Miller's Secret

by Tess Thompson

  Her mother smiled, cocking her head to the side. “Yes, I do.”

  All these many years later, and Caroline still experienced the sting of that night.

  Mother tapped her arm. “I’m very proud of you. Do you know that?” she asked. “You’re a good mother and a good person. I couldn’t ask for anyone better than you for a daughter.”

  “Mother, stop. You’ll make me cry.”

  The ocean was bright blue under the afternoon sun. Seagulls cried out to one another, swooping near the waves and back up again. Audrey and Pierce had stopped playing in the surf and were sitting side-by-side on a blanket, eating the sandwiches the cook had made for them. Everything tasted better on the beach, Julius always said.

  “I think you should stay here at the beach until the baby comes. Maybe afterward, too. For the first year, at least. We could enroll the children into the academy in Santa Barbara.”

  “Mother, I can’t just leave Miller in San Francisco alone. It’s at least five hours from us.”

  Her mother’s mouth made a flat line, like it did when Miller was mentioned. “If he chooses to make the drive, he can come weekends.” She waved her hand in the air, chasing away a small fly. “Plus, the staff is there to take care of him.”

  Her parents had kept their house in the city, but they were hardly there, spending most of their time here, even during the winter months. They could easily stay, and like her mother said, enroll the children at the academy. They wouldn’t know anyone, but perhaps they wouldn’t care. Should she? For the first year? Would Miller care if they didn’t come home? No, he wouldn’t.

  “I’ll think about it,” said Caroline. “Let’s see how the rest of the summer goes.”

  “That seems fair,” said Mother.

  “They look like Julius and me at that age, don’t they?” Caroline pointed at Audrey and Pierce, who were working on their second sandwich. They were not talking, just sitting in compatible silence. Audrey knew her brother’s need for contemplative silence and adjusted appropriately, even though she was always bursting with something to say. Audrey and Pierce, although opposites and three years apart, were especially close. Audrey was outgoing and talkative, with a self-assurance and grace that mimicked her grandmother Sophie, whereas Pierce was quiet, reserved, and small for his age, making him and Audrey appear almost the same age. He loved science and mathematics and wanted to be a doctor, like Julius. “Mother, tell me about Julius, before he gets here. Is he much changed?”

  Mother looked out to sea, her eyes seeming to focus just above where the children sat on the shore. “I’m afraid all the men who’ve come back from the war are changed.”

  “Can you describe him to me?” asked Caroline.

  “He looks older. I’m afraid you’ll be shocked when you see him. He’s quieter, too. There’s a sadness in his eyes, like he still sees the atrocities.”

  “The dreadful war,” said Caroline.

  “And the one before it,” said Mother. “Your father still wakes from nightmares. Says he can still feel the mud from the trenches.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad to see him, however he’s come back to us.”

  As if she’d conjured him with her words, she saw Julius walking up the beach. She stood, waving, her heart in her throat. “Mother, here he is.”

  He waved back and set off running for their house.

  She ran down the steps and onto the sand, forgetting she was barefoot. She let out a yelp. “Hot, hot, hot.”

  Mother laughed. “Have you forgotten what the sand feels like in the summer?”

  She laughed, too, running back up the stairs and clinging to her mother’s arm, jumping up and down like a child. “It’s him. It’s Julius.”

  “I’m going inside to discuss lunch with Margaret, my darling,” said Mother. “And leave you two to visit.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Seconds later, Julius reached the porch. He was dressed in a gray linen suit, crisp white shirt, and carried his medical bag. Tossing the bag onto the steps, he reached for her and Caroline leaped into his arms, not caring if it was appropriate or not. Her Julius had returned safely. She drew away from him, examining him for damage. Her mother was right. He did look older. Or perhaps the word was weary. Regardless, he was more handsome than ever. He’d always had a baby face and looked too young to be a real doctor, but the lines around his eyes and the half-moon crevices on the sides of his mouth gave him an air of sophistication. She shuddered to think what he had seen and done. “Julius Nelson, it’s about time you came home.”

  “I’m sorry it took such a long time.” Julius stared into her face, examining her as she had examined him. “Caroline, you look beautiful.” He had a soft, low-toned voice that always made her feel relaxed.

  “I do not.” She smacked his arm. “I’ve been sick all morning. Miller told me I look green.”

  “No, not green. As pretty as you’ve always been. Prettier.” Julius was of medium stature in both height and weight and wore wire-rimmed glasses. His hair was the color of late-September hay and fell against his forehead in waves. His dark blue eyes were often serious, making him seem both scholarly and sad.

  “I have to make a house call after this, thus I can’t stay long, but I had to see you as soon as possible.” He escorted her over to the chairs. “Let’s sit. Your mother tells me you’re not feeling well.”

  “Just nauseous. Nothing to worry over. Can you believe it? Another baby after all this time.” She gestured toward the water. The children were now building a sand castle together. “Audrey’s nine. And now a new baby.”

  He turned to the beach. “That’s Audrey? And Pierce?”

  “Yes, they’ve grown up.”

  “I’ve missed so much.” He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.

  “But you’re here now. We can make up for lost time this summer.”

  He replaced his glasses and looked over at her. “There’s no way to make up for lost time. We can’t get it back, no matter how much we want to.” His face twitched like someone had flicked his left cheek with their fingertip.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked.

  “At Father’s and Essie’s for the time being. They have plenty of room since the twins are married now,” he said. “I hated missing their weddings.”

  “You didn’t miss much. They were small affairs, arranged between the grooms’ leaves,” she said.

  “I’m grateful they both returned safely,” he said.

  “Me too. Everything was gloomy during the war. It was hard to be happy at a wedding when you knew days later the groom would be off to fight.”

  “Caroline, your letters—they often came in bunches, and I would organize them by the postmark date to make sure I read them in the right order. I read them over and over and have saved them all. The way you write made me feel like I was here. Someday we can put them in a book and send it off to a publisher. Letters from Home or some such title.” He smiled. “You’ll be famous.”

  She’d almost forgotten how slowly he talked, as if he had the rest of his life in which to converse. “I don’t think anyone but you would be interested in the details of my rather mundane life.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, feeling more pleased than she should.

  “The work you did for the servicemen’s families was not mundane.”

  “It was nothing. Not compared to your contribution,” she said.

  He let out a long sigh. “It was never enough. We lost so many good men, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.” He held up his hands. “No matter how much I washed, they still smelled of blood.”

  “Oh, Julius.” The back of her throat ached. She wanted to take him in her arms and make his unseen wounds disappear.

  “I thought of you and your parents and the children and this stretch of beach when things were bad and it gave me hope that I’d see something beautiful again.”

  He was less guarded than before the war. Perhaps being close to death every day changed
a person. One would feel the fragility of life more keenly. It would seep into you, waken you to the possibility that life could be snatched from you at any moment. Say what you want to say now, not later. She wondered what would change in her own life if she followed that simple rule.

  He took her forearm in his hand, feeling her pulse. “Shall I take a look at you while I’m here?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. It’s the usual first trimester nausea. My doctor in the city says there’s no reason to worry.”

  “I seem to remember the same ailments when you had Audrey.” His warm hand remained wrapped around her forearm.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Maybe it means we’ll have another girl.”

  “How’s Miller? Will he be down this weekend?” His voice changed when he spoke of her husband, like he was faking his interest.

  “No. He can’t get away. Work, you know.” The rims of her eyes stung. No tears, you ninny. Not after what he’s gone through.

  “The world nearly perished and yet some things never seem to change.” She guessed he meant it to come out as a tease, but it sounded angry instead. He dropped her arm to reach into his pants pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m weepy. Don’t think anything of it.” She dabbed under eyes.

  “No reason to be sorry. We’ve always told one another everything. There’s no reason to stop now.” His statement wasn’t completely true. She hadn’t told him of her true feelings back when they were young, too afraid of his pity.

  For a moment, he simply looked into her eyes and she let herself sink into the comfort she found there.

  “You were away too long,” she said.

  He brushed a curl from her wet cheek with his fingertip. “You’d let me know if you ever needed anything?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He seemed to be thinking of something else he wanted to say, but decided against it. “I should get along. Mrs. Peterson gave birth to a baby boy yesterday and I want to make sure they’re both doing well.” He looked out to where the children were running from a wave, squealing in delight. “It was nice to bring a life in rather than escort it out.” He cleared his throat as he reached down for his bag. “I’m still acclimating. I have these moments that feel unreal, like I’m in a dream.” He paused. “Seeing you, though, it’s as if I were never away.”

  “When can I see you next? Can you come to dinner?”

  “Yes, I’d love to.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Take it easy today, especially with the heat. Maybe rest later with a fan on you.

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “I’ll say hello to Essie and your mother before I go.” He smiled and turned away, crossing in front of her with his familiar long strides, like he was always in a hurry. She fluttered her fingertips as he opened the screen door and disappeared inside the house.

  When she could no longer hear his footsteps, she brought his handkerchief to her nose and breathed in his scent and let the tears slide from the corners of her eyes. Overhead, the mourning doves cooed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Henry

  BILLOWS OF DUST IN HIS WAKE, Henry pushed the gas pedal of his car harder, wanting to get home. He knew why. Obviously. Phil Rains. Her unexpected appearance at his shop had left him distracted for the rest of the afternoon. He’d even found himself counting the hours until it was time to close up shop, which wasn’t something he could remember feeling since his return home. Usually, his work was a grateful distraction from his troubles, but today he had felt alive, happy to be home.

  He bounced in a pothole and lifted several inches off the seat. Out of nowhere, he had a sudden memory, like a photograph before his eyes. It was of William, Rose, and him at the cove, sitting on a blanket with their backs against the large piece of driftwood that Rose called their bench. With Rose in the middle, they sipped from cold beers and watched the sun set over the Pacific. It was before Pearl Harbor, when they could still believe America wouldn’t enter the war, when they supposed they were safe from harm. What he wouldn’t give for just one more second of that moment. How could he have known how few they had left?

  He shook off the dark reflection. Perhaps he would call Rose when he returned home? She would still be at the office, but maybe he could convince her to drive over in the morning and spend the weekend. Rose loved children. Maybe she would play with Teddy in the sand? He knew the answer would be no. It was easier for Rose to stay in the city where the shadows of the past did not lurk in every pothole.

  **

  Promptly at six, Phil and Teddy knocked on his cottage door. It took great willpower not to gasp at his new tenant’s beauty. Her hair was down, attractively arranged in large, loose curls just above her shoulders. A light blue dress, gathered at the waist with a flared skirt, made from a soft, silky material, displayed her slender body to its full advantage. She held a white cardigan sweater, which he asked if he could hang in the closet for her, trying to remember his manners when all he wanted to do was stare at her.

  Teddy, hair neatly combed, wore dungarees and a blue shirt. He carried a bucket Henry recognized from his own childhood. “I see you found my old bucket,” said Henry.

  “He refused to let it go,” she said. “I washed the sand off.”

  “A little sand never hurt anything,” said Henry. “Come in, come in.”

  Her black pumps that made her long legs look even longer clicked on the hardwood floor. What a lovely sound. The bodice of her dress, sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline, flattered her narrow shoulders. She’d been in the sun that afternoon. A strip where her bathing suit straps had lain across her shoulders remained alabaster, but the rest of her glowed with the first hints of a California tan. “You’ve been kissed by the sun.”

  A hand flew to the bare skin above her décolletage. “Yes, we were out this afternoon. Down below, in your cove. It was lovely. Mrs. Thomas came for a visit and we started chatting. Before I knew it, the afternoon had passed.” She placed a hand on Teddy’s head. “This one may be a bear. He played hard.”

  Teddy put his bucket by his feet and held up his hands to show Henry. “Blister.”

  Henry knelt and took the boy’s outstretched hands. “Yes, I see.” A pink blister had developed on his left hand between his index finger and thumb. “Is he left-handed?”

  “Yes. They’ll make him change in school,” said Phil.

  “Nonsense. Don’t let them,” said Henry. “I’m a lefty, and a good thing, too, or I’d be in more trouble than I already am.” He raised his left arm. “Do you see, Teddy, I only have one arm to dig holes with and I’m sure glad it’s the left one I still have.”

  Teddy nodded his head, eyes wide.

  “Please, sit. We could have a drink before dinner, if it suited you. I’ve set the table in the dining room. It’s not often I have guests, so I pulled out the good dishes.” He smiled at Phil, wishing he would stop talking too fast. He was giving himself away acting like a foolish schoolboy. “My mother always fed us in the kitchen except when my father was here for the weekends. I find I do the same, since it’s just me. But tonight, we’ll be fancy.”

  “Me no fancy,” said Teddy. He wrinkled his brow in apparent perplexity as Henry led them into the living room. Always tidy, thanks to Mrs. Thomas, and decorated in light greens and creams with maple wood furniture, including a coffee table and cabinet. It was presentable for a lady. This was good. He hadn’t changed it much since his mother passed, except to add several photos of his parents and a few of the pieces of pottery from the big house in San Francisco. A bouquet of roses from his garden was displayed in the middle of the coffee table. The rich aroma of rose petals, warm from the sun, infused the room.

  “Teddy, I dug around in the shed this evening and I found some of my old toys. Trucks mostly. Would you like to play with them?” he asked.

  Teddy nodded, eyes wide. Henry held out his hand. “Come along. I have them in the spare bedroom. We’ll think of it as your bedroom
while you’re here.” He turned to Phil. “I’ll get him settled and be right back.”

  After Teddy was occupied with the box of toys, Henry returned to the living room. Phil sat on the couch near the window, gazing into the yard, the orange light of the setting sun softening her features. Worried he might startle her, he tapped his knuckles against the doorframe. She rotated to look at him, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Her lips, not plump, but full enough to beg for a kiss, were painted red. She had mascara and blush on tonight as well, both of which made her appear glamorous in addition to pretty. He wondered what her lipstick would taste like if he were to kiss her. Stop that, he told himself. Behave like a gentleman. This is not a date, simply a welcome dinner to my new tenants. A woman like Phil would not be interested in a man like him, especially now. He walked all the way into the room. “Before dinner, my parents always had a cocktail. Would you care for one?”

  “I’ve only ever had a Manhattan. Do you know how to make one of those?” she asked.

  “I do. What American man doesn’t know how to make a Manhattan?” He moved over to the cabinet where he kept alcohol and cocktail tumblers. His father had enjoyed his before dinner drink and had a tumbler and a glass pitcher for just such a purpose. “My father loved Manhattans.”

  “What did your mother drink?” she asked.

  “She always had what he had.”

  “I suppose most women do,” she said.

  He took ice from the bowl he’d filled before they arrived and dropped a generous amount into the glass pitcher, and then poured whiskey, sweet vermouth, and a dash of bitters before stirring. “I don’t think all women, necessarily. My sister, Rose, for example, makes it a point never to do what any of the men around her are doing. If William was having a Manhattan, she would most surely choose a martini.”

  “She must be very independent.”

  “Rose? Yes, independent. Stubborn. Bull-headed. And brilliant. Like my father.” He poured the amber concoction into two glasses. “However, in the spirit of the times, I shall have what you’re having.”