The Pieces We Keep

by Kristina McMorris

  A tight laugh slipped from Vivian’s mouth. She could almost taste the sweetness of vanilla malt on her tongue. “What else?”

  Isaak stroked her hair as he continued. “Yankee Stadium. Pickup games of stickball. Penny candies at Mr. Burke’s drugstore—I must have bought a hundred large pickles at that place. After dipping my hand in, my fingers would smell like pickle juice for days.” He chuckled, remembering, and Vivian warmed at the idea.

  “Then there’s the American picture shows-not having to wait for them to make it all the way here. Oh, and those fancy window displays. Better in New York than anywhere.”

  “Like Macy’s,” she guessed.

  “That’s right. They were splendid at Christmas, weren’t they?”

  “I’ve actually never seen them during the holidays. Though I’ve wanted to.” Political festivities always consumed her family’s calendar, barring any plans that time of year to venture out of DC.

  “Then I’ll take you.” Isaak spoke so decisively, as if Manhattan were across the street, not halfway around the globe. America seemed light-years away.

  Suddenly Vivian recalled her pressing news, of her plans to leave in a week. She stamped out the thought, a dried leaf beneath her heel. For the time being, she would allow herself to indulge. She closed her eyes to visualize the scenes, to cling to a feeling of safety.

  “What else shall we do while we’re there?”

  He kissed the top of her head and she could feel the upturn of his lips. “Why, I’ll take you shopping, of course. Buy you the loveliest hat in Manhattan.”

  “Only a hat?”

  “A dress-three dresses. A whole wardrobe.”

  She smiled.

  “Have you been to the Empire State Building? It wasn’t built when I was there.”

  “Just a few times.” She looked up at him. “Why? Would you like to go?”

  He paused. “King Kong doesn’t actually cling to the top, does he?”

  “Not usually.”

  “In that case, we’ll add it to our list.” His fingers moved to her cheek. It was a triangular caress, as though mapping their tour on her skin. “From there, we’ll ice-skate in Central Park and take a carriage ride through the city. And we’ll have coffee and pastries every week at my favorite cafe in town.”

  “Where is that?” she asked.

  “It’s in Brooklyn, near Prospect Park. Called Cafe Labrec. It has a small French courtyard with flowers that bloom in every color. Darling, you’ll feel drunk on the scent of their croissants alone.”

  She imagined the smell of baking dough, the chocolate smothered over buttery delights. “How heavenly,” she sighed, and that’s when the siren stopped.

  The air raid was over. The silence was sobering.

  “Thank God,” he murmured.

  Ironically, Vivian felt anything but thankful. She had no desire to leave the virtual world they had constructed.

  Isaak shifted, about to stand.

  “Not yet.” She grasped his arm, and a solution emerged from the cellar of her own mind. She had been so afraid to throw her life off-kilter. Now she knew: What she had viewed as the firm foundation of her future would be but a feeble stage without him.

  In the quiet, Isaak cocked his head, questioning. The lantern cast him in shadows.

  She rose onto her knees to fully view his face. Her lingering adrenaline emboldened her. “Come to America with me.”

  His eyes sparked with levity, a continuation of the fantasy, then dimmed as he registered her intent.

  “The date’s been set,” she said. “Just this morning my parents told me. My mother and I are scheduled to leave next Sunday.”

  “Sunday?” he said. “In just a week?”

  She nodded, allowing her suggestion to soak in. He looked away, shoved his fingers through his hair. There was no trace of excitement. But then, it was a large proposition that required more detail.

  “Don’t you see? It’s a perfect idea. After all, you’re an American. You belong there,” she said. “With me.”

  He turned to her. Slowly he shook his head. “My life is here, Vivian. My classes, my work. My family.”

  Concerns over his relatives were a given. She would expect nothing less. All the same, a pang shot through her chest from his low ranking of their relationship, below even schooling and a job. Both of which were doomed in a wartime climate.

  She drew back onto her heels. “So what would you do instead? Sit in your classroom and wait for the bombs?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What then? Enlist in the service? Fly with the RAF?” She threw out the exaggerations based on his boyish fascination with newsreels but immediately regretted the scoff. His expression displayed serious mulling of the options.

  “You’d be fighting against your own family.”

  “No. I’d be fighting the Nazis.”

  Incredulous, she blew out a breath. England wasn’t even his country.

  “Vivian, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to do my bit. The evils of what they’re doing-they have to be stopped.”

  She had heard enough political reasoning to last fifty lifetimes. Each conflict, in reality, could be traced to the same distinct villains: male pride and ego. All arguments to the contrary were fluffy justifications.

  “The truth of it is,” she said, “if you truly loved me, you wouldn’t even consider such a thing.”

  The statement hung between them, bare in the darkness. His lips parted but crafted no reply. Not even a request that she stay in London. No suggestion that they evacuate, like so many lovers would, off to a spot in the countryside. Rather, he would choose war and death over her.

  Tears filled her eyes, fed by a pool of stupidity. Falling this hard for a man, much less one on another continent, made her worse than foolish.

  She rushed to the ladder, starkly aware she had brought this on herself.

  “Now, hold one minute.”

  When she ignored the plea, Isaak grabbed her by the elbow. She struggled to continue, but he pulled her off from behind and bound her with his arms. “Just calm down and listen.”

  “Let me go!”

  “Look at me,” he ordered. He released her just enough to twist her around, and her arm flung free, striking his face. He stood there, stunned.

  A budding of fear opened inside her. She recognized the edge in his eyes that had always lured her in. Before she could act, he pressed her back against the ladder. He charged forward to retaliate, but with a kiss. Flared with such hunger, it dizzied her thoughts.

  No ... she would not be manipulated so easily.

  She salvaged just enough will to wedge her hands between their bodies and pushed against his chest. Yet he gripped her wrists and raised them to the rungs above. He stilled her head by pressing his cheek to hers and whispered raggedly by her ear.

  “I do love you, damn it. So much, it’s hard to breathe when we’re apart. I’d marry you tonight if I could. You have to know that.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, told herself not to listen. But the heat of his skin, the raw yearning in his tone, weakened her resolve.

  “Look at me,” he said again, and relinquished his grip on her wrists. “Darling, please ...”

  She felt his thumb wipe a trail of moisture from her cheek. He leaned into her, his leg touching her thigh, paralyzing her. His mouth brushed her forehead. He stretched slow kisses toward her temple, and the space in her lungs constricted. Every breath took concerted effort.

  “I’ll go.” He spoke almost too softly for her to hear. She expected him to pull away and ascend the ladder, before he added, “I’ll go with you.”

  She digested the words, the full force of their meaning. Her eyes opened and found his face only inches away. “But-you just said-”

  “For Christ’s sake, Vivian. I think I deserved a moment to take it in. Until a few weeks ago, you had me convinced you were in no hurry for anything serious.”

  Until a few weeks ago, she had convinced h
erself of the same. Still, she remained leery of escalating her hopes. “And ... your family?”

  His gaze fell to the side, a long quiet beat. “I don’t know. But there has to be a way.”

  “Of... ?”

  He looked at her. “To take my mother back to the States. Then I’d know she’d be safe.”

  Vivian wished her father would help, but his opinions of Germans, particularly after today, would make him utterly inflexible. It was otherwise a wondrous plan. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

  One side of Isaak’s mouth hinted at a smile. He tucked away a strand of her hair and again pressed his lips to hers. Vivian’s fingers joined behind his neck, drawing him closer. His hand slid beneath her sweater, over her dress, just below her breast. With his other hand he stretched her collar to the side, and his tongue traced over her shoulder in moist, rapturous strokes. Indescribable heat flared through her middle, arching her back, sending a moan from her throat.

  Soon, his fingers left her collar, brushed past the side of her waist and hip, and started their way up under her dress. They traveled over her right stocking and beneath her slip. Once at her garter belt, he slowed his pace as if waiting for her to stop him.

  This was the boundary they never crossed, despite the pulsing of temptation. Out of habit, her hand indeed layered over his, but this time she surprised even herself by guiding him to continue.

  He complied for an instant but then resisted. He peered into her eyes, his forehead creased. “Are you sure?”

  A fresh wave of desire surged through her. More than that, the need to prove just how certain she was-not only of their intimacy, but of her commitment to their future. It was just a matter of time before they would trade vows of forever. Perhaps deep inside she had known this the minute they first met.

  Reinforced by the notion, she returned to their improvised blanket. She faced him before removing her shoes and sweater. The lantern light flickered over his captivated features, reducing her modesty to cinders. Unbuttoning her dress, she let the garment fall. She did the same to her slip.

  Isaak’s hunter-like gaze roamed over her figure. She fought the instinct to cover herself, already feeling naked, but then he came closer. He said nothing as he stripped away his clothes, picking up speed with each article.

  Acutely aware of his arousal, she felt her entire body flush. He finished undressing her, leaving a trail of sensations over every area he touched, and guided her to lie with him. The ground should have been cool through the burlap cloth, yet she scarcely registered the temperature. His mouth, his fingers, sloped over her breasts and down the tautness of her belly, causing her knees to bend.

  “Wait,” she said, barely audible. In her mind she felt her toes dangling over the ridge of a cliff, the drop too far to see. She longed for his profession of love, once more, before taking this final step.

  But then he raised his head, and the look in his eyes made any pledge irrelevant. No matter the words he crafted, she would follow him regardless.

  Fearful though ready, she rose to meet his body and leapt blindly into the void.

  15

  Nothing fully prepares you for the ramifications of your first time.

  From the start, Audra knew that euthanasia was not only a basic part of the job but a merciful one. The terminal surgeries at veterinary school were supposed to have armed her with the required emotional armor.

  They hadn’t.

  The first animal she put down was an old black Lab, deaf and half blind, suffering from liver cancer. It would have been cruel to keep him alive. The family, too, understood this. And yet, after it was over, Audra spent an hour in her office sobbing. Although that inaugural act was the worst of them, to this day an ache would hollow her as she pressed a stethoscope to an animal’s chest and confirmed she’d silenced its heart.

  She could feel the coming of that ache now as she knocked on the front door.

  “We are ready for you,” the mother said, “in the backyard.” Her soft Hispanic accent held a sullen tone. She escorted Audra through her house and out the kitchen door, back into the afternoon light. Two matching Shih Tzus whimpered from an open window, already in mourning.

  Audra’s technician, a young sprite of a gal named Jill, was setting up beside the garden. Lush grass led to a serene pond. Here their medical scrubs seemed almost an offense.

  The daughter of the family sat on a striped, tasseled blanket. No older than ten, she wore a thin glittery headband over her sable bob. In her arms she cradled a fluffy white rabbit with huge pink eyes. Her parents, clients since the clinic’s founding, had made all of the arrangements earlier that week.

  “Hi, Isabella, I’m Dr. Hughes.” Audra cleared her throat, gravelly from another sleepless night. Jack’s dreams had ratcheted up another notch since the festival’s excitement the day before.

  Isabella looked up with tear-filled eyes.

  Audra knelt on the blanket. Her compiled exhaustion would make it harder to control her emotions. “I heard this spot was Snowball’s favorite, right here by the carrots.”

  The girl petted the rabbit’s back and eked out a nod.

  “I know she lived a very long life, and I’m sure she was really special to you. So don’t you worry. I’m going to do everything I can to make this as peaceful as possible for her. Now, I’m just going to take her for a few minutes, then give her right back, okay?”

  At Isabella’s reluctance, her father stepped closer. “Do what the doctor says, mija,” he said gently. She stroked the rabbit’s head, her lower lip quivering, before she obeyed.

  Jill assisted Audra in clipping fur from the rabbit’s front leg to place and secure the catheter. Meanwhile, the mother reprimanded her two young sons for bickering over a lightsaber.

  Audra attempted to hand the rabbit back, just as promised, but Isabella burst into tears and ran into the house.

  “She’ll be fine,” the father told his wife, and gave a signal for Audra and Jill to continue.

  It took Audra a moment to recall her standard script. “First,” she said, “I’m going to give Snowball an injection that will literally make her fall asleep. Then, in thirty seconds to a minute, her heartbeat will stop and so will her breathing. Do you have any questions before I start?”

  They shook their heads.

  After a steadying breath, Audra proceeded as outlined. The rabbit shivered beneath her hand while absorbing enough anesthetic to achieve an overdose. When the time came, Audra held her stethoscope to the animal’s chest. It was over. The rabbit’s eyes remained open, as they always did, staring back like an accusation.

  Usually at this point, owners would share fond stories of their pet. With Isabella hidden away, it wasn’t a surprise that the family bypassed a session of nostalgia.

  Jill helped Audra pack up the equipment and they headed for their cars. The mother waved to them in gratitude before closing the front door.

  “See you at work,” Jill said, her tone subdued, before pulling away. If not for an errand Jill needed to run, they would have driven together. Carpooling was efficient and economical, but also safer when one of them was too emotional to drive.

  Alone in her car, Audra relaxed into her seat. The normal rush of sadness didn’t arrive, and she was relieved for it. She had just started the ignition when a face in her periphery caused her to jump.

  Isabella.

  Audra rolled down the window and offered a smile. “Hey there.”

  “Is Snowball gone?” Isabella’s voice sounded so small it could have fit in a ring box. Trails of dried tears marked her face.

  “I’m afraid so, honey.”

  The girl nodded. Then instead of walking away, she gazed into Audra’s eyes and said, “Is she in heaven now?”

  Audra had been asked the same question dozens of times. It had been easier to answer before she knew the truth.

  She gathered herself, ready to provide a simple yes. Yet when she opened her mouth, the memory of her own nightmare came rushin
g back, of another little girl, an apparition in the clinic, confronting Audra about her dog—and the consequence of her lie.

  Only when Isabella’s face went hard did Audra realized she’d voiced her thought.

  There is no heaven.

  Audra tried to amend her words. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that.” Which was true; she hadn’t intended to hurt her.

  But already Isabella was rushing away.

  “Isabella!” Audra called out as the girl went into the house.

  A pound of shame landed on Audra’s shoulders, pressing her to the seat. She should go inside, repair the damage. Or would she merely make it worse? At this point, any contrary statement would be discounted as deception. Even children knew that once you’ve exposed the Wizard of Oz for an ordinary man, a return to the myth was an impossible feat.

  “I’m sorry,” Audra whispered. The tears came then, not out of grief but longing, for a time when she, too, believed in magic. What she wouldn’t give to have all her problems solved with three clicks of her heels.

  Tess announced her entry with a swift set of knocks. She closed the door behind her and shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets. She didn’t take a seat.

  Audra swiveled in her desk chair to confront the fallout head-on. “I take it you’ve heard.”

  “And so has Hector. The girl’s parents called him directly.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Audra, he thinks you need a break. A chance to ... get your thoughts together.”

  Here they went again.

  “I told you, Tess. I’m fine.” The last thing Audra needed was too much time to dwell—especially now, with Isabella’s expression ingrained in her mind. The latest addition to her collection of mistakes. “Believe me, I feel horrible about what happened. I’ll gladly call and apologize to the family—”

  “Sweetie. This isn’t a suggestion.”

  Audra stared. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying ...” Tess took a breath, a grave look in her eyes. “You’ve been put on leave.”