Winter
It was one of those unexplainable days, where the occasional snowflake danced through the air despite the clear blue skies and everything glittered with frost. The frozen lake at Prospect Park teemed with ice skaters, all bundled up in thick coats and scarves, their hats pulled tightly down over their ears.
Ever since their unexpected date six months earlier, Fabrizio and Lelia had slipped into a comfortable friendship. Neither dared to broach the topic of where it might be leading. All Fabrizio knew was that as time went on, he found himself less interested in spending time with Louise and more interested in sitting next to Lelia's desk. No small part of him was aware that they were clearly headed for something more, but memories of the last time he had allowed himself to fall in love were still prominent in his mind and he didn't allow himself to even consider the idea.
Ice skating had been Lelia's idea and, despite never having been skating before, Fabrizio had reluctantly gone along with it. All he could think about as they laced up their rented skates was how foolish he was soon to look. He would fall. Lelia would laugh. And they would never see each other ever again.
But the moment they stepped onto the ice, Lelia's feet flew out from under her and she landed on her backside and started to laugh. "Can you tell I've never done this before?" She asked as she struggled back to her feet.
"Why you suggest it then?" Fabrizio grinned, relieved that they could be terrible together.
She held tightly to his arm. "I've always thought it looked like fun."
A group of skaters suddenly glided by, chatting effortlessly as they skated. There was no wobbling, no loss of balance. They made it look as easy as walking.
"That look easy," he pointed out. "Now we just do what they do."
"And what are they doing?"
"Not falling."
Fabrizio took her hand and they pushed off together, slowly and unsteadily and holding each other up.
"You know what I don't understand?" Lelia asked after they had skated in silence for a few minutes.
"How they skate backwards?"
"Well, that too," she said. "But also, there were a group of men at work the other day talking about how they gave women the right to vote."
"That's a good thing, no?"
"It is," she explained. "But they didn't give us the right. They simply stopped withholding it."
"But you couldn't vote until now." He didn't fully understand.
"No, and why do you think that is?" Lelia wobbled for a second, clutching at him to regain her balance. "It's because at some point in history, a group of men decided that they were afraid of their women having a voice."
"Of course, they afraid," Fabrizio replied. "Women are smarter than men. Everyone know it. They just don't speak of it."
Lelia smiled but before she could respond, a child suddenly zoomed beneath their arms. Startled, they both fell to the ice.
"Coming through," the child called back after he had already passed them.
She laughed. "That little brat."
"I think he in a hurry," Fabrizio said.
Lelia suddenly leaned in and kissed him and the world around them seemed to hold its breath. Yet, just as quickly as the universe had paused for them, they found themselves back sitting on the frozen pond, other skaters whizzing past, casting irritated glances at them for being in the way.
"They selling coffee, if you—" Fabrizio began.
"That sounds wonderful," she replied, not even waiting for him to finish. "I'm completely frozen all the way through."
They helped each other to their feet and, tightly holding hands, carefully made their way off the ice. Fabrizio paid for two coffees and a small bag of still warm ginger cakes from a small cart that sat nearby and brought them to the bench where they had earlier left their shoes.
He watched in amusement as Lelia struggled to grip her coffee with her mittens. "You need help?"
She shook her head. "No, I'll manage." The cup began to slip from her hands but Fabrizio reached out and caught it.
"Where you get them?" He asked.
"I made them."
"They look like socks."
Lelia suddenly looked sheepish. "When I made them, I forgot the thumbs so I had to go back and add those in later," she admitted. "It didn't really work out like I thought it would."
"I like them," Fabrizio replied. "They remind me of you."
"Ugly and impractical?"
"No," he said. "Different. Unique. Rara."
It seemed as though Lelia was at a loss for words for a moment. She looked down at her mittens and a small smile spread across her face. "Well." She pulled them off and reached for her coffee. "I'll just have to drink it quickly before my hands freeze." But just as she brought it to her mouth, it flew out of her hand in a shower of snow."
A peal of laughter led to the same child from earlier.
"Hold these, please." Lelia dumped her mittens in Fabrizio's lap. Standing, she took a step forward but the blade of one of her skates caught in the snow and she fell on her face.
Without hesitation, Fabrizio grabbed a ginger cake and hurled it at the child, hitting him square in the face and earning several displeased looks from everyone around. He reached down to help Lelia back to her feet.
She laughed as she brushed the snow from her coat. "I forgot I was wearing skates." She looked at the people who were still glaring in their direction. "I think we should probably go."
"Probably good idea."
They quickly replaced their skates with their own shoes and Lelia, pulling on her mittens once again, wrapped a hand around his arm.
"Hungry? Fabrizio asked as they left the park. It was far too early for lunch but he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.
Lelia looked up at him and smiled. "Starving."
Kate found herself in the midst of kneading dough when Vera showed up unannounced at her door. She had tried to hint that it wasn't a great time—her pregnancy left her exhausted. But Vera ignored the hints and, instead, trailed her back into the kitchen.
Despite her irritation, Kate prepared Vera a cup of tea, who then wasted no time launching into a discussion about her upcoming wedding. "So, obviously, Wally's insisting on the church for the ceremony which isn't my preference," she began as she settled herself at the kitchen table. "But I put my food down at the reception. That has to be at the Early Bird."
"Naturally," Kate replied automatically, only half paying attention.
"And for my bouquet, I'm thinking lilies. Hundreds of lilies and those long ferns that trail all the way to the ground. What did you have?"
Kate had to think for a moment. It had only been a couple of years since her own wedding but it felt like a lifetime. "Primroses."
Vera made a face. "Primroses are alright but they don't cascade much and I have to have a cascading bouquet."
Kate heard the front door open and close, signaling Hugh's arrival. "You should be goin'," she told Vera. She was well aware that Hugh disliked being caught off guard and an unexpected visitor could easily spark an argument
But before Vera could react, Hugh had already entered the room. "Who're you?" He asked, looking at her.
Vera held out a hand and smiled. "Vera, Kate's friend."
"Really?" He shook her hand and slid into the seat beside her. "You'd think I would've heard of you before."
Kate set a cup of tea in front of him. "You've met before," she reminded him.
"Couldn't have," he replied. "She doesn't seem like the type of girl you'd forget."
"Well, I have and ye did," Kate spoke sharply. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she reburied her hands in her dough.
"Don't mind her," Vera said. "She can be a bit of a grump at times."
"Only at times?" Hugh quipped.
Kate paused in her kneading, resisting the urge to snap back. She never won arguments against her husband.
"Oh, don't get angry." Hugh grabbed her dress and pulled her close. "I'm only teasing you." He slipped a hand beneath her skirt and roughly pinched her inner thigh.
Kate pulled herself free from his grasp and slapped his hand away. "Well, don't," she stammered. She could feel her cheeks burning and ardently wished she was anywhere else.
Vera laughed. "So, Kate says you work at that old mill?" She asked, changing the subject. "You must be strong to be hauling those logs around all day."
"It's not so bad," Hugh replied nonchalantly. "I mean if Kate's brother can manage well enough, then I'm sure anyone could."
Disregarding the slight remark about her brother, Kate kept her focus on kneading the dough, even though she knew it was long past the point when she should have stopped. Her gaze wandered to the window where the sky hung heavy with gray clouds and the first flakes of an impending snowstorm were just beginning to fall.
"I couldn't work there," Vera said.
"Sure, you could," Hugh replied
"Could not. I think I would just die," she replied. "I'm not nearly strong enough."
"Let me see." There was a pause. "Nah, this is a strong arm.
Kate stole a glance back to see her husband running his hand along Vera's arm. She took a breath and pushed down the jealousy she felt.
"You'd be promoted so quickly," he continued.
Vera giggled. "Oh, stop it."
"I bet I'd be under you by the end of your first week."
Vera feigned innocence. "You'd be what?"
"Working under you," Hugh corrected himself. "By the end of the week."
Kate couldn't bear to hear anymore. "Vera, I reckon it's best if ye be headin' home now," she said abruptly.
Hugh leaned back in his chair and gave her a stern look. "Or she could stay for dinner. You want to stay for dinner, right?" He asked Vera.
"Her family will be wantin' her home," Kate insisted.
"You want her to walk to the trolley stop in a damn blizzard," Hugh said. "I didn't know you could be so cold."
Kate brushed off the remark. "I'm sure she'll manage."
Vera rose from her seat, looking uncomfortable. "I can go—"
But Hugh cut her off. "I'll drive you home," he said. "Since my wife wants you gone so badly."
"I don't see how that's any safer than her walkin—" Kate began to protest.
"Would you quit your damn nagging," he snapped. "Come on," he said to Vera.
After they had gone, Kate collapsed onto one of the chairs, feeling utterly defeated. She didn't know what she had done wrong to turn Hugh against her, to make him flirt so brazenly in front of her. But it must've been something. She placed a gentle hand on her stomach. "The sooner ye get yerself out of me," she said softly. "The sooner everything can be gettin' back to normal."
She prayed it was true.
It was early morning and the house was cold. Sarah laid pressed up against Pat, his arm wrapped around her. Neither one of them wanted to leave the warmth of the bed. "I was thinking we might go see Kate today," she said, tracing her fingers over the back of his hand.
"Ye might," he replied.
"Well, if you don't want to, I suppose I could go alone," she said. "But I'd prefer if we both went. I know you miss your sister and one of these days, you're going to have to learn to get along with Hugh. He's…" She hesitated. "Family now." Sarah wished that he wasn't but there was no turning back time. There was no undoing Kate's marriage.
"I'm not going to get along with him."
"I'll settle for frigid politeness," she offered. "Can you manage that?"
"I can manage frigid politeness just fine from here," he replied, lightly kissing her shoulder.
Sarah let out a weary sigh. "Fine," she conceded. Her eyes wandered to his hand, gently resting on her stomach and her thoughts drifted to Kate's pregnancy and the painful memory of her own loss. She knew it was wrong to feel jealous but no matter what she couldn't stop thinking about the unfairness of it all. "Do you ever regret marrying me?" The question slipped out almost involuntarily.
Pat was silent for a moment. "Why would ye ask me that?"
"You're not answering my question."
He shifted to see her better. "No, I don't regret marryin' ye," he replied. "Not for one single moment."
"You could've married someone younger. Someone who could've given you children."
"I don't want anyone younger. And I've told ye this before. None of that matters to me. I don't even like children."
Sarah was silent, thinking back to his reaction to losing the baby. Despite his words, she knew how deeply it had affected him. She knew how much it mattered.
"Oh, Sarah," he continued. "Yer the most important thing to me."
"Why?" She asked. "Why do you love me?" Some days it seemed so impossible to believe.
Pat gently took her hand and began to trace her fingers one by one. "One, yer the strongest person I've ever met. Stronger than me, certainly." He kissed the tip of her index finger and moved on to the next one. "Two, yer also the kindest person I've ever known. Three, ye always give everyone a chance." He continued to count on her fingers, placing a kiss on each one as he listed the reasons. "And then ye give them a second chance when they've messed up the first. And let's not be forgettin' that ye've saved me life more than once." He smiled as he kissed her little finger. "And yer a terrible cook."
Sarah couldn't help but laugh. "How is me being a terrible cook a reason to love me?"
"So far as I can see, that's the only thing keepin' ye from bein' perfect." He drew her close and kissed her lips. "If ye were perfect, ye wouldn't be wantin' anything to do with me."
Sarah's fingers gently brushed against his face, at a loss for words.
"Lovin' ye is the easiest thing I've ever done in me life," he said softly.
She looked at him, his eyes full of sincerity, and drew in a breath, overwhelmed by the depth of her own feelings. "I do love you," she whispered the words. Then, sliding her hand behind his head, pulled him as close to her as possible and kissed him deeply.
Spring
Fabrizio brought Lelia lunch as often as he could sneak away from his own job. It was never anything fancy—typically just a simple sandwich—but her eyes always lit up at the sight of him. "Ham salad, this time," he said. He held out the sandwich and looked for a place to set it.
Lelia's desk, usually neatly organized, was buried beneath paperwork. She quickly pushed most of it to the side. "Ms. Dewitt-Bukater has me copying scripts today," she explained. "It beats ordering everyone lunch and delivering memos which is what she usually has me doing." She smiled. "Just give me one moment. I'm nearly finished with this page."
He watched in awe as she typed, her fingers flying over the keys. "How do you do that?"
"Come here and I'll show you," she replied. "It's real easy."
There was only one chair behind her desk and Lelia stood to let him have it. At once, he reached over and pulled her onto his lap.
"Alright," she began, sounding a bit flustered. "First, you need to feed in the paper. Like so..." She unlocked the roller and removed what she had been working on earlier. Picking up a blank sheet, she carefully fed it through the cylinder and turned the knob until the type guide was at the top of the page. "And then all you do is type." She typed out her own name. "You need to press the keys hard too or you won't get any ink. And you have to be sure of what you're pressing because there's no undoing it once it's there."
Fabrizio reached around her and started to slowly type out his name. "Where is Z?"
"Here." Lelia pointed to it.
"It seem easy," he said, as he pressed the final key.
"You misspelled your name," she replied. "Fabizio."
"Did I?" He kissed her cheek.
Lelia laughed. "Don't feel bad. I had to take a whole course to learn."
"So it not so easy then?"
"It's easy once you know what you're doing."
Their moment was interrupted by Rose's office door swinging open. "Lelia," Rose called out, entering the room. "Have you seen the—" She stopped as she caught sight of them sharing the chair. Lelia immediately jumped to her feet, looking alarmed.
"I haven't forgotten our lunch, have I?" Rose asked Fabrizio.
"No, I bring lunch to Lelia," he replied.
'Oh, I see." Rose looked between the two of them. "Well, try not to distract her from her work too much."
"I only bring lunch," Fabrizio said. "I go now." He gave Lelia a smile and left into the hallway. Remaining by the door, he pressed his ear against it as he listened for Rose to return to her office. The moment he heard the door close, he quietly slipped back inside. Meeting Lelia halfway across the room, he kissed her. "I see you tonight," he said.
Lelia smiled. "Don't be late," she replied. "Mama's making puttanesca and you know how she is."
Cal sat uncomfortably in the leather armchair, his fingers anxiously tapping against the armrest. Across the room sat his lawyer, Robert Hollis, surrounded by leather-bound law books that seemed to loom over them like silent witnesses.
Hollis cleared his throat. "Alright, so as you already know, divorces aren't easy to come by. There are very few legal reasons for one and, without a good legal cause, the court won't even consider your case," he said, pulling a notepad closer to him.
"I'm well aware." Cal had done his own research already.
The lawyer nodded. "Then let's see what we have here." He held his pen poised over the page. "Desertion?" He asked.
"She always comes back." Cal wished more than anything that Dinah would desert him. But, whether it were days or weeks or, even, months later, she always seemed to return.
"Incurable insanity?"
He let out a humorless laugh. "The only insanity was marrying her in the first place."
"If you're insinuating that you're the one suffering from incurable insanity, then I'm afraid that legally you cannot be the petitioner."
"I wasn't…I'm not…oh, just carry on."
"Very well," Hollis shrugged. "Inability to perform…although this typically applies to the man."
Cal could feel himself grow more irritated by the minute. "We have two children."
"And are you certain they're yours?"
"They're mine," he said firmly. "I'm absolutely certain." He supposed it was always possible but they had gotten along so well in the beginning of the marriage.
"Alright," Hollis continued. "Adultery?"
"Yes." He had known for years. Dinah had hardly bothered to hide it from him.
"And do you have proof?"
"Proof?"
"Photographs, signed witness statements, hotel records with both their names written down," the lawyer suggested. "Photographs are best though or a signed confession if you can manage it."
Cal's heart sank. "No."
Hollis set his pen down with a sigh. "Then I'm afraid I'm not seeing any legal grounds for divorce here."
"There must be," Cal insisted. The thought of being tied to Dinah for the rest of his life was horrifying. "How did the Astors manage it?"
"Mr. Astor had proof of adultery and, even then, it led to the largest public scandal that New York had ever seen." Hollis took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, if you insist on going through with this and if you're absolutely certain about the adultery, then I suggest you hire an investigator to follow her for a time. Once you have the proof, then we can proceed."
Cal knew that Dinah had no qualms with having him followed but he refused to sink to the same level as her. The very thought of hiring an investigator felt crude and demeaning, like surrendering his dignity in the pursuit of truth. "I couldn't do that," he said.
"Then if you're truly adamant, have an affair yourself and let her be the petitioner," the lawyer replied. "But if the court catches the smallest whiff of any connivance, it's over."
Cal left the office feeling defeated in a way he had never felt before. It seemed impossible to believe that there was no way out of his marriage. So many of his contemporaries had managed divorces—some more discreet than others—and, on the surface, it all looked so easy. Of course, he had to marry the one woman who didn't leave a trail of proof behind after each and every one of her romantic liaisons.
John had met Dottie only a few months earlier during winter break. She had been sitting high up in a tree and dropped a pinecone on his head as he passed beneath. While he liked her at once due to her sneakiness, he liked her even more once he learned that she lived within walking distance. There were so few other children living nearby—save for Tommy who was too young to willingly break any rules.
"So I had ink on my face the entire day," she was saying as they tramped through the woods behind their houses. She carried on her back a bag filled with cookies and a thermos of lemonade. "And not a single person said anything to me. Until, the very end, when everyone started calling me Spotty Dottie."
"That's awful." John knew that being new to Spokane—her family having just moved there recently—Dottie had been having a hard time fitting in.
"I wish I was a year older so I'd be in your class."
He shrugged. "It wouldn't be any better. You'd have to deal with Jimmy then and Jimmy's the worst." He couldn't see Jimmy without wanting to punch him in the face, an urge he had given into multiple times. He had brought home several notes about it…notes that he had given straight to his father. And judging by the fact that his mother hadn't yelled at him a single time, he was fairly certain that his father discreetly threw them away without her ever knowing.
"I don't like it here," Dottie said, glumly.
"Why not?" John kicked at a protruding root. "It's nice here."
"Not compared to where I came from."
"I bet you don't have woods like these there."
"Do so," she replied. "And besides, you won't be having them for long. My dad says this will all be houses before too long."
"They can't do that."
"Sure, they can." She smacked her hand on a tree. "It's not like this belongs to you."
"I wish they belonged to me," John said. "If I had the money I'd buy them all."
They had reached the bank of the river. John scooped up a small rock and skipped it into the water.
"What do you think they'll do with all the trees?" Dottie asked.
"Chop them up."
"They couldn't."
"Of course, they could," John replied. "My dad works at the mill and that's all he does all day."
"That's terrible." She made a face. "I wouldn't want to work there."
"You couldn't work there," he pointed out. "You're a girl."
They both climbed out onto the dead tree that hung out over the water and, choosing a nice spot in the middle, sat so their legs dangled over the side.
Dottie reached into her bag and pulled out a small container of cookies that she carefully placed between them. "How could your dad work at such an awful place?" She asked.
John shrugged. "I know my mom doesn't like him working there. They fight about it all the time." He grabbed a cookie and took a large bite. "He's not my real dad, you know. My real dad died before I was born."
She took out the thermos. "How'd he die?"
He shook his head. "Don't know. No one talks about him. And if I ask, they just change the subject and get all weird."
Dottie passed him the thermos. "What if he was murdered?"
"I think I'd know if it was something like that."
"Not if it was part of a giant plot," she replied, reaching for a cookie herself. "Like maybe he was a spy so everything has to stay quiet."
John thought for a moment. "I suppose that would be neat."
"Totally copacetic."
"Copacetic?"
"It means neat," Dottie explained. "I heard my dad say it."
John broke off a bit of the cookie he had been eating and sprinkled the crumbs into the river. He studied the water carefully, hoping to see a fish or two drawn to the surface but couldn't see anything from where he sat except more water. Or maybe fish didn't care for cookies.
"What if he's not dead at all?" Dottie carefully removed her shoes and socks, knotting the laces together and setting them all on the trunk next to her. She wiggled her toes in the sun. "He could've gone into hiding."
"I'm pretty sure he's dead," John replied. "There's a stone in our yard and everything."
"Doesn't mean he's buried there. It could just be a ruse."
"You're a ruse." He nearly gave her a playful shove, only remembering at the last moment just where they were. Instead, he settled for lightly tapping her arm.
"Am not." Dottie scooted away from him in feigned outrage. In doing so, she accidentally brushed her hand against her shoes, causing them to fall into the water below. She let out a sharp gasp. "Oh no! My mom is going to kill me."
John looked over the edge. He couldn't see her shoes but whether they sank or the current simply carried them away, he couldn't tell. "Just tell her you were robbed?"
"Of my shoes?"
"You didn't have any money so they took what they could get so their efforts weren't for naught."
"They're not going to buy that," Dottie replied. "They're not that stupid."
Without warning, John took the thermos from her and hurled it into the river.
"Hey!"
"They also stole your lemonade."
She crossed her arms in front of her. "I should throw you in after that."
"Want me to fetch it?" He asked. "I'm a good swimmer." He vaguely recalled a single swimming lesson five years earlier, but he remembered it feeling effortless back then. After all, a river couldn't be much different from a swimming pool.
"No, but you're going to need to carry me home." Dottie began to crawl back along the tree towards the shore. "Last time I was barefoot out here, I stepped on a slug."
"That was funny," he replied, following her off the tree.
"It was not," she said as she jumped down the last couple feet to the ground. "It was cold and slimy."
John crouched down so she could get onto his back. "You're lucky you weigh nothing at all," he said, straightening up.
"And you're lucky I like you more than that thermos," Dottie replied.
Summer
Kate sat in the corner of their bedroom beneath a window that had been opened to coax in a non-existent breeze. She watched as Hugh cradled their newborn, a satisfied smile on his face—the first such smile she had seen in a very long time. He had wanted a son desperately, and although Kate had initially wished for a daughter, having a son now felt like a small price to pay for finally feeling like she had done something right.
"About his name…" She began cautiously, afraid of seeing the smile slip from his face.
"I don't care what you call it," Hugh replied, his tone gentle but distracted. "I'm just happy it's a boy."
She smiled. "Henry or James?"
"Again, I don't care." His tone was sharper as he turned his back to her.
"James, then."
"Henry."
"Henry, it is, then," Kate replied. She was too tired to argue with him over something as trivial as a name. She knew that it would've been a waste of effort. Hugh always had the last say in everything.
Hugh looked at her and his expression turned almost accusatory. "It's about time I get a son."
"You already have Tommy," she pointed out.
"Tommy's not mine."
Her heart sank at his words. "No, but—"
He cut her off, his smile gone entirely. "I'm not going to pretend to care about another man's son."
The baby in his arms let out a tiny wail. Without hesitation, Hugh dumped him into Kate's arms. "I'm going out," he said. "But I'll be back in time for dinner."
As Hugh left the room, the warmth in her own heart seemed to fade, replaced with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. She bounced the baby in her arms. Inside, she wanted to cry just as much as the baby did. How could he be so callous? She was certain he hadn't been like that when they first met.
Tommy suddenly crawled out from beneath the bed. She stared at him in surprise. She hadn't realized he was even in the room and the thought that he might've heard Hugh's words filled her with a deep sadness. "Were ye hidin'?"
He nodded unhappily as he approached her.
"This is yer brother Henry," Kate explained, lowering the child so Tommy could see him better.
Tommy briefly looked at the baby before losing interest. "Can I have a snack?"
Kate mustered a smile. "Of course, ye can," she said. "Go on downstairs and I'll be there in a moment."
As she followed him down the stairs, several minutes later, the baby cradled in her arms, she was already thinking of excuses for Hugh's behavior. He must have been tired. He was only teasing her.
Clearly, she misunderstood.
John had asked to see the Fourth of July fireworks set off at Natatorium Park and Pat had agreed before he had realized just what he was agreeing to. Sarah was surprised, even voicing her concerns. But John was so excited that there was no turning back.
The park, itself, was packed full of people and Pat briefly hoped that they wouldn't be able to find a spot and would have no choice but to return home. But there was still one place left open in the grass. Sarah spread a blanket over it to claim it as theirs. A basket of minced chicken sandwiches held it down. As they waited for night to fall and the show to begin, they ate the sandwiches and John talked nonstop.
But Pat wasn't paying any attention. The impatient crowd was noisy and a heavy sense of what he assumed to be excitement but to him felt more like foreboding laid over everything. He tried his best to hide his nerves, keeping his hands pressed against his legs to keep from shaking, but Sarah kept giving him looks. He could never hide anything from her.
At last, the sun dipped below the horizon and a band began to play. The crowd cheered as one big noise and Pat took a deep breath. The first firework shot up into the sky and burst with a loud bang. Beside him, he sensed Sarah tense up. He wondered if they reminded her of the flares. As the second one spiraled up, he reached for her hand.
With each firework, each bang and burst of noise, the crowd grew louder. All Pat could think of was the great wrenching noise the ship made as it broke in two and the terrified screams of those in the water and soon he couldn't take it a single moment longer. Letting go of Sarah's hand, he clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. But still, he could hear everything.
He felt a touch on his arm, his hand pulled away, and Sarah's voice softly in his ear. "You need to open your eyes so you know what's happening."
Pat shook his head. He didn't want to see the stern towering overhead, the shadowy figures falling into the water below.
"Patrick," Sarah's voice again. "Open your eyes."
He took a deep breath and opened them.
The fireworks continued in a dazzling array of colors, turning the park into shades of red and green and yellow as the crowd cheered on. But Pat kept his gaze straight ahead, wishing it was over, wishing they could return home. Sarah held onto him tightly, watching him more than the show.
At last, the final one shot up into the sky and burst into red sparkles with a resounding bang. The crowd roared with applause. Eventually the cheers faded into a multitude of separate conversations as everyone gathered up their belongings and began to stream out of the park.
John, caught up in the moment, got up to join the departing crowd, but Sarah gently pulled him back. "We're going to wait for the crowd to thin a bit," she explained.
Reluctantly, he returned to his seat. "That was so neat," he said, looking into the basket for another sandwich. "I liked the white ones that sort of…" He tried to demonstrate with his hand. "And then BANG right at the end."
"I liked the red ones," Sarah said.
"Yeah, those were copacetic too."
"Copacetic?" She raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you learn that word from?"
"Dottie," he replied. "It means neat."
"Who's Dottie?"
"My friend."
"Have I met Dottie?"
"No, she just moved here," John replied rather impatiently. "Can we go yet? I'm hungry and there's no more sandwiches."
Pat had listened to their conversation while leaning against Sarah, her arm still around him.
Sarah turned her head to check on him. "Are you alright to go?" She quietly asked.
He nodded.
With John taking charge of the blanket and basket, Pat held onto Sarah's hand as they made their way through the mostly deserted park.
Are we doing this next year?" John asked hopefully.
"Of course, we are," Pat replied. He could almost feel Sarah's concerned look.
"Copacetic," John said, as he took off running toward the car.
Sarah squeezed Pat's hand. "We don't have to go next year."
"That'd be unfair to John," Pat replied. He refused to let John miss out on things just because he couldn't handle them.
"Then I'll go," she said. "You don't have to—"
He stopped abruptly and looked at her. "I don't have to…what?"
"You don't have to go," Sarah quietly finished.
He knew he had ruined everything. "Of course, if ye don't want me…"
"I do want you," she insisted. "I only meant if you didn't want to go. You don't have to go if you don't want to."
"Why wouldn't I want to?"
She blinked back tears. "Pat, I just meant—"
"Can we not discuss this now?" He asked, afraid of the tears in her eyes. He had already done enough, he couldn't bear to also make her cry. "I don't want an argument."
She nodded and hastily wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…I'm just sorry."
Pat put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. "Those sandwiches were good," he said, in an attempt to salvage the moment.
"There were only three ingredients in them," she replied. "Hard for me to mess them up, I suppose."
"Do ye remember that potato soup John and I made a couple years back?" He asked as they started walking again.
Sarah smiled. "Vividly. It tasted like soap."
"That only had three ingredients."
"And that is precisely why the two of you aren't allowed to cook any longer," she said, leaning her head into him. "Pat?"
"Sarah?"
"I'm sorry if I said anything that…I didn't mean to make you angry."
He kissed her head. "How could I possibly be angry at ye for carin' about me?" Pat asked. "I just…I don't want to be talkin' about it."
"But you know you can, right?" Sarah looked up at him. "You can talk to me."
"I know."
It was a day meant to be spent outdoors. Central Park teemed with walkers and the gardens were filled with blooming flowers. Fat bumblebees darted from bloom to bloom with a lazy hum. A noisy vendor sold hot pretzels and cold lemonades and Fabrizio bought one of each which he split with Lelia.
It had been a year since their unplanned date and already he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. It seemed impossible how he had gone so long knowing her without seeing her as anything more than Rose's secretary.
Lelia studied the cup of lemonade. "How do you think he kept it so cold?"
"Lots of ice?" He suggested.
"You'd think it'd melt in this heat."
"He probably replace it every few minutes."
They stepped to the side as a well-dressed couple walked past, two tiny dogs on leashes in front of them. The woman wore several strands of beads around her neck and the man carried an umbrella despite the clear blue skies. Their very demeanor screamed money. Fabrizio turned his head to watch them walk away.
Lelia followed his gaze and frowned. "Do you ever want more?" She asked.
He sighed. He had, at one time, wanted so much more. He told Helga that he was going to be a millionaire. But then his world collapsed around him, he lost Helga, and somehow survived when he shouldn't have and his previous dream turned absurd. "When I first come here," he said, after a moment. "I wanted to be millionaire." He shook his head. It sounded so silly said aloud. "But not so much now."
"No?"
He was grateful that she hadn't laughed. "No. Now I just want to not worry," he replied. "What about you?"
Lelia shrugged. She took a minute to toss the now empty lemonade cup into a trash bin before answering. "I think I want to be successful," she said thoughtfully. "It sounds silly, I suppose."
"It's not silly," Fabrizio replied. "Why shouldn't you want to be successful? Everyone want to be successful."
"I don't know." She hesitated. "I just…the dreams of most women I know center around being the best homemaker. And that's fine. I want a family same as anyone. But I know I can do more. I feel it."
"I know it too," he said. "Of course, you can."
Lelia smiled. Hopping onto a narrow wall that bordered the path, she began to walk along its edge. "That's why I was so happy that Ms. Dewitt-Bukater had me copying scripts. It felt more important, you know, than my usual work. I figure, if I did a good job with that—no errors or anything—she'll give me something even more important."
"You want to be director like her?"
She laughed. "Oh, could you imagine? No, that'd be too much. I do like the idea of writing though. Don't know if I'd be any good at it but I think I'd like to—" Her foot suddenly slipped and she fell.
Fabrizio reacted instinctively, catching her just in time. In that moment, as he held her close, the realization of how deeply he cared for her struck him. "I think I want to marry you," he blurted out the words without a second thought. As he settled her back on her feet, he braced himself for a response, sure that he must've spoken too soon.
Lelia was quiet, the seconds felt like an eternity. "You mean someday?" She finally asked.
"No," he said firmly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I mean now."
Her silence lingered and, for a moment, Fabrizio regretted letting his emotions take control. Just as he was about to apologize for his boldness, a smile spread across Lelia's face. "I think I want to marry you too."
Without a second thought, he pulled her close and kissed her.
Sarah held Kate's baby on her lap and studied his tiny face. Henry. A beautiful name for a beautiful child who currently slept peacefully, his tiny hands balled into fists. "How're you feeling?" She asked as though the answer wasn't already clear as day.
"Tired," Kate replied. "Newborns are exhausting."
"I remember." Sarah thought back to when John was newly born, the weight of her husband's death lingering over everything. She still didn't know how either of them had managed to survive. "How'd Hugh react?"
"Thrilled it was a boy, of course."
"Naturally," Sarah said. Most men wished for a boy, except Pat who only wanted a girl. "Has he been helping?"
"No," Kate sighed. "But I didn't expect him to, if I'm bein' honest."
Sarah frowned at the tension in her friend's voice. She was about to ask if something had happened between them when Kate spoke again.
"It's fine," she said. "I can handle it on me own."
"I'll help whenever I can," Sarah assured her. "It's not as though I have children of my own to take up my time." The words came out more bitterly than she had expected.
"John?"
"He's practically a grown man now. Hardly needs me hovering over him," Sarah replied. "And he prefers Pat anyway."
Kate shook her head. "He's changed so much."
Sarah looked at her in confusion. "John?"
"Pat," Kate clarified. "I don't know what ye've done to him but he's hardly the same person he was six years ago."
"I haven't done anything."
"Nonsense. Ye understand him and I think that's enough."
" You understand him," Sarah insisted.
Kate laughed. "That riddle? Nothin' he does makes a bit of sense to me," she said. "At least I don't understand him the same way as ye do."
Sarah looked down at the baby once again and wished so much that she had one of her own. The baby began to squirm and let out a tiny noise, a precursor to a wail.
"Give him here," Kate said, holding out her arms. "I think he's hungry."
Sarah was reluctant to give him up but, after a moment of hesitation, she handed the child over.
Cal hadn't been to New York in nearly a year. Between his earlier efforts to fix his marriage and his more recent efforts to end it, he had hardly had the time for wallowing in self-pity, which his trips typically consisted of.
As he walked down the street, just an anonymous man in a sea of other anonymous men, with the sky turning a bold orange with the setting of the son, he considered the possibility of moving there permanently—once he was free from Dinah. The perfect place to wait out any scandal, to find himself once again.
But the feeling of welcome anonymity suddenly vanished as he spotted Fabrizio walking toward him, a woman who was not Louise on his arm. "Fabri!" He called as soon as they drew close enough to each other. His gaze landed on the woman and he fought the urge to point out, 'this is not Louise.'
"This is Lelia," Fabrizio said, as though reading his mind and sensing his question. "Lelia, Cal."
The woman smiled pleasantly. "It's nice to finally meet you. Fabri's told me a bit about you."
"Has he?"
"I promise nothing bad."
He looked at her skeptically. He couldn't think of many good things about him that Fabrizio might've told her but he had no problem thinking of several unpleasant ones.
A stricken look suddenly crossed Lelia's face and she looked at Fabrizio. "Don't hate me but I've just realized that I must've left my handbag back at the restaurant."
"Do you need it?"
"Yes, I need it."
"I'll be back then." Fabrizio kissed her cheek and left.
Cal looked around and wondered whether he could walk away or if it'd be rude to leave Lelia standing there by herself.
"It's a lovely evening," she said, breaking the silence.
"It's alright," Cal replied. "How did the two of you meet?" He still didn't understand how Louise ended up replaced.
"Through Ms. Dewitt-Bukater," she said. "I'm her secretary. Fabri and I have actually known each other for years.
"You have?"
"I suppose it just took us a while to find each other," Lelia replied. "But sometimes good things are worth waiting for. That's what my mama always says."
"And sometimes those good things never arrive at all."
She fidgeted with her sleeve. "Fabri told me you were once engaged to Ms. Dewitt-Bukater?"
"I was," he said. "That was a long time ago."
"I'm sorry, that must've been difficult for you."
"There's no need to apologize," he replied. "It would never have worked between us."
Lelia smiled. "And if it had, then you would never have met your current wife," she said. "Think of how terrible that would be."
"Not all that terrible, if I'm being honest."
She blinked. "Sometimes, I suppose two people fall out of love."
"Or are never in love to begin with."
Lelia glanced in the direction that Fabrizio had gone, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm saying all the wrong things. Don't mind me."
"You don't need to apologize. I shouldn't have said anything in the first place," Cal reassured her. "And, really, it's all my own fault. I knew or thought I knew what I was doing and now I have to live with the consequences."
"Do you?"
"Of course, I do."
Lelia hesitated. "Maybe I'm saying the wrong thing again but, it seems to me that if you're so unhappy, which you clearly are, just end it. Your marriage, I mean," she hastily added. "Don't be ending anything else."
"I end my marriage and I'll be plagued by scandal for the remainder of my life."
"I think you're being a bit bleak," she said. "I know I'm hardly an expert on scandal, but I'm fairly certain that one scandal only lives until the next one comes along."
He sighed. "It's still not that simple."
"Of course not. Life is rarely simple," Lelia replied. "I still think you should ask yourself just what your own happiness is worth."
Before Cal could respond, Fabrizio rejoined them. "This your bag?" He asked, holding the item up.
"Would you be angry if I said no?" Lelia asked.
Fabrizio's eyes grew wide and he slowly lowered the bag in his hands. "This not yours, then?"
She smiled suddenly. "It is mine. I was only teasing you," she said, pulling him into a kiss.
Cal cleared his throat. "I think I'm going to go and leave you two alone."
"Goodnight, Mr. Hockley." Lelia smiled at him.
"It's just Cal."
"Goodnight, Cal."
He started walking away from them but hadn't gone far before Fabrizio caught up to him, Lelia waiting just out of earshot.
"So, what you think? You like her?" Fabrizio asked.
"I do," Cal replied. "She's lovely."
"We're getting married," he said, positively radiating joy.
"Best of luck to you then," Cal said.
Fabrizio waved a hand dismissively. "Don't need it," he said. "Lelia is perfect."
Cal looked behind them to where Lelia patiently waited. She did seem like a good person. Certainly tried her hardest. But he had, at one time, considered Rose perfect and he remembered all too clearly how that had ended. But it wouldn't do to voice any of those thoughts aloud. "I'm sure you two will be very happy together," he said, instead.
"You come to the wedding, yes?"
Cal managed a smile. "I wouldn't miss it." It should, at least, it had to be better than the last wedding he attended.
Fall
Kate's exhaustion had become a perpetual state of being, three long months after Henry's arrival. She had never known a fussier child, more so than Tommy had ever been. He threw a fit if she set him down and another one if she picked him up. He refused to sleep for more than an hour at a time and Hugh never helped, doing little more than pushing her out of bed—once very literally—every time the baby cried.
Despite her attempts to keep the house running smoothly, things were beginning to slip. Laundry piled up, although she made sure to stay on top of Hugh's. The windows were unwashed and the floors were long overdue for a cleaning. Sarah had offered to help as much as she might need it but Kate's pride kept her from asking.
As she stood next to the stove, making dinner with Henry on her hip—crying once again—she found herself thinking of Pat and wondered how much he helped around the house. Admittedly, she couldn't picture her brother washing windows or cleaning floors but Sarah never complained about the housework or ended the day looking half dead on her feet. Kate sighed and peered into the pot. She was certain that she must've forgotten an ingredient but couldn't figure out which one.
She jumped as Hugh suddenly came up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist and planting a kiss on her cheek. "What's taking so long?" He asked. He leaned over her, looking into the pot, and made a face.
"There was a line at the grocers," she replied wearily, hoping for a bit of understanding. "It threw me whole day off."
"Hm. Well, hurry up," he replied. "I wanted to go out later, before it gets too dark." He let go of her. "God, does it never shut up?"
Kate readjusted the baby on her hip. "I think he's hungry."
"He's not the only one," Hugh muttered.
She watched him leave the kitchen, Henry still bawling in her arms, the pot on the stove beginning to burn, and blinked back tears. Why was everything so impossible?
John had been instructed to bring a plate of cookies to Kate. No one had told him that the plate needed to be full. He told himself that as he helped himself to one, slyly slipping his hand beneath the wax paper. His mother may not have been as good a cook as his aunt, but her chocolate cookies were wonderful. Particularly when they were still warm.
He stopped in front of his aunt's house where Hugh was working on his car. The vehicle's parts lay scattered around him and he watched in fascination as the man poured some liquid into the engine
Hugh caught sight of him staring. "What do you want?"
John knew that the appropriate response was 'nothing' and he should go right inside and deliver the cookies as he was told but he couldn't hold back his own curiosity. "Is it broken?" He asked.
"No, I'm just cleaning out the oil line," Hugh replied as he redirected his attention to the task at hand.
John took a step forward. "Is that hard to do?" He looked at all of the parts on the ground and couldn't see how it could be anything but complicated and difficult.
"Come here."
John hesitated. He knew all too well what his parents thought of Hugh and he couldn't imagine any situation where they'd be alright with the two of them speaking.
"I'm not going to bite you," Hugh continued.
John looked around to ensure that he was alone, before cautiously approaching.
Hugh eyed the dish in his hands. "What's that?"
"Cookies."
"Did your mother make them?"
"Yeah, but they're actually good," John replied. "I've already had a few."
Hugh laughed. "Well, set those down and hand me that radiator," he instructed, pointing to a part nearby.
Obediently, John set the plate down and brought it over.
"Alright, now pay attention. You see these long bolts sticking out?" Hugh asked, pointing them out.
John nodded.
"That's where this goes. Sits right over them." He carefully positioned the radiator on the frame. "Now, we add this piece to keep it in place. It's the support." He looked at John. "Your father doesn't like me much, does he?"
"No."
"He probably wouldn't want you talking to me."
"Probably not."
Hugh laughed. "Well, we'll just keep this conversation secret then." He turned back to the car. "Alright, now we connect the cylinder head outlet—this part right here," he added, seeing the blank look on John's face. "And we tighten these. Here." He handed John the wrench and stepped back to let him do it. "I'm surprised you haven't learned any of this yet. You're what…eight? Nine?"
John bristled at his guess. "Twelve," he replied sharply. He may not have been the tallest in his class but he was far from the smallest and he hated when people mistook him for a child.
"You're twelve and you don't know anything. Your father not teaching you?"
John shrugged. "No, but I don't know if he knows it." At least, he had never seen his father disassemble their car in the driveway.
"Probably not," Hugh agreed. "If you're not driving your car, there's no need for knowing how to maintain it. I guess he doesn't go out much."
"No, but mom likes it when he's home." John sighed. He wished his family went out more, did more exciting things. Jimmy was always bragging about the latest trip his father had taken him on…amusement parks, fishing trips, ball games, cruises up and down the coast. It was a near miracle that he got to see fireworks during the Fourth. But even then…he thought of the way his father had reacted and frowned.
Hugh gave him a look. "What's bothering you?"
John hesitated. A small voice in the back of his head told him to not to say anything, to change the subject, to move on to something better, but before he could stop himself the question slipped out. "There isn't something wrong with my dad, is there?"
Hugh dropped the wrench in his hands. "Why would you ask that?"
John's shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug, torn between loyalty to his father and the nagging doubts that plagued his mind. "I don't know. I just sometimes think…Jimmy said…" his voice trailed away altogether. "He's alright, right?" He finally managed.
Hugh was quiet as he turned back to his car, connecting pieces that all looked the same to John. After a moment, he sighed. "You know how he met your mother, right?"
"No."
"They never told you?"
John shook his head. "They don't talk about the past." It was infuriating.
"They met on the Titanic. "
"They did not." He had heard about it from classmates in school but had assumed it was only a tragedy to rich people. At least the only names he heard connected to it belonged to the wealthiest men in the country. The idea of his parents being there—they must have been far from wealthy because if they were wealthy, he'd have his own bicycle by now—was absurd.
"They did," Hugh insisted. "Your real father was also there."
"Is that how he died?" At last, an answer to the mystery. He couldn't wait to tell Dottie.
"It is."
John fell silent as he considered everything. It was good to have a few answers at last, but others still remained. "How did my dad survive?" He asked. He had always believed that all men had died, heroically giving up their survival for the women and children.
"You'd have to ask him."
"Couldn't you just—"
"Could, but I won't," Hugh replied. "I think you should talk to him. Or your mother…talk to your mother. She's nicer."
"But—"
Ignoring him, Hugh picked up the hood and positioned it over the engine. "See those clips? Go ahead and turn them. There's some on the other side as well."
Once again, John did as he was told.
"All done," Hugh said. "Now you can get on home."
But just as John prepared to leave, Hugh suddenly called him back. "Wait," he said, gesturing to the plate of cookies. "Take those into your aunt first."
"Oh, right." John picked it up and went inside. He found Kate at once, sitting in the living room, her sleeping baby on her lap. "Just dropping these off," he told her. He slipped his hand beneath the wax paper once again and took another cookie…one for the road.
Kate reached out for the plate. "You mean yer droppin' off what's left," she replied, setting the plate on the nearby table. "Why are ye all greasy?"
John hesitated. "Hugh was teaching me how to fix his car."
She looked surprised. "Oh, well, ye better hurry on home then."
But John remained standing by her. "Were you on the Titanic with my parents?" He asked.
Kate's expression turned uneasy and she shifted uncomfortably. "Aye, I was."
"And did you—"
"Go on home now," she interrupted him, her voice strangely sharp. "Yer mother will be worryin' if yer gone any longer."
"But—"
"Go."
John let out an exasperated sigh as he turned and stomped from the house. It was frustrating that no one seemed to think he was old enough to handle whatever secrets lay buried in his family. No one except Hugh. He waved to the man, who was busy wiping down his car, as he passed by.
As he drew closer to his home, he made up his mind and slipped into the woods in search of Dottie. If anyone could sort all the mysteries out, it'd be her.
Kate stepped out onto the front porch and shivered. The chilly breeze carried with it the whispers of impending winter as it rustled the few leaves still remaining on the trees. She quickly opened the mailbox and withdrew a small stack of letters. Flipping through them quickly, she saw that they were almost entirely for Hugh, recognizing a few bills in the pile. But also among them, she spotted her name written in Cal's familiar handwriting.
Glancing around to ensure that she was alone, she swiftly tucked the letter into her pocket. She had told herself on a regular basis that she wasn't afraid of Hugh but she still wished, at all costs, to avoid an argument with him. And, knowing how much he disliked Cal, she could only imagine his reaction if he knew that they were writing to each other.
Returning inside, she found Hugh sitting at the kitchen table, engrossed in the newspaper, hardly acknowledging her arrival. "Mail's here," she said nonchalantly, placing the rest of the letters before him.
"Hm," he responded, not even looking up.
Seeking privacy, Kate slipped into the bathroom, quietly closing and locking the door behind her. She pulled out the letter from her pocket and began to read.
Dearest Kate,
I took your advice and I've now sat through numerous pointless meetings with my lawyer. I'm now forced to come to the conclusion that there seems to be no escape from my marriage. Dinah, as infuriating as it is to admit, is always ten steps ahead of me. It's disheartening and I can't help but wonder if there's some secret I'm missing. Should I resort to bribes? If so, who? The entire situation is so deeply frustrating that I can only believe I must've died that night in the North Atlantic and have been living in hell everyday since then.
Which, if that were the case, I am sorry to see that you're living the same bleak existence. You and Sarah are rare souls, good people who deserve better. If Hugh isn't appreciating you the way you deserve—a notion I gathered from your letters—he's undoubtedly a fool.
I must confess, your letters have revealed something to me, something unspoken yet unmistakable. I won't assume or mention it directly here, but I need you to know that I see you. I know you. You are not alone no matter how much it may seem that way. And, believe me, I know the feeling well myself. But, in the midst of this struggle, I have to believe that life has the potential to improve, for both of us, somehow, someday.
I know you're aware of my thoughts on your husband and I won't reiterate them now. But know this, if he ever mistreats you, if you ever find the need to escape, if you ever need anything at all, I will be here, unwaveringly.
Always.
With all the warmth in my heart,
Cal
As Kate read his words, tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to hold them back, telling herself that they were only due to exhaustion. But deep down, she knew that it was more than that. There was something in the letter that reached deep to her heart and she knew that every word was true. She pushed away the fleeting thought, the deep lingering doubt that she had made a mistake in marrying Hugh. She couldn't consider it. Doubt and regret wouldn't change anything.
Somewhere in the house, she heard Henry begin to cry, another poignant reminder of the life she had chosen.
Kate carefully folded up the letter and returned it to her pocket. She moved to the sink and splashed some cold water on her face as she tried to regain her composure. She lifted her head, taking a deep breath, and studied her own reflection in the mirror, seeing the exhaustion that lined her face.
"KATE!" Hugh's voice called out, jolting her back to the present moment.
"I'm coming," she called back, her own voice betraying a hint of shakiness. Taking one more deep breath, she collected herself before opening the door, facing her real life—the life she had chosen, the life she knew she couldn't escape from no matter what Cal might've claimed in his letter.
Fabrizio and Lelia held their wedding reception in a dance hall. A plain, unadorned dance hall, dimly lit from the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The room was too large for the number of people they invited but the spirit of complete joy made it seem smaller. A bar along one wall sold lime rickeys and sodas and a jazz band played loudly in the corner.
Cal had been disappointed that there was no liquor. He had even offered to acquire a few bottles of wine but Fabrizio had shut him down at once. They wanted everyone to remember every moment. How confident he was that what he was doing was the right thing. Cal couldn't remember feeling such confidence before his own wedding. But, then again, there hadn't been any love involved.
Still, the lime rickey wasn't terrible even if it would have been better as a gin rickey. He nursed it as he looked about the room, hoping to see Sarah or Kate but also knowing that there was little chance either of them would've been able to come. Instead, his eyes landed on a redheaded woman and his heart nearly stopped. She looked older, understandably so as it had been thirteen years, but she was still stunning. And certainly looked happier and more at ease than the last time he had seen her.
Rose must've felt him looking because, at that moment, she looked over and they locked eyes. A look of confusion fell across her face. Immediately, she picked up her drink and approached him. "Why are you here?" She asked, wasting no time at all.
"I was invited," Cal replied.
She arched an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Hm." She tapped her fingernail against the glass in her hand.
"What?" The question came out sharply. Specific moments in their past were rapidly coming to the surface and he couldn't stop thinking of how she had dismissed him after he found her on the Carpathia .
"Nothing," she replied. "I just didn't think this was your sort of crowd."
"I don't have a 'sort of crowd,'" Cal replied. "Not anymore."
"I see."
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. On the other side of the room, the band finished their song with one final, drawn out note. After a moment, a new song began.
"I've been following your career," Cal said, breaking the silence.
"Have you?"
"You've done wonderful for yourself."
"No thanks to yourself," Rose replied.
He let out a weary sigh. "Rose, could you possibly tone down your deep, and frankly misplaced, hatred of me for two minutes?" He asked. "I'm genuinely trying to compliment you."
To his surprise, she suddenly looked abashed. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Old habits, I suppose."
There was another silence. Cal took a drink and made a face. Even the smallest amount of gin would've made it better. "Did you ever marry?" He asked. Often he had wondered if her mother had her way in the end.
"Once, but it only lasted a few months," she replied. "Divorced now."
There was that word again, taunting him, hanging just out of reach. "How'd you manage it, if you don't mind me asking."
Rose shrugged. "I caught him in bed with another woman."
"I see." Adultery did seem to be everyone's preferred cause for divorce.
"It was only fortunate that I caught him before he had a chance to catch me."
Cal thought he must've misheard. "Before what?"
She raised her eyebrows.
"Oh," he replied, taken aback. "You really have changed."
"Have I? Or am I now finally allowed to be myself?"
Cal stared into his drink, unsure of how to respond.
"I'd heard you married," Rose continued. "What's she like?"
He sighed. "She's…all of your worst qualities and none of your good ones."
"Oh, no."
"And she's smarter than me."
Rose laughed. "You never did know how to pick them."
"I picked you, if I recall."
"And you would've ended up dreadfully unhappy for it."
"Well, thank God that never happened," he replied dryly.
"You really know Fabri well enough to get an invitation?" Rose asked, changing the subject.
"I've known him for years." He quickly did the math in his head. "Twelve years, I think."
"How did you even meet?"
"Through Sarah."
"Who's Sarah?"
"John's wife."
"Who's John?"
"Sarah's first husband."
Rose let out a huff. "Cal."
He sighed once again. "I met John on the Titanic and I met his wife on the Carpathia ," Cal explained. "She knew Fabrizio and I had the opportunity to meet him when I was helping her with a legal matter."
"You know he was in third class on the Titanic , right?"
"I do know that," Cal replied. "And Sarah was in second."
"And you're alright with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you're…you."
"Rose, I know you like to blame me for everything, and I admit, I didn't understand you although God knows I certainly tried to," Cal said. "But let's not pretend you're any better. You certainly didn't make any effort to understand me. Excuse me," he said before walking away, tired of the conversation and tired of feeling unwelcome–he felt enough of that at home.
Cal didn't know why he was so caught off guard at running into Rose. It only made sense that she would be there. She knew both Fabrizio and Lelia, after all. He should have known. But he hadn't considered it and now he desperately longed for a strong drink. "Goddamn Rose," he muttered as he drained the last of his disappointing lime rickey.
Winter
Sarah had miraculously managed to bring everyone together for Christmas, even Hugh, although Pat found his presence admittedly less than ideal. But he was willing to tolerate the man being in his home if it also meant having Kate and her children there as well. The house, itself, was beautifully decorated with boughs of holly and red paper chains and John had taken charge of picking out the perfect tree, which now stood slightly askew in the middle of the living room, buried in ropes of popcorn and silvery tinsel. Thus far in the evening, everyone seemed to be getting along, although Pat had intentionally kept his distance from Hugh, thinking it best for everyone. And if that wasn't astonishing enough, by closely following the steps in a cookbook, Sarah had managed to cook a meal that, at least, smelled as good as anything Kate had ever made. Altogether the savory aroma of roasting duck and the comforting fragrance of pine from the tree blended together to create an atmosphere of unparalleled coziness and peace that Pat wished would last forever.
But just as they settled down to eat, Henry began to cry from the other room. Pat glanced at Hugh, hoping he would respond, but the man continued eating as though nothing was amiss.
Finally, after a moment, Hugh spoke up. "Kate," he said, giving her a look. "It's crying."
Kate sighed wearily and, setting down her fork, left the room.
"Ye could've let her eat," Pat said.
"Pat," Sarah warned in a low voice. "Don't."
"Ye could've tended to the baby yerself," Pat continued.
Hugh calmly set down his fork and looked at him. "How about you mind your own business?"
Before Pat could say anything further, Sarah placed a hand on his arm and gave him a stern look. "Excuse me," she said as she rose from her seat. "I'll go check on her."
The room fell into an uneasy silence and Pat fought against the urge to say more. So badly he wanted to demand that Hugh treat his sister better, that he would just leave town altogether. But he held it all in. Sarah had worked so hard on creating a perfect day and he didn't want to be the one to ruin it.
"This is good," Hugh said, holding up a forkful of duck. "But I got to ask. How does it compare to what you ate on the Titanic ?" His gaze locked onto Pat. "Better? Worse?"
Pat glared at him, his grip tightening on the fork in his hands. He imagined what it would be like to plunge the tines into Hugh's throat. However, a soft touch on his arm drew his attention to John, who was quietly watching him. Almost imperceptibly, John shook his head. "Excuse me," Pat muttered, his anger evident as he tossed the fork down and abruptly left the table.
Pat followed the sound of crying up the stairs to their bedroom. He was about to enter the room when he heard his name mentioned. Despite knowing that he shouldn't, he couldn't help but pause to listen in.
"I don't know why Pat can't just leave it alone," Sarah was saying, frustration clear in her voice. "I understand he doesn't care for him. But picking fights isn't going to end well. In fact," she hesitated. "It just worries me."
"Well, that's Pat for ye," Kate replied. "He's never been one to think before speakin'. But I wouldn't be botherin' about it." She sighed. "Lord, I can't remember babies ever bein' this exhaustin'. I swear yer the lucky one here."
There was a pause. "Well…" Sarah's voice trailed off.
"Sarah?"
"Don't tell Pat. I wouldn't want to get his hopes up," Sarah said. "But I think so." Her voice was hesitant, uncertain. "It likely won't even last."
"Oh, don't be sayin' that. I know it's goin' to work out," Kate replied. "And then ye can be tired and miserable just like me."
They both laughed.
"I can't believe ye put him to sleep," Kate said, softly.
"It wasn't me," Sarah replied. "I think he wore himself out with all of his crying."
Pat knocked on the door frame before stepping into the room. He smiled at the sight before him. Sarah and Kate sat side by side on the bed, Sarah cradling the peacefully sleeping baby, a contented smile on her face.
"I don't want to ruin the moment, but I'm goin' to stab him with a fork if one of ye don't get back to the table," Pat said.
"Of course ye are," Kate sighed. She reached out for the child.
"No." Sarah shook her head. "You go eat. I'm perfectly happy right here."
"Are ye sure?"
Sarah nodded and offered a reassuring smile. "Just go."
Kate waited until they were halfway down the stairs before she reached out and stopped him. "Ye overheard her, didn't ye?"
Pat hesitated before deciding to be honest. "How can ye tell?"
"Ye seem happier than ye did the last time I saw ye just a moment ago."
"Don't tell Sarah I heard anythin'," Pat pleaded. "I really didn't mean to listen."
His sister smiled. "I won't say a word," she replied. "And thank ye for not stabbin' me husband with a fork on Christmas."
"I'm savin' that for next Christmas."
"Patrick."
"Would a spoon be more appropriate?"
"It's not funny," Kate insisted, hardly able to contain her own laughter.
"Fine," Pat replied. "But if he were to trip and land on a fork all of his own volition…"
"Stop it," she lowered her voice as they neared the kitchen. "He'll hear."
"Wouldn't want that."
"Pat," Kate began. "I hope everythin' works out for ye two this time."
"Me too." Pat couldn't imagine how Sarah could possibly survive losing a second child and the mere thought of losing her was unimaginable to him. "Me too."