Winter
Kate hadn't anticipated a honeymoon of any sort. Those were reserved for the wealthy, those who could afford to take lavish trips to exotic places and expensive hotels. But Hugh had insisted and before she knew what was happening, Tommy had been safely deposited with Sarah and Pat, and she was on her way to the Davenport Hotel.
While Hugh attended to the check-in process, Kate wandered through the lobby, her hand grazing across the upholstered furniture and her gaze fixated on the incredible glass ceiling. Everywhere she turned, she was faced with towering arrangements of fresh flowers, saturating the air with their heady perfume. As she ran her fingers through the fringe adorning a lampshade, she marveled at the other people lounging about on the round seats, the men wearing expensive suits and the women buried in soft fur coats. She found herself thinking of Cal and wondered if she had momentarily stepped into his world.
Dinner that night was at the ornate Apple Bower restaurant. Kate looked at the marble columns and meticulously engraved cornices and found it difficult to believe that such a place even existed. As she delved into her roast baron of beef and warm potato salad, her mind was already devising plans to recreate the dish at home. With the right ingredients, she thought she could manage something close.
It was over desserts—an orange chiffon pie for her and chocolate pecan pudding for Hugh, that he leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. "Look to your left," he whispered. "Be subtle, I'm fairly certain that's Mary Pickford."
Kate turned her head to look. "That's not her," she said, studying the young woman seated nearby.
"It's definitely her," he insisted.
"It can't be." The woman had the same long curls as Mary Pickford but Kate's mind refused to believe that a famous actress could possibly be in the same room as someone like her.
"I'll go ask her." Hugh started to get up from the table.
"No," Kate laughed, gently pulling him back down. "Don't do that."
"I could've gotten you an autograph."
"If that was even her."
"It is her."
"Well, even if it is," Kate reasoned. "She's eatin' and it'd be rude to interrupt."
"Fine," he replied. "Perhaps we'll run into her later then."
After dinner, Hugh suggested they head downstairs for drinks and she readily agreed. Just as they approached the bar, a familiar voice called across the room. "Kate!"
Startled, she turned to see Vera making her way through the crowd towards her. "Vera, yer here."
"I'm always here," Vera replied. "It's practically my second home. I am surprised to see you though. I thought you never left that house."
Kate felt a twinge of irritation. "I was just married and this—"
"That's nice," Vera interrupted. "You want to meet Wally?" Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Kate's arm.
Caught off guard, Kate shot Hugh an apologetic look as she was being whisked away. "Who's Wally?"
"That's Walter," Vera replied. "His parents are friends with my parents or something like that. I'm sure I've told you all about him."
"I know you weren't too keen on him." It had been difficult to keep track of all of Vera's romantic escapades.
"Oh, I'm keen now. Look." Vera reached behind her ear, showcasing a jade drop earring. "He bought me these? Aren't they ritzy?"
"They're wonderful."
They reached a young man who stood by the wall, holding a sequined purse in one hand and a drink in the other. His face lit up at Vera's approach.
"Wally," Vera said, taking the drink from him and linking her other arm through his. "This is Kate Brandt. I used to lodge with her whenever my parents were away."
"It's Werner now," Kate corrected. Another last name…she wondered how long it would take to get used to it.
Wally held out a hand. "Hi. Vera talks about you quite a bit. Nothing but the sweetest of things."
"Well, Vera is a lovely girl," Kate said, shaking his hand. "How long have ye known each other?"
"Oh, years and years," he replied. "We practically grew up together."
"It's funny how I didn't fall for you until just recently," Vera said with a smile.
"I suppose I just needed to be patient," Wally responded, leaning down to plant a light kiss on the tip of Vera's nose.
Kate couldn't help thinking that his patience and a generous checkbook must have gone hand in hand. If only he had thought to buy her earrings much sooner. "Well, I need to be gettin' back to me husband," she said. "Don't want to be leavin' him alone for too long. He might grow bored."
"Alright," Vera said but her attention was entirely on Wally.
When Kate returned to Hugh, she found him sitting at the bar, staring into his drink. She took a seat beside him and reached for the on he had ordered for her—a clover club—and took a small sip.
"Oh, you're back," Hugh said, without looking up.
"I am," Kate replied. She ate a raspberry off the skewer that sat across her glass. "That was Vera. She used to stay with me for a time back when I took in lodgers."
"Well, if you'd like to spend some more time with your friend, I can always head back to our room."
She laughed. "Vera can be a bit much at times, but it's just me here now."
Hugh tapped his fingers on his glass. "There aren't any more of your friends lurking about are there?" He asked.
"Haven't spotted any. And I wouldn't exactly call Vera me friend."
He raised an eyebrow. "She was important enough to run off with."
Kate studied him and her smile faltered. "Wait, are ye upset about me talkin' with her?"
There was a heavy pause and then, after a moment, Hugh sighed. "I mean this is supposed to be our honeymoon."
"Supposed to be?" Kate touched his arm. "It is our honeymoon, last time I be checkin'. I can't help it if other people show up to this bar. There are a lot of people here."
"I suppose not." He drained the rest of his glass in one swift motion.
She took another sip of her own drink. Her mind struggled to understand his sudden shift in mood. She had only spent a few minutes with Vera, hardly abandoning him for the entire night.
"Finish your drink," Hugh said suddenly.
"What?"
He pushed the glass closer to her. "Finish it," he repeated.
Kate drained the rest of her drink and set the glass down.
Without a word, Hugh took her hand and began pulling her to the door.
"Where are we goin' then?" She asked, feeling the intoxicating rush of liquor spread through her.
"Where your friend can't follow us."
"And where would that…" Understanding dawned on her and a rush of heat filled her cheeks. "Oh," she breathed. It had been so long.
Sarah tapped her foot anxiously against the floor as she waited for her order to be filled. Half of her attention was on John, who she had brought along to the grocers as a feeble shield against her own fears.
He was busy staring at a display of colorful candies. Noticing her gaze on him, he looked up and hesitantly began. "Can I have—"
"No," Sarah cut him off. She pulled out a few crumpled bills from her handbag and slid them across the counter.
"But it's only—"
"I said no," she replied firmly, grabbing her full basket. "We're finished here. Let's go."
John let out a heavy resigned sigh.
They had only been walking home for a few minutes when Sarah suddenly realized that he was no longer by her side. She stopped and looked back, discovering him with his nose pressed against a display window, his breath fogging the glass. She quickly retraced her steps. As she neared, she saw that the window was brimming with an array of bicycles, air rifles, chess sets, and sleds. The words 'Get him the gift he really wants' were boldly painted across the glass.
John looked at her, his face lit up with excitement. "Can we go—"
Before he could finish asking, Sarah grabbed his hand and started to pull him away.
"But I want to look."
"We're going home."
Defiance sparked in John's eyes as he yanked his hand free from her grasp. "You never let me do anything I want."
"Maybe I'd be more willing to let you do what you want if I hadn't just received a note from your teacher," she said.
"But I wasn't fighting," John insisted. "Jimmy and I were playing cops and robbers and he was a robber. I couldn't just let him go."
"Your teacher said you tackled him in class."
"It hadn't begun yet and it was important."
"It was important that you tackle him?"
John sighed. "You never understand." He turned away and began to walk, quickening his pace to stay ahead of his mother.
"John, slow down."
He ignored her, only walking faster.
Anxiety ran through Sarah's veins. "John!"
He suddenly broke into a run.
She started to follow suit but almost immediately slipped on a patch of ice, landing hard on her knees, the items in her basket scattering across the cold pavement. "Damn it," she muttered as she threw everything back into her basket. Both of her knees hurt, one more than the other, but beyond the physical pain, she felt an overwhelming urge to cry. She blinked back the tears and gingerly rose to her feet, a sharp intake of breath escaping her as she tested her weight on her injured knee.
The moment she stepped inside the house, she called out. "John?" But only silence answered her. She reached his closed bedroom door and hesitated a moment before knocking softly. "John?"
"Leave me alone," his voice came through the wood.
Sarah felt the beginnings of a headache taking hold, throbbing deep behind her eyes. She was tired, more so than she could ever imagine. But it was the weight of something deeper, a suffocating emptiness that left her feeling hollow. She retreated into her own bedroom, dropping the basket of groceries on the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. She wished so much that Pat was home so he could take over everything and she could hide away from the world, if only for a fleeting moment.
Louise's arm was linked with Fabrizio's as they strolled along the street, beneath the glow of street lights and neon displays. The sidewalks, always busy no matter the time of day or night, were filled with couples and groups laughing and chatting happily despite the cold weather. "You ever wonder why all the speakeasies are always in basements?" Louise asked. She was already tipsy from a day spent drinking and leaned on him as they walked. "I know they're trying to hide but it's not much hiding when it's in every single basement."
"I don't know," Fabrizio replied, giving her a concerned look. He wished that she had a film to work on, anything to keep herself busy, to keep her from drinking so excessively. "Maybe they—" His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as his eyes caught sight of Lelia in the distance, making her way toward them. He gently tugged at Louise's arm. "We cross here," he suggested, attempting to lead her across the street. He didn't know why he so desperately wanted to avoid Lelia.
"Why ever would we do that?" Louise replied. "The place is on this side. Oh, is that Lelia?" She gave Fabrizio a curious look before calling out. "Lelia!" She eagerly waved her arm in the air.
As Lelia approached them, Fabrizio wished he could vanish into thin air. He had not only not spoken to her since Christmas, he had avoided Rose's office entirely.
"I haven't seen you in a while," Lelia said before he had a chance to apologize. "I thought I might've offended you or…"
"No, not at all," he replied. He scrambled to think of something to say. "Your gift, it was…very nice." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Thank you for it."
"Did it fit? I had to guess your size."
Unable to meet her eyes, he looked at a point beyond her. "I haven't…um…"
"Oh." Lelia's smile vanished and silence followed.
"But I think it very nice though," Fabrizio quickly added in an attempt to salvage the moment.
Louise happily watched the exchange, thoroughly enjoying their discomfort. "What is the matter with you two?" She asked. "You two are acting like you just got caught necking."
Lelia's face turned scarlet.
"I think we should go," Fabrizio said.
"Fine." Louise shrugged. "You want to come?" She asked Lelia. "Then you two can continue whatever this is." She gestured between them.
Lelia shook her head. "No, I would only intrude."
"Your loss," Louise retorted with a dismissive way of her hand. She swiftly hooked her arm through Fabrizio's once again and gently steered him away.
Fabrizio thought of Lelia's crestfallen face and felt an overwhelming wave of guilt. He had never intended to hurt her and knew that she deserved so much better. Abruptly, he pulled free from Louise. "One moment," he told her. "I be back."
"Lelia," he called out as he ran to catch up with her.
She turned to look at him and managed a smile but it flickered out.
"I do like it," he said. "No one ever do such a thing for me before."
"So you really do like it?"
He nodded. "I'm afraid to wear it," he admitted. "It's too nice."
A glimmer of happiness had returned to Lelia's face. "I want you to wear it. And if anything happens to it, I can always make you another one."
"You want to come with us?" Fabrizio asked, sincerely. "Please come."
Lelia's gaze shifted to Louise who waited impatiently with her arms folded. "I don't wish to be rude, but Louise rubs me the wrong way sometimes. If it were just you…" Her voice trailed off, her cheeks flushed pink.
"Maybe next time then," he replied. "Have a good night." He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
And suddenly he was watching Helga being pulled away by her father, looking back over her shoulder and their eyes meeting one last time and he couldn't breathe.
A gentle touch on his arm broke his reverie. "Fabrizio?" Lelia looked at him with concern. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," he replied, feeling shaken by the unexpected memory. "I'm fine. I need to go now."
She smiled at him. "Good night then."
As he rejoined Louise, he looked back over his shoulder at Lelia who still watched him, a wistful smile on her face. He still hadn't figured out why she reminded him so strongly of Helga. They didn't look the same, but yet there was an inexplicable familiarity that stirred something deep within him.
"You know, I think she's keen on you," Louise pointed out.
"You think?" Fabrizio looked back once again, hoping to catch another glimpse of Lelia, but she had already vanished into the darkness.
It had become common for Pat to return home after a day of work to find Sarah and John not speaking to one another. He had grown used to the tension that seemed to lay over everything and everyone ever since Sarah had lost the child the year before. But the heavy feeling had only grown worse in recent days, finally culminating in a shouting match when John had brought home a note from school. Not long afterward, he left the mill to find both Sarah and John shut up in their respective rooms, refusing to speak to him. Pat, who was still working out just how he became the person holding everything together, couldn't shake the feeling that he was the one who had done something wrong.
The next morning, over breakfast, John loudly announced that he was running away from home. Sarah quietly continued with her tea. Pat, not knowing how to respond, could only question, "Are ye sure?"
"One hundred percent," John stated before storming out of the house.
"He'll make it to the end of the block," Sarah said. "Maybe to your sister's but I doubt he'll get any farther before deciding he's hungry."
An hour later, Pat stepped outside to see John sitting upside down on the porch swing, his legs up along the backrest. "I thought ye were runnin' away?"
John folded his arms across his chest and let out an irritated huff.
"Alright." Pat took a seat next to him. "What's the matter with ye?"
"Nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothin'." Pat looked at him and wondered if he even had the right to be prodding into John's life. He was Sarah's son, first and foremost. He sighed and was about to walk away when John spoke again.
"What's wrong with mom?"
"What?" Pat was taken aback. "There's nothin' wrong with her."
"There must be."
"Why don't ye right yerself so I'm not talkin' to yer feet," Pat said, sensing a long conversation ahead.
John swung his legs down and righted himself.
"Now, why do ye think there's somethin' wrong with her?"
John took a deep breath and, after a moment, began. "She never lets me do anything and I don't just mean the dangerous things but I'm not even allowed to leave the house alone even though all of my friends go wherever they please and do whatever they want." The words came out in a rush. "She makes me go shopping with her but I never get to go into any store that I want. Jimmy's mom always buys him a soda when he runs errands with her but I can't even look in the windows without being scolded."
Pat nearly laughed but the serious look on John's face stopped him. "That's not anythin' wrong with her. She's just bein' a mother. All the good ones are like that."
"But it's not just that," John insisted. "She doesn't even like me."
"Why would ye think that?"
"She never talks to me unless I've done something wrong," John said. He grew quiet. "She doesn't like me."
Pat knew that Sarah had struggled ever since losing her husband. Years earlier, she had confessed to him just how hard it was to look at her son, to hear his name spoken. He thought she had been doing better, and she certainly made an honest effort, but perhaps it was too late to have made much difference. "That's not true at all," he said. "Yer mother loves ye a great deal."
John scoffed. "She gets all sad when she's around me."
"That's not…" Pat sighed. "That has nothin' to do with ye," he said, after a moment. "Yer mother just gets sad sometimes and—"
"Why?"
Pat struggled to find the right words. He wasn't sure if there was even a way to explain what Sarah was going through and he was afraid that John wouldn't understand. "She…she's had her heart broken a few times before and every now and then, somethin' triggers those old wounds, makin' her feel sad," he said, cautiously, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "I know she may not talk much when she's feelin' that way, she doesn't talk much to me either, but I do know that she loves ye."
John shrugged and began to swing his legs.
"If ye can't see it now, ye'll see it someday, I promise."
"Hard to see it when she's always yelling at me," John grumbled.
Something clicked and Pat suddenly understood where his terrible mood was coming from. "She yelled at ye just one time that I know of."
"She yelled at me twice," John said. "And I didn't even do anything wrong but she won't listen."
"Ye shouldn't be playin' cops and robbers durin' yer lessons."
"I wasn't playing cops and robbers."
"That's what ye told yer mother."
John fell silent, his gaze on one of the trees in the distance.
"John?" Pat nudged his arm. "What were ye doin' then?"
He gave a heavy sigh. "Jimmy said something and I had to hit him."
"Ye had to?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
John's feet stopped swinging abruptly and he stared down at them. "I don't want to say," he mumbled.
"John," Pat's voice was firm.
"He called…mom…something." John kept his gaze averted as he spoke.
Pat waited patiently for him to continue.
After a moment, John gave him a quick sideways glance. "He said she was…cracked."
"He said yer mother was cracked?" Pat asked skeptically.
John fidgeted in his seat. "No."
Pat sighed and wished Kate was there. She was better than him at getting to the truth of a matter. "John, ye need to be honest with me."
"Fine," John said suddenly. "He said you were so I hit him."
"John."
"I'm telling the truth," John insisted. "He said that his father said that you was cracked and was going to go to an asylum someday. I said you weren't but he didn't listen so I hit him to make him hear better."
Whatever Pat had been expecting to hear, it wasn't that and it took him a moment before he managed to find his voice. "Well, Jimmy sounds like a right cad, so maybe ye should just ignore him the next time."
"I can't do that."
"Then at least save it for after yer lessons." Pat looked around the yard, desperately searching for a way out of the conversation. He had always tried so hard to ignore the voice in the back of his head, the one reminding him at every moment that something was fundamentally broken inside of him, that to hear it said aloud—even coming from John's schoolmate—was a shock. An unexpected confirmation of his deepest fears.
"I don't think you're cracked," John said quietly.
Pat forced a smile. "Yer a good lad."
John began to swing his legs again. "Am I in trouble for running away?" He asked.
"I think ye have to make it off the porch for it to count as runnin' away, so I would say no."
"In that case, can I have a bicycle?"
"Ask yer mother."
John groaned. "That means no."
"They're very expensive," Pat pointed out. He had seen them in the stores and didn't know how anyone could afford one.
"Jimmy has a bicycle."
"If yer willin' to go without food for a week, then sure, ye can have a bicycle."
"Are we talking mom's cooking, your cooking, or Aunt Kate's cooking?"
"All of it."
"Oh." John looked at him. "What if I get a job?" He asked hopefully.
Pat laughed. "If ye manage to find a place that's willin' to hire an eleven year old that doesn't involve sellin' newspapers on a street corner, ye let me know."
"Mom probably wouldn't let me."
"No, she surely would not," Pat agreed. "Ye need to be stayin' in school."
John made a face. "I don't see the point."
"Well, if ye ever want a job that pays well enough to afford bicycles, then that's the point."
"You have a job and you can't afford a bicycle," John said.
"True but that only proves me point," Pat replied. "I was only in school until I was fourteen and then I had to drop out and get meself a job to help the family." He sighed at the memory. "I wish I could've stayed in school for longer."
"Why?"
"Because I liked learnin' and maybe if I had more of it, I'd have a better job now and I could buy ye and yer mother nice things."
John grew thoughtful. "So you're saying that I only need to go for three more years?"
"That's not what I'm sayin' and ye know it," Pat replied. "Yer goin' to high school, lad."
John groaned.
"And I'm fairly certain that I heard yer mother mentionin' college the other day," he continued.
"College?" There was a high note of panic in his voice.
"But don't ye worry." Pat tousled his hair. "Ye got another seven years of schoolin' before ye have to be worryin' about that."
"I don't really have to go to college, do I?"
"Ye know that yer father went to college?"
"My father?" John looked confused for a moment. "Oh, that one. Did you know him?"
"No, I never had the chance to meet him," Pat said. "But I know he was a clever man. He had his own business and he was mighty successful at it." He hated the thought of comparing himself to Sarah's first husband because he knew he didn't come close. He couldn't possibly. "Yer mother wants that for yerself," he continued. "So ye can go through life without worryin' about anything."
"But what if I go to college and I'm still not any of that?" John asked. Worry was etched on his face.
"Ye'll still be fine, I promise."
John sighed and leaned back, his legs still swinging back and forth.
"Now go apologize to yer mother for runnin' off on her yesterday," Pat said. "I know ye haven't done it yet."
"But—"
"She slipped and fell tryin' to catch up with ye."
John stopped his swinging legs. "Fine," he sighed, hopping off the swing.
The moment John disappeared back into the house, Pat let out a breath and put his face in his hands. It was one thing to pretend that everything was fine but deep down, it was as though his world was being held together by the thinnest of threads and, at any moment, it was about to fall into pieces.
Spring
Cal had grown tired of wallowing in self-pity. He knew that nothing was going to improve and the thought of more years of the same, the rest of his life, no better, was hard to swallow. No matter how abominable Dinah's behavior had become, he simply couldn't allow things to spiral further out of his control. Something needed to change. Or maybe, he considered, he was simply drunk.
He had found them all sitting together in the drawing room and, after a moment of uncertainty, he settled into a chair beside Dinah. "How's your day been?" He asked, trying to sound pleasant.
At once, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Fine, since when did you care?"
He shrugged. "I'm just trying to be nice."
The children watched the exchange between their parents, clearly surprised to see them conversing without blatant hostility.
Dinah rolled her eyes. "Alright," she sighed. "What game are you playing?"
"Game?" As she remained silent, her stare unwavering, he continued. "I figured it was about time we did something as a family." Even as he spoke them, he knew the words sounded absurd.
"Are you drunk?"
"No," he quickly denied it, the two drinks he had already drunk weighing heavy on his guilty conscience.
Dinah sighed. "Well, I suppose this could be interesting. So, what's your grand plan for us as a family then?"
Cal pondered for a moment before answering. "Trip to Coney Island?"
The two boys jumped up with excitement, their eyes eagerly turning to their mother.
But Dinah's response was immediate and firm. "Absolutely not," she said. "You're not taking my children to a place like that."
"What's wrong with it?" He questioned, genuinely confused.
"I might be able to get behind the idea of acting like a family every once in a while," she began, her bitterness seeping through her words. "But based on the company you've been keeping, you're no longer a good judge on what's appropriate. And your hands-on approach to parenting? Let's not even begin to delve into that." She shuddered.
"I'm sorry if I actually enjoy spending time with our children," Cal fired back.
Ignoring him, she continued her barrage, her words fueled by years of pent-up resentment. "You know, I can't stop thinking about how your father must be rolling in his grave," she said. "The Hockley name used to mean something but now…" She let out a heavy sigh. "I am not going to let you ruin my children." Rising from her seat, she motioned to the boys. "Victor, Arthur, come. Now."
Reluctantly, the two children followed their mother's command, stealing glances back at their father.
As Dinah paused in the doorway, she cast one final look at Cal. "Let's face it, the sooner you drink yourself to death, the better it will be for all of us."
Cal remained in his seat, stunned into silence as her words hung heavily in the air.
The sun was starting to set as Kate walked home from visiting Sarah. It was slow going as she had Tommy with her and the five year old was continuously finding himself distracted by everything: plain gray rocks, particularly crunchy looking leaves, passing cars. But she hardly noticed as her own mind was preoccupied. Sarah had been having a hard time for years but the loss of her child seemed to have triggered something within her. And Pat, he did his best to hide it, but Kate knew him well enough to know how badly he was also struggling. She desperately wished they could find a way to help each other through whatever it was they were going through but instead she worried that they were on parallel tailspins.
Finally, arriving at home, she opened the door. "Now go wash up," she told Tommy as she herded him through the doorway.
"Where've you been" Hugh asked. He sat rigidly in a chair near the entrance, a glass clutched tightly in his hand. The scent of whisky lingered in the air.
"Visiting Sarah." Kate hung up her coat.
"This late?"
"I'm sorry, I must've lost track of time."
Hugh snorted derisively. "Well, no need to worry about dinner. We might as well just wait until breakfast."
"Ah, stop yer melodrama," Kate replied, kissing his cheek. "I'll get it started now."
"We won't be eating until ten at this rate."
"Then I'll just have to whip up somethin' quick," she said. "Or I can make ye a sandwich if ye don't want to be waitin' at all."
"So that woman gets all of your attention and we're stuck eating sandwiches."
"Are ye angry with me?"
"You're my wife," Hugh said. "Your priorities should be here."
"I am yer wife but just because we're married, it doesn't mean my world suddenly revolvin' entirely around yerself."
"It doesn't?" He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I must be mistaken on what the word 'obey' means."
Kate felt a flutter of fear run through her. "I was just payin' a visit to a friend, ye know. I didn't mean to lose track of time."
"Poor, helpless Sarah." His voice dripped with mockery. "She's lucky to have you."
"She just lost her child," Kate replied. "Of course, she's goin' to be—"
Without warning, Hugh hurled his glass against the opposite wall. He stood and grabbed his coat.
"Where are ye goin'?" She clenched the fabric of her dress in an attempt to steady her trembling hands.
"Out to find my own dinner," he said, opening the door.
"I'll make somethin'."
"Don't bother." Hugh slammed the door behind him.
Kate stood there a moment, shaken to her core. Her gaze fell on Tommy who had been silently watching the whole exchange. She took a deep breath and managed a faint smile. "Would ye like to help me with dinner?" She asked him as she bent down to scoop up the pieces of broken glass.
Tommy's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
She rose to her feet, carrying the fragments of shattered glass with her. "Come on then," she beckoned, guiding him toward the kitchen. "I reckon it'll just be the two of us." A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "Like the old days. Won't that be fun?"
Pat came home from the mill one day, to find John sitting on the sofa, nonchalantly devouring slices of bread. "Are ye eatin' bread?" He asked, despite the answer being clear.
John shrugged. "I was hungry and couldn't find anything else."
"Where's yer mother?"
"In her room sleeping," John replied, giving Pat a knowing look. "She's been there all day."
Pat was momentarily at a loss on what to do. It wasn't like Sarah to leave John to his own devices for an entire day, no matter how she might've been feeling. "There's ham in the icebox," he said at last. "If yer goin' to be eatin' bread, ye might as well make it into a sandwich."
After shooing John into the kitchen, he went upstairs to their room. Sarah was beneath the blankets, facing the wall.
"Sarah?" He said softly.
She immediately pulled the blanket up over her head.
Pat sat beside her and pulled the blanket back down. "Ye need to talk to me."
She didn't say anything.
"Come on, now." He brushed her hair back from her face. "Not speakin' when somethin's botherin' ye is me thing. Ye don't get to take that away from me"
There was a flicker of a smile and Sarah sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Pat thought of how many times he had wondered the same thing about himself.
"I don't know why I'm sad. I have no reason to be," she continued. "I'm just so tired."
He gently stroked her head. "I know ye are and I know yer havin' such a hard time right now. I wish I could fix things for ye." He thought of his own struggles and pushed back the worry. How could he fix things for her when he couldn't fix them for himself? "John needs ye."
"He says he doesn't."
"He's still a child and…" Pat hesitated, unsure on whether to say it or not. "Right now, he's a child who thinks his mother doesn't love him." He could see her tense up and immediately regretted his words. "I told him he was wrong," he quickly added. "That ye loved him madly. Because I know ye do."
Sarah looked up at him then slowly pushed herself into a sitting position.
Pat noticed that she must have dressed herself at some point and then gone back to bed. "Would ye look at that. Yer halfway up." He tried to sound cheerful.
"You must think I'm a terrible mother."
He put his arms around her and pulled her close to him. "I've told ye this before. I don't think yer a terrible mother. I think ye've gone through some terrible things and yer doin' the best ye can."
"Kate's gone through terrible things as well and she's perfectly fine."
"Katie may be actin' like she's fine but I know she's not," he replied. No one who was fine would've married a man like Hugh. "And she hasn't faced half of what ye have."
Sarah didn't reply.
"I'm proud of ye," Pat continued. "Most people couldn't handle what ye've gone through."
"Who says I'm handling it?"
"I do and until ye've run away to another country in the dead of night, I'd say yer doin' an excellent job." He gently kissed her head.
There was a flicker of a smile again. "You smell like sawdust, you know," she said softly.
"I'm sorry about that," he replied. "I just came from the mill."
"I like it." She nestled against him.
He held her for a moment longer before cautiously suggesting, "Do ye want to get up for a bit?"
Sarah shook her head.
"Could ye at least move to the sofa so I can keep an eye on ye?" He asked. "I haven't gotten to see ye all day and I've missed ye."
She closed her eyes briefly. "Alright," she said once she opened them again. "Could you give me a moment?"
"Of course." He kissed her head again.
Pat went downstairs to find John eating a sandwich on the sofa. "Not on the sofa. Go," he playfully scolded, chasing John into the kitchen for the second time. "Did ye save any for me?"
"There's some," John mumbled between mouthfuls. "Do we have any apples?"
Pat tossed him one from the pantry. He had just started making himself a sandwich when Sarah entered the room. She still looked sad and her dress was wrinkled but she had pulled her hair back into a tidy braid.
"I can make you something," she offered, coming up beside him.
"Nah, I can manage a sandwich on me own." He kissed her cheek. "Go sit down and I'll make ye one."
After making the two sandwiches—and hoping there wasn't any possible way he could mess them up—he brought them to the table. He set one in front of Sarah who sat beside John, looking uncertain with her hands in her lap. And he took the other one to his own seat on her other side.
"Do you want my apple?" John asked Sarah, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.
Sarah blinked in surprise. "Thank you," she said, smiling softly.
Pat felt her foot lightly nudge his leg.
John set the apple on her plate. "There's no bruises on it or anything," he explained. "I checked."
"I can see that," Sarah said.
Pat nudged her back.
John shoved the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth all at once. "I don't like them when they're bruised," he said, after he had swallowed.
"I don't either," she replied.
Pat watched them and felt hopeful for the first time in a long while. Maybe they would all be okay somehow.
Summer
Fabrizio had mustered up the courage to ask Louise to dinner and to his surprise, she accepted. He was even more surprised when, after ensuring that she had both heard him correctly and understood that he was not asking her to get drinks with him, she still said yes. Determined to make a good impression, he carefully chose the nicest restaurant that he could afford—which, admittedly wasn't all that nice, dressed in his best, and waited for her to arrive.
But as the minutes ticked by, Fabrizio was forced to admit to himself that Louise wasn't going to show and disappointment began to settle in. He must've been foolish to expect anything else. Just as he was about to give up and head home, he saw Lelia enter the restaurant with a young man at her side. He felt a flicker of jealousy that he couldn't ignore as he watched them together.
Lelia spotted him at that moment and he smiled at her. At once, she excused herself from the young man and approached his table. "We really do run into each other everywhere, don't we?" Her voice was filled with a strange nervousness.
"Are you on a date?" He asked.
Lelia looked back at the young man before answering. "I am," she admitted. "He had been pressuring me for some time now and I suppose I finally gave in." She gestured to the other place setting. "It seems like I'm not the only one."
"I'm waiting for Louise."
"Oh, well, I better get back then before she arrives. I wouldn't want to spoil things for you."
"She's not arriving."
"What?"
"She supposed to arrive an hour ago."
"I'm sorry," she said, but there was no surprise in her voice.
Fabrizio shrugged.
Lelia looked at her date then back to Fabrizio. "I should probably be getting back," she said. She gave him a soft smile before walking away.
However, to his surprise, she returned moments later and slid into the seat across from him. "He had somewhere else to be so it seems we're both on our own tonight."
Fabrizio raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"No, I sent him away," she admitted. "I was actually hoping for an excuse to get out of it. I hope you don't mind."
"I don't mind."
They fell silent as the waiter came to take their orders but after he left, Lelia spoke up. "I'm sorry but I need to ask…why Louise? I've been wondering about it for some time and I just can't sort it all out."
Fabrizio hesitated. "She is…" not you, he thought. "...fun." Though it wasn't exactly the sentiment he wanted to express, he had no better explanation.
"I suppose that's one word for it," she replied. "I wouldn't think being used as a prop to find rich men would be much fun."
"You don't like her?"
"I like her fine." Lelia paused as the waiter returned with their dishes. "I just don't like what she's doing to you. She's not nice."
Fabrizio looked at her, confusion on his face. He couldn't recall any instances of Louise being anything but kind to him. She was demanding and pushy, yes, but she cared for him. At least, he believed she did.
"Fabrizio," Lelia said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Do you even like me?"
"Of course."
"I see." There was an unmistakable note of skepticism in her voice.
"I do like you," he repeated. "It's just…" He took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if it was anything he could explain but he knew he needed to try. "I love this woman once," he began. "Helga and she…I lost her." The night came rushing back to him, the terrified cries, the icy water, Helga's misplaced trust in him…
"Was this on the Titanic ?" Lelia asked, quickly looking abashed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…Ms. Dewitt-Bukater once mentioned both of you being on it."
He nodded.
"What happened?"
A part of Fabrizio wanted to refuse to answer, to walk away, or even to send Lelia away. But, unable to stop himself, it all came out. "I was responsible for her. I was going to keep her safe. But there were so many people everywhere we turn." He sighed. "We did make it to a boat but it was trapped by the water. So many people tried to get on it." He closed his eyes briefly as he remembered. "She was right beside me one moment and then a wave came up." He demonstrated with his hand. "And she was gone."
Lelia reached across the table for his hand.
"I tried hard to forget her but when I see you, I think of her," he continued. "I remember that night like it just happen."
"I am so sorry," she whispered the words.
He looked around the restaurant, at the tables filled with happily chatting couples, all oblivious to the conversation going on at their table. And then he looked at Lelia who watched him, a look of genuine sadness on her face. "I think I'm afraid. I don't want to go through that…that sadness again."
A momentary silence fell over the table as Lelia absorbed his words. Finally, she broke it, her voice filled with warmth. "You can shut yourself off from everything in the world to keep from getting hurt, but that's a terrible way to live your life." She looked at him. "Because it's not just pain, you're also missing out on wonderful things. The potential for wonderful things," she clarified.
Fabrizio desperately wanted to believe her.
"You were right, you know," Lelia said.
"About what?"
"Being Italian," she replied. "I was born in Ravello. But my family moved here when I was eight so I hardly remember it and I don't like mentioning it."
He wasn't surprised to hear her admit it, but he was surprised to learn that they had once lived so close to each other. Ravello was just down the coast from Positano. "Why you don't like mentioning it?"
She sighed. "Not long after we arrived, I was walking with my father. The sun had just gone down and he wanted to show me the lights. I hadn't seen electric lights before," she explained, her voice filled with lingering pain. "We hadn't gone far when two men came out of nowhere. I hid in a doorway with my hands over my ears. Later, my father said they were only looking for money and maybe they were. But I heard the words they said...the horrible names they called him." Emotion choked her voice and she took a long drink of water to compose herself. "I've never forgotten it," she confessed.
"I am sorry," Fabrizio said once she had finished.
"It was a long time ago." She smiled at him. "But now we've both shared a secret."
He looked at her with admiration. She spoke so openly about her painful experiences and he marveled at her strength. He could hardly even think about what had happened to Helga, what he had gone through.
"I'm glad Louise not come," he admitted.
"Me too." She smiled again and he felt a flutter in his stomach.
A day spent at Natatorium Park had been Pat's idea but Sarah had a strong suspicion that John was the one really behind it. Lately, the two of them had become inseparable, with John faithfully trailing Pat around the house like a devoted shadow. She found it surprising, considering that Pat always claimed to be terrible with children. In another example of him always selling himself short, he was actually wonderful with John. Better than her, in any case.
The park, itself, was a sensory overload. The pathways overflowed with people enjoying the sunshine-filled day, while the air resonated with laughter and excited chatter. Near the park entrance, sat a massive green dragon, its colossal head resting on the ground. Sarah watched as a small child shot out of its mouth with a happy shout. Glancing at John, she saw his jaw drop and his eyes widen.
John looked up at them. "Can I—"
Before he could finish, Pat pressed a dime into his hand and John vanished into the crowd.
Sarah slipped her hand into Pat's and they moved to one side, finding a spot where they could watch child after child going down the slide. A faint drift of music reached her ears and she turned her head to try to find the source.
Instead, she caught sight of a familiar figure heading their way. A surge of anxiety rippled through her and she felt a knot form in her stomach. "Can we hide?" She whispered to Pat.
"From what?"
"It's that woman I always run into at the grocers. I don't remember her name."
Pat turned to look. "Mrs. Springer," he recalled.
"How do you know—" Sarah's words trailed off as the woman approached, stopping a bit too close for comfort.
"Mrs. Clarke," the woman greeted with an air of false surprise. "How surprised I am to see you here." She had a small child on her hips. "My granddaughter," she explained preemptively.
"It's Murphy now." Sarah inched closer to Pat.
"Why?"
"Because I married again."
"To whom?"
"My husband."
"Husband?" Mrs. Springer looked perplexed.
"That'd be me," Pat interjected.
"Oh." The woman gave him a scrutinizing look, wrinkling her nose in subtle disapproval. "Hm. I see. Well." She shook her head dismissively. "I'm sure I can't keep up with all of your dalliances."
"What dalliances?" Sarah asked.
"Where's your dear son?" The woman looked around the park. "You didn't leave him at home, did you? Poor boy."
Sarah tightened her grip on Pat's hand. "John's on a ride at the moment."
"I see," the woman said again. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you had to save up a great deal to be able to afford such a treat and I wouldn't want to spoil it." With that final jab, Mrs. Springer turned on her heels and walked away.
Sarah let out a long breath and looked at Pat. "That was almost like you didn't exist."
"I'm fine with it," he replied.
"I wish I didn't exist." She hadn't meant to say the thought aloud.
"I don't."
Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes I feel you might be the only one."
"Well, if that's not the biggest lie I've ever heard in me life—there he is." Pat redirected her attention to the dragon and John, who was scrambling to his feet.
John spotted them and hurried over with a wide smile on his face. "Can I go again?" he asked eagerly.
"Sure," Pat said. "Ye can spend all of yer money on this one, but I reckon there are other rides ye might want to give a go first."
"Oh, right."
As they walked farther into the park, Sarah longed to linger among the flower-lined paths. But every time she stopped to look closer at one of the large blooms, John impatiently tugged on her arm, urging her forward. Soon enough, the roller coaster came into view, the wooden structure towering against the sky. Screams of exhilaration echoed through the air from its riders.
John stared at it in awe. "Wow," he breathed.
Pat lightly nudged him. "So are ye tacklin' this one then?" He asked, pointing to the coaster.
"I don't know," John responded nervously. "Can we come back later?"
"Of course we can," Sarah said. "I don't think it's going anywhere." Unless one of those trains comes flying off the track, she thought. She didn't understand how it all stayed together.
John took off walking and they both followed behind him.
Leaning into Pat, she quietly asked him. "You hate this so much, don't you?"
"How can ye tell?"
"You're crushing my fingers."
"I'm sorry." He immediately loosened his grip on her hand. "It's just..loud."
Sarah smiled reassuringly at him. "I know what you mean. I didn't expect there to be so much screaming." She had assumed that anything labeled a 'park' would consist of flowers, gardens, and pleasant benches. Not terrifying rides and a cacophony of noise.
They reached a small pond where the next ride awaited. Joining a crowd of other spectators, they watched as a boat shot down the steep hill, plunging into the pond with a resounding splash. The spray of water transformed into a vivid display of colors under the sunlight.
John turned to Pat. "Will you go on it with me?" He asked.
"Sure ye don't want to go by yerself?"
John shook his head. "I mean I could but…" His voice trailed off in uncertainty. "Please, go with me?"
Pat sighed and looked at the ride, his eyes tracing the path of a boat as it plummeted into the water. "On a boat that plunges into the water," he murmured. "Why wouldn't I be eager to hop on that one?"
Sarah felt his grip tighten on her hand once more. "No," she said, suddenly.
They all turned to look at her.
"I want to go on this one," she insisted.
John glanced at Pat. "But—"
"Pat will just have to wait for the next ride with you," Sarah said. "This one is mine."
John hesitated for a moment. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed. He grabbed her arm and began pulling her to the ride's entrance.
Sarah looked back at Pat who wore a look of relief on his face. "One moment," she told John. "I'll be right back."
She retraced her steps to where Pat was waiting. "Don't look too grateful," she whispered. "You'll be the one going on that awful roller coaster with him." She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.
"Fair enough," Pat replied with a grin.
The moment she rejoined John, he began pulling her toward the ride once again. "After this can we get some popcorn?" He asked.
"Sure," Sarah replied. The enticing aroma of popcorn had been wafting through the park since the moment of their arrival.
"And a hog dog?" John continued as they joined the waiting queue.
"Why not?"
"And some ice cream?"
Sarah ran her hand through his hair affectionately. "And even some ice cream," she agreed.
As the line began to move, Sarah cast a nervous glance at the small boats. We could be sitting on a nice bench, staring at flowers right now, she thought.
"Are you sad?" John suddenly asked her.
Sarah looked at him, a soft smile on her face. "Not right now."
"I'm glad."
"Me too."
Cal slumped in his seat at the bar of the 21 Club. He stared into his half-empty glass and wondered what the point even was. Dinah's words echoed relentlessly in his mind. Let's face it, the sooner you drink yourself to death, the better it will be for all of us. Every direction he turned, he encountered a suffocating sense of confinement. And every time he made a genuine effort, it only backfired. Perhaps, just maybe, she had a point. Maybe it would be better if he drank himself to death.
"Staring at your glass won't make it refill itself," Max remarked, dryly.
Cal looked up to see the man standing next to him. "I wasn't…" His words trailed off as he pushed his empty glass forward, silently signaling the bartender to refill it.
"I don't think I've ever seen you look happy," Max said. "It's honestly not great publicity for my business."
"My apologies," Cal raised his glass to his lips and took a drink. "I blame my wife." Why did he ever agree to marry her in the first place? His father had been so insistent, so adamant that money would buy whatever happiness a married couple needed. How wrong he had been. "And being a poor judge of what's appropriate," he added. "At least according to her."
Max laughed. "I see two problems there. The first is that you're concerning yourself with what's appropriate. Stop doing that. You can follow all the rules and do only what's expected of you but that'll only lead to misery." He fondly ran a hand over the wooden surface of the bar. "I own thirty-one successful establishments—at least I think, it's been sometimes since I last sat down and counted them all—and I've never followed a rule in my life."
"And the other problem?"
"You made the mistake of marrying." He slapped Cal lightly on the back and continued. "Take it from me. I'm on my second wife and can honestly say that most women aren't worth the trouble. All they want to do is spend your hard-earned money and tell you what you're doing wrong."
"And turn your children against you," Cal added glumly.
"Well, I've never had that problem."
"Lucky you."
"Let me offer you a bit of advice," Max said. "You need to be doing something different."
Cal looked into his glass, the lights reflecting off the amber liquor inside. "Maybe I could start selling bootleg liquor," he mused. "I certainly drink enough of it."
Max's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "No, that's my territory and you'd likely be terrible at it. Because if you're drinking it, you're not selling it," he said. "What I'm saying is that you need to stop caring so much about what you're supposed to be doing and start doing what you want to be doing."
Cal was still hesitant. How was he supposed to know what he wanted to do when his entire life had been strictly dictated since the moment he was born? It seemed that the older he grew, the more he understood Rose's reluctance to marrying him. He sighed deeply.
"You were born into a prison, my friend," Max said. "It's past time to break out of it."
"If only it was all that easy," Cal replied bitterly.
Fall
The night air was crisp and clear, the sky covered in a tapestry of stars. Kate and Pat sat side by side on the roof of her house, passing a bottle of Hugh's wine between them. Since Pat refused to enter her house while Hugh was present, it seemed to be the only way she ever got to speak to her brother anymore. Even still, he was nervous.
"This isn't a great idea," Pat spoke softly, casting a wary glance at the window they had just climbed through.
"Nah, don't ye worry," Kate reassured him as she passed him the bottle. "Hugh drank two of these earlier then promptly passed out. I reckon he'll be dead to the world until mornin'."
"Still seems risky," he said, taking a drink of the wine and making a face. "This is terrible."
She laughed. "That's exactly what I told him."
"And how'd he take it?"
Kate hesitated before answering. "He can be a bit touchy at times." It was a careful answer. Hugh's outbursts weren't all that common but they always came on unexpectedly and she never knew what might set them off. It made for an exhausting existence. She could feel her brother's gaze on her, expecting more. But, ignoring him, she stared at the stars.
"Katie," Pat began. "Are ye happy? I mean, truly happy?"
"Of course, I am." She took the bottle back.
"Katie," he pressed gently.
She sighed. "I'm happy most of the time," she said, tracing a finger along the bottle's neck. "The good moments are wonderful. Everything I've ever wanted."
"And the other moments?"
She shrugged. "They're fine." She could sense that Pat wasn't ready to let the subject drop, but she didn't want to talk about Hugh. Not with him, not then. "How's Sarah doin'?" She asked, changing the subject.
"She's doin' her best," Pat replied simply, giving her a look. "Good moments and other moments."
"I'm glad yer there," Kate said. "I didn't like her bein' all alone."
"Well, that's a change in heart for yerself.," Pat said, reclaiming the bottle. "Seems like just yesterday, ye wanted me gone."
"What can I say? I must be gettin' soft in me old age."
He laughed. "If ye reckon yer old, then I hate to imagine what I am."
Kate hated the thought of growing older. So much of her life had been spent being unhappy, being lonely. So much time wasted. She looked at her brother and wondered if his thoughts were the same. "How are ye doin'?" She asked him.
"Fine," he answered quickly. Too quickly.
"Pat," she said. "I mean it. Are ye doin' alright?"
He took a deep breath and gave her a sideways glance. "Ye can't be breathin' a word of this to Sarah," he said. "She's got more than enough weighin' on her mind."
"It stays on the roof."
A profound silence stretched between them and just as she began to think that her brother had changed his mind, his voice broke the stillness. "Sometimes," Pat began slowly, thoughtfully. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm losin' me mind." He looked at the stars as he spoke. "Why can't I stop thinkin' about what happened?" There was a vulnerability in his voice that she hadn't heard in a long time. "It's been twelve years and yet it's always there loomin' over me like a...like a...I don't know what." He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. "It feels closer now than when it first happened."
"It's a hard thing to forget."
"I'm not even talkin' about forgettin'," he replied. "I'll hear a loud noise and in an instant, I'm back in the water. I can even feel the cold and I can't breathe. It's—" His voice gave out and he looked to her for answers.
"Pat," Kate said softly. "I don't think yer losin' yer mind."
"Then how else do ye explain it? For God's sake, I'm still havin' nightmares nearly every night." He ran a hand over his face. "It's as if there's somethin' broken inside me."
"There's not."
"How can ye be so sure?"
Kate remembered when, years earlier, Hugh had claimed that there was something broken in her brother and, back then, she had let those words seep in. She hadn't defended him as she should have and the memory sat heavily on her conscience. "I'm sure because I am and because I know ye," she reassured him. "There's nothin' wrong with ye."
Pat still looked unconvinced.
"Yer goin' to be fine," she continued. "And before ye ask, I know this because Sarah needs ye and I know ye'd never let her down."
He managed a faint smile. "Yer kinder than ye used to be."
"I've always been kind," Kate replied. "I was just angry with ye before but I'm not anymore." She gently shook the bottle. "Ye want the last," she asked, holding it out.
"Nah, ye take it." Pat looked back at the window and sighed. "I should probably be goin'."
"Before Sarah starts wonderin' where ye are?"
"She knows where I am."
Kate smiled. "Of course she does."