by Read, Calia
The train doors open, and at last, the soldiers begin to walk off the train. The cheers that erupt from everybody make my ears ring. But I’m one of those people. I’ve regressed to being a child, and I’m holding Nat just as tightly, and all but jumping up and down with only one interest: finding Livingston.
It doesn’t take long for family members to spot the soldiers they know. Soon, the platform becomes so crowded with bodies it becomes impossible to take a step forward without bumping into someone. Soldiers continue to disembark the train, but they’re all stepping onto the platform so quickly it’s impossible to tell if any of them are Livingston. Serene, Nat, and I stand on our tiptoes, looking for Livingston, before Serene slaps her husband’s arm and points at the train. “You’re taller than anyone here. You do the searching for us.”
He obliges and scoured the crowd. And suddenly a somber Étienne said with enthusiasm, “There he is!”
To our left, breaking through a throng of people, is Livingston. He was different from the polished, gorgeous man everyone knew him to be. His clean-shaven face has been replaced with dark whiskers that pepper his cheeks and chin, and only pronounce his sharp cheekbones.
When we all gave our goodbyes one afternoon in May of last year, Livingston cut a striking figure in his uniform. The olive wool was clean and crisp, with his unit patch on his sleeve. His first lieutenant shoulder straps were perfectly straight. The bronze eagle buttons on his uniform shined, and around the collar, when I saw the distinct letters US, I felt a sense of pride.
Those buttons were now dull. The material around his shoulders shows strain, probably from months of carrying a heavy haversack.
As Livingston stands in front of us, he drops his haversack to the ground and greets us with a half-smirk. There are bags around his eyes. How long has it been since he’s gotten a good night’s rest?
His first hello was to his brother, followed by Serene, then Nat. And then there was me. When Livingston set his sights on me, I felt a jolt rock through me. Sometimes when you haven’t seen someone for so long, you forget certain characteristics.
He takes off his cap and holds it to his chest and gives me a wink. He clearly hasn’t been robbed of his charm.
“No hug?” Livingston shakes his head in mock disappointment. “I shaved and dressed for this occasion.”
Looking over my shoulder, I arch a brow at Nat. “Should I hug a doughboy?”
I turn back to Livingston. He tries to appear unamused, but one corner of his mouth stubbornly tilts upward. “Do you know where that nickname came from?”
“I don’t think anyone does.”
As I lean into Livingston, his family laughs and speaks to one another. My hands curve around his shoulders as his arms rest around my lower back. The voices around us blend, becoming a suppressed sound. All I can hear is the pounding of my beating heart, and all I can smell is the scent of Livingston. He smells of sweat and man. It was disturbingly appealing. We held on for a heartbeat longer than necessary until the sound of a crying baby brings us to our senses.
We begin to pull apart, and when we do, he gives me a small squeeze and briefly leans into me. I would’ve held onto him if no one was watching.
“I’m sure you’re tired and hungry,” Étienne says.
Livingston blinks rapidly at me before he looks away. It’s several seconds before he turns toward Étienne, and replies, “Yes, yes, very hungry.”
“Serene has some food prepared at Belgrave if you’re ready?”
Livingston places his cap on his head, covering his dark hair, gestures toward the ground before him, and smiles at everyone but me. It’s almost as though I imagined that hug and the way he lingered toward the end. “Lead the way.”
Livingston grabs his haversack and slings it over his shoulder as though it weighs nothing. Étienne, Serene, and Nat lead the way. Nat talks about what they’ll have for dinner and how happy she is to have everyone in one place. I step in place beside Livingston, noticing the jealous stares from the women around us. For a second, I bask in the moment and smile victoriously at the ladies. Because Livingston is walking with me, hugged me, and talking with me.
We begin to fall behind and walk past numerous homecomings. Fathers are holding their babies for the first time. Families are remaining still as someone takes photos with a Kodak Brownie. Neither one of us attempts to catch up to his family. He keeps glancing at me from the corner of his eye, looking at me strangely.
Is there a bug on my forehead? Hair caught in the corner of my mouth? Narrowing my eyes, I look at him. “What?”
He shrugs and glances forward, giving a clear view of that perfect profile of his. “You look different, le savauge, that’s all.”
I shake my head. “I’m not different.”
“Start wearin’ dresses?”
“Never stopped.”
“Lose the trousers?”
“Still in my armoire,” I say, without breaking my stride.
Livingston grins, and butterflies build in my stomach. Yes, I certainly forgot about his grin. How could I possibly forget that grin? No one can forget that grin.
Ahead of us, someone honks their horn. I turn and see Étienne waving our way wildly while Nat and Serene lean against the car. I wave back. Livingston does none of the sort. His entire body has locked up. If there was a rifle nearby, I’m sure he would’ve grabbed it. If a bunker was behind him, he would’ve dived for cover.
After a few seconds, Livingston looks around. He blinks rapidly, taking in the heavy crowds, and looks at me. In his eyes, I can see when he settles back into reality, but also when he realizes I saw everything. Shame causes red to stain his cheeks, and he looks away.
Rather than asking if he’s all right and bringing more attention to his reaction, I say, “I’m glad you’re home.”
Livingston’s shoulders imperceptibly sag as though the air has been sucked from him. He smiles at me gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Come here, you two,” Nat says, raising her voice over the noise.
While she begins to tinker with her camera, Livingston groans.
“Livingston, don’t you dare say a word. This is a special memory that needs to be captured. We need a family photo.”
“I can take the photo if you’d like,” I volunteer.
Nat stares at me as though I’ve begun to speak in a different language. “Nonsense. You’ll be in the picture. And when Miles returns, we’ll take another photo altogether.”
“I can’t say no to that,” I say with a smile.
Nat searches for someone in the crowd for several minutes.
“It’s a simple photo, not an oil painting,” Serene mutters and plucks the first person who passes by us.
Nat hands the man her camera as though it’s a delicate piece of china.
“Nat, dépêche-toi s’il te plait,” Étienne grumbles.
Frowning, she lifts her head. “Sois patient!”
Once she’s certain the man knows what to do, she all but skips back to us. I stand on Livingston’s right side, and she takes the space to his left. With Étienne by her, Serene moves close to Nat. As for Livingston and me, we look at one another with a hint of tension that’s never been there between us before. He’s the same Livingston, but something has changed about him.
“You two. Hurry up and get close for the picture,” Serene demands.
Silently, Livingston spreads his arm wide for me to step closer. I move into the space he’s offering. In such close proximity, I can feel the side of Livingston’s body against mine. I link my fingers together in front of me and maintain my composure for the picture. Inside, my heart is doing interesting things. Pounding in my chest before it feels as though it’s tumbling all the way to my stomach. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. And there’s something exhilarating, yet utterly terrifying about the action.
Take the picture. Take the picture! my heart pounds with every second that ticks by.
And the longer I stand there, the hotter I become until
I’m convinced my clothes are going to disintegrate into thin air, and my skin will meld with Livingston’s body.
Once the picture is taken, I step away as though I’ve been burned. Nat gathers her camera, and Serene begins a conversation with Livingston, inevitably pulling him away from me. Every few seconds, he looks at me, giving me the same strange look he did earlier.
If things feel different, it’s because they are. Time has moved forward. That is all.
That is all.
Unhurriedly, we all begin to get into the car one at a time. I can sense Livingston standing behind me while Serene and Nat figure out the seating arrangement. I’m willing to strap myself to the roof to make this all end when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, I look expectantly at Livingston. He stands there with one hand gripping the stained strap of his haversack, and leans into me. “I’m glad to see you, too, le savauge …”
The memory breaks apart, disappearing into thin air. What’s left is a man who refuses to face his past, and strangers oblivious to what he’s experienced. Livingston’s eyes move to the ground. His cheeks are stained red, and his lips are drawn in a tight line. It’s so uncommon to see Livingston at a loss for words, so I react without a second thought.
“I heard it was wonderful there,” I blurt. “Five-star dinin’ and the sleepin’ arrangements were superb.”
Everyone appears shocked by my reply, especially Livingston. Then the small chuckles erupt throughout our small picnic, and the bachelors begin to tease Taylor for asking such a question in the first place.
Livingston looks at me from beneath his lashes. For once, he’s not smirking or wearing an all-knowing expression, and without it, he looks raw, almost boyish. I don’t know what to make of it. But there’s no mistaking what I see in his eyes: he’s grateful for what I said.
It’s time to wave the white flag. This picnic failed miserably.
Serene dramatically yawns and looks at the three of us. “Well, this lunch was riveting, but I’m getting tired. Is everyone ready to go?”
It’s hard to say which one of us jumps up first: Taylor or me. But the ending of this lunch date seems to be the only thing we’ll be able to agree on. It takes us record time to clean up everything, place the leftovers back in the wicker basket, and fold the blankets.
As we walk back to Belgrave, Serene walks with me, and says out of the corner of her mouth. “I do believe we missed the mark with Captain Can’t Crack a Rat.”
Regretfully, I nod.
“Was it just me or did anyone else want to punch him in the face?” she asks.
“It wasn’t just you.”
Sighing heavily, Serene pulls out a folded sheet a paper from her blouse. Has that been there the whole time? On the paper is a list of the bachelor’s names. “I guess that leaves Duncan, Beau, Conrad, Grady, Elijah, and Sean.”
“You truly have that bachelor list memorized, don’t you?” Livingston says from Serene’s right. I didn’t hear him come up on us.
“Of course,” Serene replies without taking her gaze away from the paper. “I’m the curator of said list. I know their names, occupations, dates of birth, and if it wasn’t out of line to get a vial of their blood, I would.”
“You mean, knowin’ the birth date of every bachelor isn’t out of line?” he counters.
Serene shrugs. “Not in the slightest.” She lifts her, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh, God! My notebook is in the wicker basket. Hey, Taylor! Where’s the fire? Wait for me. I need to talk to you!” Serene hollers in the most unladylike manner. If Momma was here, she would drop to a faint.
I watch her half-waddle and half-run toward a confused Taylor and several other bachelors. Once she’s halfway to him, I look at Livingston from the corner of my eye.
“This is the part I despise,” I confess.
“Truly? Because this part is my favorite.”
Swallowing, I slow my steps and look anywhere but ahead of me while Serene tells several bachelors that I will no longer be needing their company.
“I’m sure you’re pleased with how the picnic went.”
Livingston appears to mull over my question before he replies. “I am. You saw me offer the last sandwich to Serene before I ate it. I was ravished, but my manners remained intact.”
“I’m not speakin’ about the sandwich, and you know it. I’m talkin’ about Taylor.”
Livingston’s brows lift in feign surprise. “Oh, is this about his stance on passin’ gas?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that you think I told him to say that, do you?”
“Why not? It’s not a far reach. You’ve done worse.”
“Yes. I’ve been plottin’ this for years,” he says dryly. “After all this time, your ultimate downfall would end up bein’ flatulence.” Livingston shakes his head. “You’re merely frustrated that the lunch didn’t go as you expected, and Taylor is one more bachelor to cross off your absurd list.”
His words make my blood simmer because he’s absolutely right. And I hate that he’s right.
“And I think we both know the closer I approach my sixty-day deadline, the more appealin’ that list begins to look.”
“I can’t wait to hear what you’ll accuse me of next. Before the picnic, I was not allowin’ you the time to get to know the bachelors, and now I’m tellin’ the bachelors what to say.”
“I won’t say anythin’ because I’ll be findin’ my perfect match amongst these bachelors to prove you wrong, Lacroix. Just you wait and see.”
Abruptly, he stops walking. “Is this all the bachelors are for? To prove me wrong?” Livingston doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he continues. “Because I must say, you’re goin’ to be sorely disappointed in the end.”
If I don’t marry one of the bachelors, Momma and I stand to lose everything. If I do marry one of the bachelors, I lose my freedom and a chance of truly finding my soulmate. It seems to me, the ending will be disheartening no matter how I look at it, but I have to make the best of it.
Livingston clears his throat so loudly I’m surprised people on The Battery don’t hear him. Arching a brow, I give him my full attention. He keeps his gaze rooted on the ground as we continue to walk. “I need to tell you thank you … for what you did with Taylor at the picnic.”
He flings his hand toward the path behind us as though that will prompt my memory. But I knew the moment he said Taylor’s name.
“Like you said before the picnic, Taylor’s a cretin,” I say, attempting to put Livingston at ease. He nods and laughs. It’s the type of laugh you give when you’re embarrassed. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Livingston truly vulnerable. Very swiftly, the protective feeling I had for him earlier returns.
“There’s nothin’ to thank. He was bein’ foolish and had no right to ask.”
“Ah, but some people think they do,” Livingston says.
“Most people haven’t experienced what you have,” I point out.
Livingston slowly nods in agreement and goes silent.
“Not all moments were terrible there,” he says suddenly.
I’m so stunned by his omission, I say nothing.
“At first, everythin’ was overwhelmin’. I couldn’t understand this was my life. But gradually …” His words fade, and he shrugs. “You make the best out of your circumstances.” Livingston looks at me from the corner of his eye and gives me a half-smirk. “Comin’ home was certainly nice. Probably one of the best moments throughout it all.”
Linking my fingers together in front of me, I faintly nod and look at him. “It was nice to see you.”
“You have that picture, le savauge?”
Shortly after his return, Nat showed me all the photos she took before she left for Brignac House. Photos of Belgrave and attempts to take pictures of Alex in the garden with her mom, Livingston, and Étienne together in his office. Étienne was unsmiling, and so was Livingston. The energy and life that typ
ically danced in his light eyes wasn’t there though. I didn’t care much for that photo. Toward the end was the picture we took at the Army base terminal. We all stood together. I knew how I felt at that precise moment, and it made me inspect every detail of the picture. The small space separating Nat and Livingston was natural as though they’d stood for a picture beside each other.
There was no space between Livingston and me. Whether we realized it, we leaned into one another like two magnets. My hip nearly in line with his hip and my shoulder below his.
Nat left the picture with me, and I never returned it. It was tucked into the corner of my vanity mirror. I looked at it every day.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I roll my eyes and scoff. “Of course I do.”
Livingston laughs so loudly the sound makes me gasp slightly. I faintly smile because that sound holds so much life. It’s rich with memories. Of happiness, tears, smiles, and laughter. It’s part of Livingston. But I haven’t heard him laugh like that in so long. I almost forgot about that laughter.
My heart unexpectedly flips again. I have the sudden urge to reach out and brush my fingers across his cheek. Livingston’s laughter fades as he sees the look in my eye.
Our moment of peace is interrupted by a collective sound of voices moving toward us. Livingston smiles as the remaining bachelors approach, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’ll leave you with your bachelors. But thank you again.”
He leaves my side before I can say a word. Conrad replaces his spot and immediately heads straight into a conversation about how impolite Taylor was. I nod, but the entire time, I watch Livingston walk back to Belgrave.
It hits me then, the image of Livingston sitting at the picnic with the stark, desperate look in his eyes when Taylor asked him to discuss the war. At that moment, my heart felt strong enough for the both of us. I would’ve said anything to make things right for him, even if they were wrong for me. The revelation rattles me. What else am I capable of doing for him?
Once Livingston disappears from sight, I try to focus on the final five men. I’m getting close to the end. Less dates to have. This should alleviate my worries. If anything, I feel more urgency than when there were thirty bachelors to choose from.
