When We Were Young

by Jaclyn Goldis

  “Takes one to know one,” snapped her father. “I didn’t mean that. Love, I didn’t mean that. It’s just…” He ran a fistful of grass through his fingers.

  “But my mom took those letters,” said Bea. “She denied it and said there were no letters, but I knew it could only have been her.”

  Scott grimaced. “No. It wasn’t her.”

  “But my mom must have taken those letters,” said Bea. “She must have because all this time I’ve hated her for taking those letters.”

  Scott hung his head. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

  “It was you,” said Bea. “Oh my God, it was you who—wait, so you took my letters too? The ones I wrote to Rand?”

  Scott grimaced. “Yes.”

  “How could you? How could you do—”

  “I just thought if you got to know me, if you just got to know me, you would love me. If you just gave me a chance!”

  “I did give you a chance! I gave you a chance because I was heartbroken. I gave you a chance because I needed something to hold on to.”

  “And you loved me. Once you loved me—and I knew it was genuine love, just as I always suspected we would have—I put Harry Berry out of my mind. You chose me.”

  “But I didn’t choose you! I only chose you because you deceived me!”

  “And then you deceived me. And then you took me to Corfu.”

  “Oh boy,” said Grant.

  “So you knew the whole time, Scott?” asked Leo. “But…why would you spend every summer with the man your wife was having an affair with? That sounds like some insane mode of torture.”

  “Did you know when we first met?” asked Bea. “In the stairwell?”

  “We met in the stairwell,” said Joey, to Grant and Lily as much as to herself.

  Scott said, “I didn’t know exactly. There was something that felt funny to me. I’d wondered why you were so keen on renting a place in Corfu that summer when you’d never expressed an interest in going back there. All of a sudden, it was We have to do this, I found a place, all of it. But no, I didn’t know in the stairwell.”

  “You masterminded a meeting with your lover in the stairwell?” asked Lily.

  “So when?” asked Bea, ignoring her.

  “I figured it out that night, in the shower. I thought about the letters.”

  “I thought you didn’t read them.”

  “I didn’t at first. But then I did.”

  “You read Rand’s letters to me? And mine to Rand? Oh, Scott.”

  “I did. I’m so ashamed of it. But I did. And in the shower, I remembered something. I remembered how he signed the letters. Not Rand, but—”

  “Randall,” said Bea, white-faced. “He went by Randall then.”

  “It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” said Lily, and stood. “And don’t any of you fucking follow me.” She stormed inside with the didgeridoo.

  “We should go after her,” said Scott.

  “No, you should finish the story, Dad,” said Joey. “You should explain why on earth you’d realize your wife had orchestrated this elaborate affair and then stay?”

  “Oh, JoJo.” Her father finally got up from the grass. He walked over to her. She flinched, and he stopped. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not so complicated, Dad! Leo kept it secret for fifteen years to give you a life with Lily. To give Lily a life with you. And all this time, you knew! Do you know that’s why Leo broke up with me our last summer? Do you know how it tore both our lives apart?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know to both you and Leo. But you asked me why I would stay. In the whole affair, I’m the initial culprit, I suppose—”

  “You manipulated me to marry you,” said Bea. “You decided who got to be with who.”

  “I suppose I did, but I think I paid in spades for it, my love. I stood by as you went to him. As you said you were going to spend the day drawing in a meadow and you went to his sailboat instead. When you announced you were pregnant, and I knew it couldn’t be mine. I’m not an idiot, darling. I’ve always been good at math.”

  The only sound was the maniacal tap-tap-tap of Bea’s fingernails on the water pitcher. “I can’t believe this. Do you know how I’ve made my mother suffer for breaking up me and Rand? And it wasn’t even her! Oh…I just…” Her face wrenched with sudden startling emotion. “Oh God, it wasn’t her.”

  Scott went to Bea, but Bea thrust out an arm. “No! Don’t come near me.”

  Scott went to Joey, but she also put out a hand. “Not now, Dad.”

  Her father stood before them like a traveling salesman, closing up his briefcase in defeat. When he turned, Joey saw his chinos damp with grass stains.

  “I’m done.” Joey stood and pulled at Grant’s arm. Leo rose too.

  “JoJo, please don’t be upset with me.”

  “Please don’t be upset with you! Dad, I don’t even know how to respond to that. Lily, Leo, and I didn’t ask to be trapped in all these sick lies.”

  “You’re getting married this week, JoJo,” her father said. “Please. I’ve dreamed of walking my baby girl down the aisle. I’ve dreamed of this week since you were born.”

  “You know who else has dreamed about this week, Scott?” said Bea. “Me. I’ve dreamed of this week since she was born!”

  “You know who else has dreamed of this week?” Everyone stared at her. Joey’s throat was hoarse from the shouting.

  “Oh, forget it,” she said softly, and walked to the door. And as Grant took her hand, she wondered even if she’d told the truth. If she ever had dreamed of this week at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Joey

  Florida

  2019

  They watched Leo speed off on his bike. Joey shoved aside Grant’s boxing gloves and the tangle of his hand wraps and collapsed in the passenger seat. Her body had nearly stopped twitching when Grant said, “Oh jeez…”

  Joey watched a figure dart from the house, tugging a massive suitcase on wheels that bobbed down the front steps. Lily. Grant rolled down his window.

  “I just want to say,” said Lily, poking her head in, subdued, tight. “You guys aren’t my favorite people right now, but as favorite people go, you’ve got a substantial leg up on the parents.”

  “Lil.” Joey rubbed circles into her forehead. “Do you want to sleep over?”

  “Yes.” Lily pitched herself into the backseat. She tapped Grant’s shoulder. “Do you mind getting my suitcase? I don’t have, like, an iota of energy left.”

  “Sure. Got it.” He unbuckled his seat belt.

  “That’s a big suitcase,” Joey said.

  “Are you seriously going there now?” Lily said.

  “No.” Joey’s eyes turned compassionately on her little sister. “I’m sorry, Lil. I’m here for you, I really am. I really want to be.”

  “Joey, you guys have a bed for me, right? My back doesn’t do so great on couches.”

  Joey smiled in spite of it all. “We have a comfy couch. Two of them, in fact.”

  Lily sighed, like she’d just been informed they were dumping her in the Sahara with a scorpion-infested sleeping bag.

  Grant got back in the car. “Lil, that’s quite the packing job for one night.”

  “Who said I’m staying with you just one night?” she asked, lying horizontal now. Her hands cupped her head, her elbows splayed out, her copper hair a waterfall off the seat.

  “I didn’t mean…you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Grant started the motor. “As long as you put your seat belt on.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with that?” whispered Joey over the irritated clacking of metal from the backseat.

  “Yes. She needs us.”

  “You’re amazing. Thanks.”

  “Of course. I’m her family too.”

  “It’s a wonder you still want to be in our family, after tonight.” And then, as Grant opened his
mouth to speak, Joey said, “Do you mind if we’re quiet for a bit? My head is pounding.”

  Grant turned onto A1A from Linton, and she saw him open his mouth and then shut it like he was unsure, like his jaw wanted to work, not to go to waste. Joey just closed her eyes, and maybe it was the exhaustion or the stress, or both, but she fell into a quick, hard sleep. And immediately the deserts welcomed her in.

  She was the Joey on the edge of the desert.

  And she was also the Joey trying to save her.

  * * *

  As they lay in bed, Grant said, “We have to talk about it.”

  “I just…I’m not ready to talk about it.” Joey shifted her head in the crook of his shoulder. She couldn’t get comfortable there tonight. She wanted to curl into a solitary ball facing the wall, but she knew that would hurt his feelings.

  “Babe.”

  She moved onto her back so she still nestled in Grant’s nook, but now she also stared at the glow-in-the-dark constellation on the wall. It made the room slightly less dark. She always hesitated to raise that issue.

  “I just…since Leo told me, I saw it so black and white. Mom was the terrible one and Dad was the victim. But now it’s all turned on its head. And my mom’s not innocent, but God, Grant. I’ve been kind of awful to her this past week.”

  “Maybe it’s not up to you to dole out the blame. Maybe you should just leave that to the Big Guy upstairs. Anyway, don’t you think they’ve suffered enough? I think things will look different in the morning.”

  He didn’t understand. So much could happen before morning.

  Grant clasped her face to his with a ferocity that surprised her. “In good times and in bad. I want you to remember that.”

  He held her, and for a long time, she let herself be held. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise you it is.” And Grant rolled over to his side of the bed, leaving Joey to stare at his lovely, strong back dappled with starlight.

  Joey urged her eyes to stay open, please to hang on—she really wasn’t ready to go to the other side.

  * * *

  Lily slumbered like an angel with her hair fanned out on the pillow and her hands clasped neatly over her stomach.

  “I wish she was always like this,” whispered Joey.

  “What?” asked Grant. “Mute?”

  “Ha. Maybe that too. No, what I meant was it reminds me of when she was little. She was so cute and sweet when she was sleeping.”

  Lily twisted toward the door. “Are you guys watching me sleep? Because that’s creepy.”

  “No. I had to grab some supplies for Edith’s. I’m sorry if we woke you.” Joey started to walk in, but Grant pulled her arm.

  “Good luck today, babe.” He kissed her. “Bye, Lil.”

  “Bye, Grant.” Lily reached her arms to the ceiling in a wide-eyed sleepy stretch. “Joey, do you know this thing is like lying on cement?”

  Joey didn’t respond, just rifled through her drawer of oils and piled them into a canvas bag. Then she stopped, went over to the couch, and perched on the armrest. “Lil, how are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” Lily turned her long frame to face the back of the couch. She wore a pair of Joey’s pajama bottoms that were like pedal pushers on her coltish legs.

  “Seriously, Lil. How are you doing?” Joey felt emotion swell in her throat. It wasn’t fair that this had all crashed down onto Lily. It so wasn’t fair.

  “I’m doing terrible, Joey. I just found out Dad’s not my real dad. How do you think I’m doing?”

  “I’m sorry, Lil. I’m so sorry you have to go through this. But I didn’t do this to you.”

  “But you didn’t tell me right when you found out.”

  “Lil.” Joey reached over to pat her arm.

  Lily flinched. “Just go. Just leave.” Joey got up. Lily twisted back to her. “Don’t leave!”

  “But…you just told me to!”

  “How can you leave me at a time like this?” she wailed.

  Joey had never seen her sister so undone. “I wish I didn’t have to go. But I need to finish Edith’s. The party for the Sri Lankan jewelry launch is tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah.” Lily sat up, and Joey swore that just like this, with her hair all mussed and her crop top strap askew off a shoulder, Lily could pose for the cover of her magazine.

  “Maybe that’s what I’ll do, throw myself into work today,” said Lily, chewing on a fingernail. “I had a good idea last night actually. I wrote it to Kat. I think I’ll do a video blog. Something really raw. I’ll pose on your sad couch with these awful walls—the aqua is way too bright, Jo, it’s like living in Candy Land—and I’ll tell the whole sordid thing…”

  “Lil…”

  “But what do I wear? What says serious and sad, but still with a point of view?”

  “Lil!”

  “Yeah?” Her sister folded her legs beneath her and slapped her own face, once each cheek, hard.

  Joey grabbed her sister’s hands. “It’s okay to cry, you know, Lil.”

  Lily looked away. “I don’t want to cry, Joey. Weak people cry.”

  “No,” Joey said emphatically, remembering those days and months and years on her couch, eating and watching TV and not crying. Just numb. “Strong women cry, Lil. I promise you that.”

  “Oh,” said Lily. “Oh.” Suddenly she crunched her face like a wrinkled pug. Joey felt Lily’s pulse in their hands, or maybe it was her own. Eventually Lily’s face unfolded. “Nope. I think my tear ducts are broken.”

  Joey rubbed her thumb along the webbing between Lily’s index and middle fingers. “Here, I have an idea. What’s a place you feel really safe? What’s a place you go to and it’s like…it’s like a big hug?”

  Lily looked thoughtful. “The beach.”

  “The beach? Really? That’s my place too, Lil. Okay, so go to the beach today, and let yourself cry. This isn’t the day to do a video blog. If you don’t let yourself cry, then…”

  Joey stared at the wall. How had she never noticed it was way too bright?

  “Then what?”

  “Then I think you get really hard inside. I think you get really hard and tough and it takes forever to go sweet and soft again.”

  “Joey,” said Lily in a small voice, “will you meet me on the beach later to cry?”

  Joey felt something rise up in her throat. “Oh, Lil. I wish I could. But I’ve got to paint all day.”

  “Please.”

  “Okay, Lil.” Joey patted her sister’s hand. “I’ll take a little break later.”

  “Atlantic Avenue at six?”

  “Yeah. That works.”

  “One more thing. Can you give me my brother’s number?”

  “Oh.” Joey’s vision fuzzed as she thumbed through her phone. She rattled off the number.

  “Do you think he’ll want to talk to me?”

  “I know he’ll want to talk to you. He came all this way for you.”

  “Just for me?”

  Joey didn’t answer. She got to her feet, grabbed her bag of art supplies, and walked to the door. Lily rose and followed after her.

  “Where are you going?” asked Joey.

  Lily rolled her eyes. “To finish sleeping in your bed, obviously. That couch is horrendous. New walls, new couch. We really need to get your house in order.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sarah

  Corfu

  1945

  In November 1945, the war was finally over, and the ferry deposited Sarah at the Corfu Town port.

  Ever since her family had been briefly imprisoned on Lefkada nearly a year and a half prior, each day had lasted an eternity. Once the war had ended and Milos’s family had deemed it safe for her to return to Corfu, Sarah had purchased a ferry ticket and bid Milos the quickest of goodbyes, silently enduring his pleas not to leave.

  She’d let him kiss her one more time though. Maybe it had been a gift for herself too. Either way, she’d felt a deep, heart-wrenching well of conviction that it would be t
heir last of a lifetime.

  Now Sarah trudged through her old city abounding in demolished storefronts and buildings reduced to rubble—but inexplicably alight in bustle and chatter. She sensed a palpable shift though when she crossed westward into the ruins of the Jewish quarter. As she walked the old familiar alleys, she was assaulted by chilling quiet. Once, not long ago, she couldn’t take two steps without running into a friend or an aunt. But now shops were destroyed, and others boarded up. The few people she passed weren’t Jewish, but unfamiliar Greeks.

  There was the market where she and Rachel once scurried underfoot, haggling for textiles as entrusted by her father and translating sometimes for Italian soldiers. There was the Italian synagogue, decimated. There was the Romaniote synagogue, still standing but blackened ash marring its once vivid yellow siding.

  And there, up the slope of Velissariou, was her father’s shop, one window shattered but the other intact. Sarah pressed her fingertips to the rain-smeared windowpane and noticed something unfamiliar and framed hanging there. Slowly she read it. JEWISH, in bold letters. A proclamation signed by the Germans and their Greek collaborators, ensuring no one would frequent her father’s shop. Without thinking, Sarah found herself bursting inside, yanking off the frame, and throwing it to the ground. The glass broke, skating across the floor. And then it was quiet again, the machines and textiles looted—empty inside.

  Empty, and then teeming with ghosts.

  With shaky steps, Sarah made it back outside. As a little girl, she’d stood with her face pressed against the glass, making silly faces at her father before scampering off to school. He’d chide her later, for how he had to scrub off her lip prints before customers arrived. But still, he always played along, sticking his thumbs in his ears and contorting his face into funny, ugly shapes in return.

  What had Sarah thought, after all? That her father would be sitting in his chair again, threading a needle?

  Sarah keeled over and had to crouch down. Her eyesight blurred with the cobblestones polished by all those vanished feet. She had thought it, that they’d be waiting here for her. Or hoped it at least—by slipping briefly into fairy tales.