with fond goodbyes to some ladies of his acquaintance. Socialites, nurses, a policeman’s daughter, one or two senators’ wives… Richard had always been something of a socialist when it came to his lovers. Everyone got an equal share.
The family was already seated when he strode into the room. His brother, James, shook his head with a knowing smile as Richard seated himself beside Anne. At the head of the table, his father and aunt Catherine were having their version of a conversation, which was nothing more than a series of terse exchanges. Little Georgiana looked smaller than usual seated next to the imposing figure of Aunt Cathe
rine. Richard gave his youngest cousin a reassuring smile, which she returned timidly.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone. So glad you didn’t start without me,” Richard said as he took his seat across from his cousin Will Darcy.
“You’ll soon see that the Germans aren’t going to wait for you to show up either,” said the admiral.
Richard bit back a laugh as he looked down the table to see his brother doing the same. They were only two years apart, but, to their father, James would always be the adult and he would always be a bumbling child. Not that either of them minded; the arrangement suited them. Richard bore the brunt of their father’s ire, and James bore the brunt of his love, both heavy burdens in their own way.
Richard cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.” His father nodded, satisfied, and returned to his meal.
Anne leaned toward him and whispered, “So, who was it this time?”
Richard grinned behind his napkin. He’d always been amused by his cousin’s blatant curiosity over his conquests.
“Charming young writer,” he whispered back. “Has a society column at the Times Herald.”
“Any good?”
“Now what kind of good Southern gentleman would I be if I told you that?”
“Richie,” Darcy hissed, nodding toward his younger sister.
“What’s going on down there?” Catherine barked. “I abhor snickering at the dinner table!”
James covered for them by turning to his aunt and asking whether she had any other plans while she was in Annapolis. Out of the corner of his eye, he gave Richard the smallest of winks.
“You really will have to learn how to behave,” said Darcy.
Richard laughed. “God, I hope not.”
“That makes two of us,” Anne said. “If I have to live vicariously through you, Will, I’m absolutely doomed.”
“You should enlist too, Anne,” Richard said, half-joking. “It would get you out of the house.”
“To hell with that. They ought to send Mother. She’d have this business wrapped up in no time.”
“Yes.” Richard elbowed her. “But for which side?”
The admiral stood, bringing all conversation to a halt.
“I am glad,” he said, “to have our family here on this night before we all go our separate ways. We have heard the call of duty and answered, as this family has always done and always will do.”
He stopped, smiling fondly at his eldest son. “The Lexington is getting a fine lieutenant in you, James. I know you will make this family very proud.”
James tolerated the attention with his usual good humor, nodding thanks to his father.
“And Richard”—the admiral shifted his focus to his younger son, his tone noticeably drier—“may the army teach you well. I hope that you will do us proud.”
“Hear, hear,” Richard said with a grin. He found that laughter could often take the sting out of his father’s barbs. The admiral sat back down, and the murmur of conversation resumed.
Richard noticed Darcy looking thoughtfully into his glass. He’d seen that expression in his cousin’s face more often since John Darcy had passed. Richard wondered whether his cousin was lonely.
“What’s wrong, D?”
“War is like love.”
“Messy?” Richard offered with a grin. Darcy gave him a tired, resigned smile.
“It always finds a way.”
Richard lowered himself onto the Chesterfield sofa in his father’s study, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He looked over at his brother, who was fiddling with the dials on the Zenith.
“Are you going to play with that thing all night?”
“That sounds more like your line of work,” James said distractedly. The sound of the Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra filled the room. “There we go. That’s the ticket.”
James walked away and sat on the couch near his brother. They made almost identical bookends though Richard’s features were slightly longer, slightly fairer than his brother’s. James wore adulthood with a natural ease where Richard wondered whether he’d always have one foot in adolescence.
Richard reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a flask. He offered it to James, who took it with a lopsided smile.
“I really can’t wait to see how you get through training,” James said, taking a drink.
“Surely not as well as Saint Jimmy did,” Richard said with a laugh.
James rolled his eyes. “You know the old man can’t help himself.”
They sat in silence for a minute, each contemplating the paternal resentment they could never admit to anyone but each other.
“I’m worried about Will,” James said as he passed the flask back to Richard. “He hasn’t been the same since Uncle John passed.”
Richard thought about what Darcy had said at the dinner table, the slightly lost expression in his eyes. “He is carrying that tall, dark, and brooding attitude a little far.”
“It can’t be good for Georgie.”
“No, poor kid.” Richard sighed. “I worry she’ll be the one taking care of D and not the other way around.”
“Girl needs a mom.”
“Don’t we all?” Richard heard the bitterness in his own voice. It couldn’t be helped. The subject hit too close to home.
James, who always seemed to know what his brother was thinking, shook his head. “Don’t do that to yourself, Richie. Not now. You can’t walk into a fight with all that hanging over your head.”
Suddenly restless, Richard pushed himself up off the couch and strode over to the window. He could feel his brother’s eyes on his back.
“Have you gone to see her?”
Richard knew that James had been waiting to throw this particular grenade at him since Richard announced he’d joined the army.
“What difference would it make? She’s not there anymore.”
“Maybe,” James said. “But don’t you want to say goodbye?”
Richard moved the curtains aside and looked out, but it was already well past sunset. There was nothing to see.
“No. I never want to say goodbye.”
February 10, 1942
Dear Rich,
Hope you’re doing well and you and the old man aren’t too much at each other’s throats. I know you’ll be leaving soon, so try to be civil until then. I’m in Sydney, Australia right now, on the other side of the world from you and Dad and Annapolis. I’ve never seen bugs like the bugs they have here, but otherwise it’s downright nice. And the girls! Well, I guess it’s the one time I can be glad you’re not around. I couldn’t compete with you.
You have to watch your head at night, especially walking through the parks, because of the fruit bats that piss buckets as they fly by. A few of us made that unhappy discovery the first night we were here and reeked of ammonia for days after….
Richard folded his brother’s letter, tucking it inside his shirt pocket. He looked around the room he’d grown up in, a small, tidy room with everything personal packed away in a box in the corner, making it easier for the admiral to clean out his room should he not return from the war. He was glad to be leaving it all behind, glad to be leaving this house. He hadn’t felt at home there since he was a child. His father had made sure of that. An accident, come and gone in the space of a moment, and Richard became an unwelcome guest in his own home at the age of seven. He could still remember his mother’s face as she rushed to him, still laying on the spot where Pilgrim had thrown him. He could still hear the sickening sound as the terrified pony’s hoof struck her head, her eyes rolling back to the whites...
“Do you have everything you need?” Darcy stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He’d shown up out of the blue the previous day to see Richard off, his one and only well-wisher now that James was abroad. The admiral had already ensconced himself in his DC townhouse as the War Office readied for combat. Richard didn’t know where his father’s part of the fleet would be going and didn’t much care. He was ready to be gone; the
house had been silent as a tomb for weeks with only the housekeeper for company.
“All set,” Richard said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. Darcy drove to the Baltimore train station while Richard watched Annapolis slip past his window.
“Georgie and I are going to miss you, Richie.”
Richard looked at his cousin and smiled. “Well, sure, kid. Who wouldn’t miss me?”
“Very funny, asshole.”
Richard chuckled and fell serious again. “Will, I asked the attorney to put my inheritance from Granddad into your munitions factories.”
Darcy looked surprised. “How much of your inheritance?”
“The whole pie, D. The admiral was boiling mad, but I made some promises that I’d use it as an opportunity to learn some leadership, etcetera.”
Darcy blinked once, twice, his mouth opening and closing until he found his words at last. “That was incredibly generous of you.”
“Generous, nothing. Don’t get precious about it. I just happen to know a good bet when I see one. And...I know you’re disappointed they wouldn’t take you.”
“I’m still in the state guard,” Darcy said, his tone defensive.
“D, your job is too big for you to let the Germans turn you into Swiss cheese. Me? I’m expendable. Use the money. We’re gonna need the bullets.”
Darcy sighed and parked the car. They’d arrived at the station on time and much too soon. They both got out: Richard holding his big duffel bag and Darcy looking down at his shoes.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental, D.” Richard shook his head. “What would my father or dear Aunt Catherine say?”
Darcy looked up and grinned, an unexpectedly sunny smile. “Who gives a shit?”
They laughed, their moods lifted, and embraced briefly. Richard made his way onto the train, stuffed with men and boys just like him, eager to leave, to train, to serve. He stowed his bag, found a seat by the window. After a few minutes of tinkering, he was able to lower the glass. He stuck his head out to see Darcy still standing on the platform. He raised a hand in farewell.
