by Sarah Jio
Speechless, I hung up my phone, inching closer to the caution tape, and waved at a man wearing a yellow hard hat. “Excuse me!” I shouted.
He walked over with the look of someone who did not want to be bothered.
“What’s going on here?”
“The building’s going to come down,” he said. “Well, not today. We’re just getting ready.”
“No!” I cried. “It can’t be.”
The man shrugged. “Well, it is.” He flipped his clipboard around to display the architectural drawings for what looked like a new condo building. In the renderings, a Starbucks café occupied the bottom floor. “We got permits pushed through quickly on this one. Boss wants the new building up before the one across the street is finished.
I shook my head.
“Hard to believe an old place like this stuck around as long as it did,” he said, glancing at the sign on the window. “What a dump.”
“This dump,” I said, “happens to be a very special place. It’s where—”
The man shouted something at a worker in the distance and walked away.
“It’s where Vera and Daniel lived,” I continued, even if I was the only one listening. “You can’t tear it down. You just can’t.”
I watched for a while as the construction crew milled about. They swarmed like termites gathering to devour a rotted piece of wood. I wanted to fling myself at the building and hold my arms out to protect it, the way hard-core environmentalists chain themselves to trees. I felt sick thinking of all the memories, all the secrets, that would come toppling down when the wrecking ball tore through it. I hated to think that I might have missed something, but most important was making sure Warren got the chance to see it one more time.
I willed myself to walk away, picking up my pace to a jog as soon as I rounded the corner. As my breath quickened, my mind turned to Ethan again. The memories caused my feet to push harder, my heart to pound louder. Before I knew it, I’d sprinted past Pacific Place and up to Broad Street, where the Space Needle gleamed overhead. That’s when it hit me. It isn’t Ethan’s forgiveness I’m looking for; it’s my own.
My phone rang inside my pocket and I slowed my pace. When I saw Ethan’s number on the screen, my first instinct was to let the call go to voice mail. I thought about letting him go. I reached inside my pocket and clutched the phone as it rang a second time and then a third. I pulled it out. We had lost a baby. We had lost part of ourselves. We had been through so much. Too much. But it didn’t mean we had to lose each other.
I clicked the green button.
“Hi,” I said into the phone.
“Hi,” he said. “I want to come home—that is, if you’ll let me.”
“But I thought you said—”
“Claire, I don’t know what I said, and I can honestly say I don’t know how to fix us. All I know is that I want to.”
“Oh, Ethan,” I cried. “I want that too.”
“I’ll be on the next ferry.”
I ran another mile, then slowed to a walk once I was a block away from the apartment. Heart pounding. Face unable to stop smiling. I reached for my cell phone in my pocket and dialed Elliott Bay Jewelers.
“Yes, this is Claire Aldridge. I purchased a watch for my husband a while ago, and, well, I’ve decided on the engraving.”
“Yes,” the woman said, “what will it be?”
“Can you just print ‘Sonnet 43’?”
“That’s it?” the woman asked. “Nothing else?”
“No,” I said. “It sums up everything I need to say.”
I hung up the phone just as I reached the apartment building. Gene held the door open for me, sweat streaming down my face. “You’re back,” he said with a proud smile.
“I’m back,” I said, stepping into the elevator. This time, the words finally rang true.
I looked up from the couch as Ethan walked into the apartment. He set his bag down by the door, and it toppled over, spilling a file folder out onto the rug, but he didn’t stop to retrieve it. “Claire, I’m so sorry,” he said with a cautious smile, “for the way I’ve behaved.”
“Me too,” I said quietly.
He walked to me and knelt down so that his face was directly in front of mine. “You’re running again,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Finally.” I ran my fingers through his hair. A kiss of gray appeared at his temples, reminding me how much I longed to grow old with this man.
“A funny thing happened,” he said. “On the ferry over to the island, I saw a couple with a little boy.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “He was about the age our son would have been. One. Just barely walking.”
I clasped both hands behind Ethan’s neck and began to cry. “Our son?”
He nodded. “We had a son.”
“Ethan,” I cried, letting the revelation sink in and pierce my heart.
“He was a beautiful boy,” he said through tears. “He had your nose. I love your nose.”
I buried my face in his chest as he rocked me slowly. “I started to think about what life would be like without you, Claire, without us. Honey, I don’t want that life.”
“I don’t either,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat.
“What did the grief counselor say? That when you lose a child, you’re twice as likely to end up divorced?”
I nodded. “Something like that.”
“Let’s beat that statistic,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Let’s start over.
I nodded. “Daniel,” I said softly under my breath.
Ethan looked confused. “Daniel?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Our baby. I want to call him Daniel.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “Daniel. A perfect name for our first son.”
I smiled. “You talk as if we’ll have another.”
He grinned. “I’d like it if we did. If you’re ready…”
“I’m getting there,” I said, nuzzling my cheek against his neck.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said softly. “Can you ever forgive me?”
I weaved my fingers through his. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“I already have,” he said, looking out the window at the Sound and then back at me. “Hey, let’s forget about work today and go somewhere, right now, to celebrate our new beginning.”
I looked at the clock. “I can’t,” I said. “Not just yet. I already have a date.”
Ethan looked confused.
“With your grandfather,” I said, pressing my face against his chest, breathing in the scent of his crisp white shirt. My heart sank when I remembered the café’s proposed demolition. We were too late, but not too late for a final glance. Maybe that’s all Warren needed, anyway. “I’d love it if you came with us,” I said, looking up at Ethan. “It’s a big moment for him.” I paused. “And for me.”
His keys jingled when he pulled them from his pocket, the sound of two people moving forward—together. “I’ll drive you.”
Ethan parked the car on the street in front of Eva’s building and Warren turned to me with a confused look. “But I thought we were going to—”
I looked at my watch, conscious of every minute passing. Even if the building wasn’t going to come down today, just knowing that it was so close to demolition made me increasingly anxious for Warren to see it one last time. But I’d promised Eva. “I wanted to make a stop first,” I said. “Just for a minute. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Warren and Ethan followed as I led them to the elevator up to Eva’s floor. I knocked when we got to her door.
“Claire,” Eva said cheerfully, welcoming us inside. “And you brought friends! Let’s see, this must be your husband?” she said, turning to Ethan.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan said, slipping an arm around my waist. I loved the warmth of his embrace, but it wasn’t our moment; it was theirs.
“Eva,” I said quietly, “this is Warren Kensing
ton, but you know him by another name.”
She looked at me and then at Warren, searching his face.
“Eva,” Warren said. Remembrance flickered in his eyes as he extended a hand to her. “It’s so good to see you again. You may remember me as Daniel. Daniel Ray.”
“My God,” Eva gasped. “Am I dreaming?” She sat down in a chair by the window. “It’s a miracle,” she continued, turning to me. “How did you…? Where did you…?”
“He’s my grandfather,” Ethan said.
Eva looked at me and then at Warren, astonished.
Warren nodded. “And this fine reporter here cracked the case.”
Eva looked shaken. “You mean, you’ve been alive this whole time?”
Warren sat down beside her and smiled. “Well, this old ticker’s still beating, so I guess so.”
Eva reached her hand out to Warren’s arm. “I can hardly believe you’re here,” she said. “Your mother missed you so.”
“I can only imagine,” he said.
“Do you remember, Daniel?”
“I think so. I have moments when I believe I can remember that life. When I close my eyes, I can see her face.”
Eva smiled. “Vera’s face?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
I knelt down beside Warren’s chair. “I found her grave site,” I said.
Warren looked deeply moved. “How?”
“Eva told me.”
“My God,” he said. “I’ve been looking for her for so long, I…”
“Would you like me to take you there today, after we visit the old apartment building?”
“Yes,” Warren said, shifting in his chair. As he lifted his leg, he knocked a magazine from the coffee table. I reached to pick it up and my bracelet slid down to the base of my wrist. The sapphires sparkled in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows.
Eva sat up in her chair. “Claire, that bracelet,” she said. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I noticed it on your wrist the other day. May I ask where you got it?”
I turned to Ethan, who waited quietly near the door, leaning against the doorframe. “My husband gave it to me,” I said proudly. “It was a gift.”
“Let me see it,” she said, extending her hand.
I held my wrist out to her and she studied the gold chain for a long time. “Yes,” she said.
“What is it?”
“Vera’s bracelet. The one Charles gave to her as a gift when he was courting her.”
“It can’t be,” I said.
“She’s right,” Warren said with certainty. “Father gave it to me when I was a young man. He said to give it to a very special woman because it had belonged to someone he once loved. I gave it to my wife, and when she died, I passed it on to Ethan to give to you.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “All this time, I’ve been wearing her bracelet.”
Ethan knelt beside me and I squeezed his hand. “I remember now,” I said, recalling my research. “The autopsy report. Charles Kensington”—I turned to Warren—“your father picked up her personal effects. This must have been after Josephine told him the truth about you, after he found out that Vera had died searching for her son.”
I clutched the bracelet with new appreciation. It had clung to Vera’s wrist the night she took her last breath and had found its way to my arm some eighty years later.
“My late wife always loved that bracelet,” Warren said. “If only she could have known the real story. We’ll meet again,” he said, looking up toward the sky with a wink. “And I’ll have quite a story to tell her.”
“Will you ever,” Eva said.
I stood up. “I’m sure you two could reminisce forever, but Warren has one more stop to make—that is, if you’re ready.”
“Yes,” he said, standing. “I am.”
Eva followed us to the door. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” she said to Warren. “I feel like Mother’s soul can rest now.”
“Aunt Caroline?” he said, as if extracting a memory long buried in his mind.
“Yes. My mother. It was her dying wish to find you.”
“I hope she’s smiling down now,” he said.
“I know she is,” Eva replied. “With Vera.”
My heart pounded as Ethan drove toward Café Lavanto. He pulled the car into a load-and-unload zone at the foot of the hill leading up to the café. “Doesn’t look like there’s any parking on the street,” he said, squinting ahead. “I’ll just drop you off here.”
I unfastened my seat belt in the backseat and inched closer to Warren in the passenger seat. “It may be the last chance to see the old building,” I said. “They’re going to tear it down.”
“What a shame,” he said, trying to get a look at the scene ahead. “Why?”
“Condo buildings,” I said.
“Doesn’t this city have enough of those?”
I shrugged. “Seattle seems to have an insatiable appetite for condos and Starbucks.” I looked out at the café. “It’s a shame, really. The owner is a good man. He’s selling it to support his mother. She’s been ill for a long time and she can’t pay her medical bills.”
I wasn’t sure if Warren was listening. His gaze remained fixed on the street.
“Are you coming in?” I asked Ethan, before stepping out onto the sidewalk. The afternoon sun beamed in through the windshield and made his green eyes sparkle.
He glanced at his grandfather and then at me. “You go ahead, Claire,” he said with a smile. “It’s your story to finish.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I’ll be back to pick you up in a half hour,” he said, his eyes filled with the love I’d missed so much. “Think that will be enough time?”
I nodded and gave Warren’s hand a squeeze as we stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk, inching toward the café cautiously, quietly. “Are you ready?” I asked.
He nodded, and we walked slowly up the steep block, pausing many times so Warren could catch his breath. A construction zone was no place for someone recently released from the hospital, and for a moment I felt guilty about taking him there. But then I remembered that it had been his idea, his wish.
“Claire!” I looked up to see Dominic rushing toward us. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been trying to call you back all afternoon, but your phone must be off.”
I reached into my bag and realized that I’d accidently turned the ringer off. “Listen,” I said, “I don’t blame you.”
He clutched a manila envelope. “I’m signing the papers this afternoon,” he said apologetically. “It will be a day or two before they start demolition.” He rubbed his brow. “Claire, I really hate that I have to do this, but it’s the only way I know how to provide for my mother.”
I held up my hand. “Please, don’t apologize. I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” I said. “I just wish there was another way. I’m sick about seeing this old place go.”
“My brother and sister offered to chip in,” he said. “We started a fund in her name to get community support. A bank back home has offered to match donations dollar for dollar. But we haven’t raised near enough.”
Warren stood next to me, half-listening to the exchange without taking his eyes off the door to the café. The trim, a burnt red, was in dire need of paint, particularly the upper right edge, which exposed the bare wood underneath the chipped topcoat. I wondered what color the doorframe had been in the 1930s.
Dominic gave me a knowing look and nodded toward the café, just as another truck pulled up to the street. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “I’ll ask them not to go in until you two are done. Take all the time you need.”
I looked at Dominic curiously. “How do you even know who…?”
He smiled. “Daniel, right?”
I nodded. “But how did you…?”
“I knew you’d find him,” he said, grinning.
We took a step closer, and Warren
looked at me for reassurance. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” he said, staring at the door, then turning to face me with misty eyes.
I worried about his heart, both the physical and the emotional toll. But he needed this. His life was like a tragic novel missing the final chapter, a beautiful one. We’d found it, dusted it off, and now it was time to read it. “Thank you, Claire,” he said.
Dominic held the door open and we walked inside. The old La Marzocco espresso machine had been moved from its spot on the bar. A dark shadow of coffee stains remained in its place. The tables and chairs had been pushed to the side wall, lined up and ready to be carted out. The beautiful fireplace looked lonely on the far wall. I took a deep breath. Those beautiful tiles by Ivanoff the mason. They’d be destroyed along with everything else.
“Warren?” I said.
He didn’t answer.
I reached for his hand. “Warren, are you all right?”
“I remember,” he said, his eyes big and his body still. “This hallway. There were men here. Drunken men. Mother used to hurry me inside and we’d run past them, up the stairs.”
He walked a few paces, slowly, toward the back of the café. “May I?” he asked, turning back to Dominic.
“Please,” Dominic said.
I followed Warren through the door that led to the back room and up the staircase. The stairs creaked underfoot, and I offered my arm to steady him, but he shook his head.
He stood on the little landing and ran his hand along the baluster. “All these years,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his coat, “I have dreamt about this place.” He paused to pull out a handkerchief and dab the corner of his eye. “And to be here…it’s just as I remember it.”
I reached for his hand. “Do you remember her? Vera?”
He nodded. “I do. Well, I suppose it’s less of a memory, and more of a…feeling.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “An instinct. Your heart never forgets your mother.”
I blinked back a tear, watching his eyes search the wall by the stairs. He walked closer, operating on instinct, patting his hand along the base of the trim.
I approached the wall. “What is it?”
