vii.
They sit over cups of steaming Earl Grey and let the memories take their own time.
"I- It's coming back to me," she says. "Not all of it, but some. It was B-Bastogne, I think. You were an American medic."
He absorbs the information, for what future use he doesn't know. "And, I remember…the day the church was bombed. I couldn't find you."
"That must have been when I…died?" The sentence is so foreign and so strange that an almost-laugh becomes strangled in her throat. "I don't remember that. All I remember is tending to the men. They were so young, and in so much pain. Was that church the last stop for them, Gene?"
He nods. "Yes, I don't think we were able to evacuate."
She looks down at his hands as he continues, the tips of his fingers resting transiently on the wooden table.
"After that night, I did what I knew was needed. Tending to the men…my…my friends," he says, shaking his head as the words pour out. "So many of them were wounded in those woods. But pushing onward was the only option."
She swallows hard. "I don't remember talking with you very much. But I'm sure that it happened. I'm sure there's so much more than what we can remember now."
Gene sees her sitting there, blonde hair swept around her face in a messy bun, her wool sweater and her pink cheeks, and feels his heart swell. Renée is unconsciously biting her lip, staring at her hands now.
"I'm so grateful to know that I've chosen my career without such terrible necessity" she says. "It is confirming in me that decision. You and I knew we had a duty to stay in Bastogne, and to help. I knew where my place was. But I didn't have the choices then that I do now."
He takes his hands in hers. They're warm and covered in tiny lines, pressed into her palms. Fingers interlocked, the sheer connection is such a relief she could cry. And suddenly they're standing up, embracing, arms around each other, her cheek resting against his shoulder. They both think that if maybe if they stay like this long enough the memories will all come back.
After what seems like hours they move to sit on the couch in the living room and try and piece together the remainder of what they have dreamt and what they know. It's not much, but Gene and Renée pray they will be more. And there will be.
That night they fall asleep after talking about home, their nightmares during the waking hours. His arms wrapped around her, their breaths rise and fall together as they protect each other against what dreams they hope won't visit them again, at least without such vicious urgency. It would be immeasurably good to see each other in these dreams without pain, to gain a fuller picture of the lives they once led. Maybe, they hope, it will happen the next day, or sometime in the future.
In the morning Renée is still tucked in his embrace, and wakes him with a kiss on the forehead, a stroke of her thumb on his cheek. Every word they speak to each other from now on breathes a silent but ardent thank you. Two lost souls crossing paths again and finding each other, giving the gift of a tomorrow that will never be taken for granted.