AFTER
Another night and here we are again
All our faults laid out ahead
Let it out, then let it right back in
All those voices in your head
And we both know everything
But we can't learn to leave
So I'll tell you what you need
First thing: we make you feel better
Next stop: we pull it all together
I'll keep you warm like a sweater
Take my hand, hold on forever
Just fall apart if you need to
I'm here and I won't leave you now
"Hold On Forever"
Rob Thomas
May 13, 1952
Worcester, Massachusetts
Chuck heard conversation in the hallway outside his open office door, able to tell from the voices he heard that Morgan had accidentally bumped into Roan as he'd exited Chuck's office.
A third voice, a woman's voice Chuck didn't recognize, joined the conversation.
In a matter of seconds, Morgan was leaning in Chuck's door and knocking on the frame.
"Chuck?" Morgan asked as he stepped through the doorway.
"What's up, buddy?" Chuck looked up from his papers.
Morgan reached back, gesturing to someone beyond Chuck's line of sight. A petite Asian woman in high heels walked past Morgan. She wore a gray pinstripe suit, the snugly contoured jacket a contrast to the accompanying loose pants, shockingly different from any attire Chuck recalled worn by a woman. Her long black hair was parted into two ponytails, one on each side of her head, which made her appear both child-like and sophisticated at the same time. Her makeup was boldly applied, her bright red lipstick electric next to her porcelain skin.
"Chuck, I'm sure you don't remember after all the…well, you know, the…uh…difficulties we've been dealing with for the past couple months. But this is the girl I mentioned. She applied for Hannah's old position. Anna Wu," Morgan said, leaning back over his shoulder to address her, "this is Chuck Bartowski." Morgan then turned back to Chuck. "Chuck, this is Anna Wu."
Morgan was right about Chuck's memory lapse, and the reason for it. Ever since March, his entire life had been a maelstrom of problems. He concentrated and eventually he recalled the conversation. "Oh, right, now I remember. You're the WPI student. Nice to meet you, Miss Wu."
She had immigrated to America from Taiwan not long after the Chinese revolution in 1949. Chuck remembered the details because when Morgan had first talked about her application, Morgan had mentioned that Anna was a graduate of the same private school as Sarah, Dana Hall in Wellesley, and in the same year, 1951. Anna had declined the typical finishing curriculum, instead opting for business mathematics more appropriate for business or legal secretarial employment after graduation. Now Anna was one of only three females enrolled in the accounting program at Worcester Polytechnic Institute.
"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Bartowski," Anna said politely, her hands folded demurely behind her back. "I sent out over 15 resumes and your company was the only one that even called me back."
That didn't surprise Chuck. Chuck thought of himself as fairly open minded, and he knew Morgan was too. Morgan's mother had worked most of Morgan's life to support their family, an uncommon situation but one Morgan understood to be necessary. Anna's resume had impressed Morgan before he had given any thought to her gender. That Anna was one of only a few women in the program at college was unsurprising. Even at Stanford, one of the most liberal colleges in the U.S, Jill had been one of a handful of women enrolled in a Master's program, and the only female in a scientific field in 1951.
"The job doesn't interfere with your studies?" Chuck asked, recalling the schedule constraints Morgan had mentioned when he had first spoken to Chuck about her. The position had been vacated in late January by a girl Chuck had known at Stanford and who had relocated to the east coast after graduation. Morgan had hired her; she quit because it became apparent that she was more interested in Chuck than the actual job, something Chuck had been typically oblivious to until Sarah had highlighted Hannah's behavior to him.
"Mornings, 20 hours a week, work well with my schedule, sir," Anna replied.
"It's a win-win," Morgan added. Chuck did a double take as he looked more closely at Morgan. His bearded friend was nervous, wringing his hands, a state Chuck had rarely seen in the years he had known Morgan. Chuck should have a talk with his friend about hiring women he saw as potential girlfriends. Business and pleasure rarely mixed well.
"Well, welcome aboard, Anna," Chuck said, reaching for her hand and shaking it politely, not quite sure of the gesture. "Oh, I wanted to mention. My wife would have been in your class at Dana Hall. Class of 51."
Anna smiled. "What's her name?"
"Sarah. Sarah Walker…although, it's…uh…Bartowski now," Chuck stammered, still trying to get used to how that sounded, with his name as part of hers.
Anna frowned, looking deep in thought. "Hmm," she huffed. "That doesn't sound familiar…but…maybe we just never crossed paths. What dorm did she stay in?"
"You know, I'm not sure," Chuck said, wondering why that topic had never come up. "She only went there her senior year," Chuck conceded.
"Chuck here is a newlywed," Morgan said, grinning ear to ear, meaning to explain Chuck's stammering over his wife's name.
"Congratulations," Anna said with a genuine smile, allowing Morgan's change of subject to persist. "How long have you been married?"
"Five days," Morgan laughed, wiggling his eyebrows, then sobering as Chuck glared at Morgan's eagerness to answer for him.
Anna giggled, looking at Morgan, not even noticing Chuck's expression. "Wow, I guess so. You must really love your job."
Such a friendly, conversational thing to say, but it made Chuck freeze. It wasn't merely a job; it had been his whole life since he had been ten years old, a destiny he couldn't outrun, more than a simple career choice. He was an engineer and a businessman, as he had always intended. Rarely did he find himself pondering his achievements, or congratulating himself about the obstacles he had overcome to get to this place. It was just his life, and despite it all, he had sacrificed almost everything to achieve it. Only five days ago, his most cherished dream had been fulfilled.
But love his job? Yes, I do. He had never thought about it in those terms, but it was accurate. He liked what he did and the people he worked with. Before everything went sour, he had even enjoyed working with Jack. The thought of losing all of this had weighed heavily on him, but now, he could face the future without fear. The plan for his business was solid, and profitability was likely.
Morgan escorted Anna out of Chuck's office. He went back to work.
As he was about to leave at the end of the day, his secretary, Agnes, informed him Dominic Babinska had left a message. Chuck had called the baker and left a message earlier in the day. Agnes told Chuck she had offered to get Chuck on the phone if Babinska would wait, but Babinska had declined, instead telling her a place and a time for a meeting with Chuck the next day.
Babinska's return call was appreciated, but the secrecy left Chuck feeling uneasy.
}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
Chuck lay back, waiting for Sarah to finish pulling her nightgown over her head, all a silky, shadowy blur in the darkness of their new bedroom. His breathing was still labored and the sheet pooled over his hip while she wriggled, shaking the mattress as she did so. When she finished, she laid back into the welcoming space created by his outstretched arm.
"Are you too warm for me to lay like this?" she asked, her lips close to his ear, as they had been moments before, when they whispered other things. He was still sweaty, able to feel the heat radiating from his skin in waves.
But Sarah's silky chemise felt cool and light along his side where it touched him. He pulled her close. "I don't care. If you're comfortable, I'm comfortable," he whispered, his voice still a little shaky.
She rested her head on his chest, nuzzling him, sighing her satisfaction.
"So tell me about your day," Chuck asked, now that their passion had subsided and they could talk. Dinner and the Caseys had monopolized their time after he had arrived home from work and before they had gone to bed.
She giggled and kissed his cheek. "Is this what married people do? You ask me what I did while I was home pining away for my husband?" The squeeze she gave him as she asked was proof that it was so, as had been her exertions before she slipped on her nightgown.
"You tell me," he laughed. "According to Gertrude everyone here had a super busy day. I, apparently, went to work to relax and shoot the breeze."
Sarah giggled again. "Casey dropped me off at the orphanage for my regular volunteering time. Then, later, after he picked me up, he dropped Gertrude and me off at Denholm's and we went shopping for this room. We spent the afternoon moving things and setting up," Sarah explained.
"No wonder Casey was grumbling about his back. Was he lugging furniture all afternoon?" Chuck asked.
"Not all afternoon. He went next door to get some help for the big stuff. I offered to help, but he wouldn't hear of it. He's very sweet, you know. Just don't tell him I told you that," Sarah added, her giggle becoming a throatier chuckle.
She stretched and kissed Chuck's cheek again, her lips lingering, her body close, her curves silken. "I did miss you, though," she whispered. "I know it sounds silly. You were only five miles away at work and for only eight hours. But we spent so much time apart…for so long…I feel like we have time to make up for. I waited so long for this, us, together, in our room."
Granted, she had only had an afternoon, and one shopping trip to the store, but the room looked nothing like it had when he'd left in the morning. Swapping out the bedroom set Casey and Gertrude had been using with the older set that had belonged to his parents had changed the feel of the room. It felt like it belonged to them, the two of them. The wallpaper was the same, a pale blue, satiny-textured covering. The bedspread was new, a deep blue floral pattern that accented the walls perfectly, instead of the bland ivory everything had been before. The pillows on the bed were a sky blue, perfectly complementing the walls, carpet, and new bedspread. There was a new lamp on the nightstand. Framed photographs taken from Chuck's old room, as well as the photographs Sarah had packed from her house, were placed carefully on the bedside table.
"I know I said it before, when we first came in, but you did a great job. It felt like a room I'd never been in before." She had surprised him at how quickly and efficiently she had decorated the space to make it their own; she had clearly imagined such a room for a long time.
As she hugged him in response, her other comment, about Casey dropping her off for her usual volunteer work, nagged at him. Chuck knew she had volunteered four days a week since she had returned from school, instead of pursuing more education or employment. It made much more sense to him now, believing he knew what had happened to her after Bryce was killed. But the idea of her alone now, while Shaw was out there, lurking, worried him. Telling her why he was worried was too complicated right now; he told himself he would ask Casey to remain at the orphanage while she volunteered. Casey might complain, but Chuck knew if he explained the entire situation to Casey, Casey would do whatever he could to ensure Sarah's safety.
She hummed her thanks into his chest. "So now you can tell me about your day," she offered, her smile unseen but audible in her tone.
"Roan came by to show me exactly how much money we have…which is a lot. Debts paid, orders made. We are working in the black again, well in the black," he added cheerily.
"That was everything your parents left you, Chuck," Sarah said, a hint of worry in her tone despite Chuck's cheer.
"Technically, yes. But I can pay Casey and Gertrude from the leftover custodial fund again, since I don't have to make payroll from that anymore. And we're profitable, and getting more profitable. We always were profitable, really. Only now…" He didn't finish. It never occurred to Chuck to not talk to Sarah about his business; she was his business partner, and she was deeply intelligent. What bothered him, the reason he didn't finish, was that he didn't want to sound like he was besmirching Jack to Sarah, something Chuck never wanted to do.
"Only now...my father can't steal from you anymore," Sarah replied sadly, lifting her head from his chest and finishing his sentence despite his attempt at avoidance.
"Not from me. Us," he said, stressing the word. "You own half." As Jack's sole heir, Sarah had inherited his half of the business. And now as Chuck's wife, she owned half of what Chuck owned. It was a distinct difference. "And that's at least one thing I don't have to worry about anymore."
"Did you call that man that Carina mentioned to you?" Sarah asked, remembering Chuck's first task at work was to call the old friend of his father's.
Chuck thought again of the strange secrecy involved. Not wanting to worry his wife, he replied, "Yes. I'm meeting him tomorrow. Hopefully I can figure some things out afterwards."
"Speaking of Carina," Sarah said, a lilt in her voice, "who is the new girl Morgan hired?"
That was the strangest transition, Chuck thought. Why did Carina bring Morgan to Sarah's mind? And how did Sarah know about Anna?
"Say…what?" Chuck asked, befuddled.
Sarah laughed at his tone. "I thought she was kidding, but she was being totally serious," Sarah answered. "Carina told me…she sort of…has a crush…on Morgan." Sarah still sounded like she wasn't sure she believed it.
"What?" Chuck gasped.
"Carina saw Morgan with…whoever she was–"
"Anna," Chuck replied. "Morgan hired her for Hannah's old job." He remembered the connection, reminding himself to tell Sarah when she finished.
"Carina got very jealous. Really, no act. She was appalled by Anna's blatant flirting with him."
"We are talking about Carina, right?" Chuck asked. Jealous? Blatant flirting was Carina's baseline. "When has Carina ever even interacted with Morgan, outside of our wedding?"
"I didn't know it, but I guess Morgan offered to help her with a tax problem. Something to do with Roxanne's house. Since March…they've been…talking," Sarah informed him.
Morgan had never mentioned it, Chuck thought. Knowing his friend the way he did, Chuck assumed the apparent secrecy was actually discretion. If having to explain his interaction with Carina involved divulging Roxanne's financial troubles, Morgan would have chosen to keep everything quiet.
But Carina was also sleeping with Daniel Shaw. And according to Sarah, prostituting herself. Morgan mixing himself with all that seemed bizarre.
"I could never say it in front of her, but sometimes, I feel so bad for Carina," Sarah said after Chuck's silence, sympathy in her voice. "I think she felt like everyone just gave up on her, so she kind of gave up on herself. It's hard to keep faith in yourself when no one else does. She never admitted it to me, but as wild as she always was, I think Marcel broke her heart and she never fully recovered." Sarah paused, thoughtful, then changed her tone. "She's jealous of Morgan, but she also believes that someone like Morgan would never be with someone like her. It hurts, acknowledging something like that to yourself."
As crazy as things had been when they were all growing up, Chuck knew, from hearing Sarah talk this way, that Sarah was genuinely close to Carina. Somewhere between antagonizing each other and commiserating over shared childhood trauma, they had become true friends.
It was why Carina knew Sarah's secret…and why she was running interference with Shaw. It was how Carina had known that Sarah loved him, and why Carina had stayed away from him.
Chuck spoke after a moment of silence. "I mean, Morgan was a little…out of sorts with Anna. She was a little more intimidating than Morgan is used to. But you think Morgan would look down on Carina?"
"Everyone does," Sarah retorted, bitterness tinging the words. "She holds her head up, but I've seen the way everyone looks at her, how they whisper. The contempt and condemnation. It's awful."
It was how some people had started to react to Sarah, right before Chuck left for his senior year at Stanford. It came far too easily to people to feel morally superior to others. Self-righteousness was a disease. It was hypocritical, Chuck thought. Everyone made mistakes; everyone had done things they were ashamed of.
But that was why it must have been so easy to blackmail Jack…if Sarah had a baby and wasn't married. Contempt and condemnation. Shame and judgment.
The thought chilled him. Eager to change the subject, he mentioned, "Oh, Sarah. Anna, the woman Carina saw, she graduated from Dana Hall with you. She didn't recognize you by name, though. But she must have stood out to you. She dresses…uniquely."
Chuck heard Sarah inhale sharply in the darkness. "I'm not…sure. I spent…a lot of time…alone…during that year," Sarah said after a long moment. She had been relaxed against him, one leg stretched over his and both feet intertwined with his, but as she spoke, her pose changed. She went rigid, pulling her feet away, and her skin suddenly felt clammy.
His mind started racing, the thoughts unwelcome and unbidden, but undeniable. He had seen how she had arranged all of her things in the closet, her dresses and shoes. On the closet shelf above, she had placed one of her handbags and the contents of the box Chuck had taken out of Roxanne's house, the only possessions of hers he had seen Sarah take from Jack's house.
The lack of school uniform he could understand. She hadn't enjoyed being at school; the constrictive, conservative uniform would most likely have been happily discarded, maybe even burned.
But no diploma?
Chuck's memory wasn't photographic per se, but the way he remembered things was often like that. He could see the shelf in his mind–books, boxed knickknacks–but nothing that resembled a leather-bound diploma.
No diploma…because she never graduated.
He started calculating time in his head, the computations automatic, his logic impeccable. Her uneasiness when he'd asked about college, her careful parsing…was because she never graduated from high school.
Bryce left in early July, right after he had unknowingly gotten Sarah pregnant. She would have realized she was pregnant before the end of the summer. Jack never sent her to boarding school–he sent her somewhere to hide her pregnancy. She had given birth and her body bore the scars of that birth, the parts of her that she hid from him in the dark or by means of nightgowns.
When Sarah called me in late August and Jill never told me! She had called him because Jack was sending her away. Had she meant to tell him what had happened? To ask him for help? Damn it, because of Jill, he never knew.
And if she got pregnant in July, her baby would have been born in March or April. She never went to Bryce's funeral, she didn't come home for Christmas, and she never called him when he returned in March. The agony she had worn like a cloak finally made sense. Jack must have forced her to give the baby up for adoption. When Chuck had finally seen her, after almost a year and a half, she had only been a month past having her baby.
"Chuck?" Sarah asked with concern, breaking the silence. She had gone rigid in his arms, and he had responded in kind to his own thoughts. He was panting, shaking, twitching like he could no longer lay still, and Sarah felt it.
He pulled her close, held her firmly despite her stiff withdrawal. His grip became fierce as the emotions buffeted him like hurricane winds. All of her anguish between then and now, buried deep inside her, overwhelmed him. He fought the threatening tears.
Sarah, why didn't you tell me?
The words reverberated inside his head. It took all of his strength not to say them, the pain masticating his heart.
He knew why, knew the answer, intellectually. Jack had forbidden it. Her father sent her away and demanded that she tell no one, especially not Chuck. Carina knew, and he was almost certain Diane knew as well. But no one else had any idea, and now he knew that phone call that Jill had intercepted had to have been Sarah's desperate attempt to defy her father for his sake, but instead Sarah had been lied to by his ex-fiancee.
Chuck never knew he was capable of hatred. Even at Jill's ugliest, most jealous and vengeful, Chuck had been able to understand her motivations, even if he could not readily forgive them. Hatred was so strong, so black…and yet, he found it flooding him.
Jill wouldn't have known the destruction she had wrought, how deeply she damaged Sarah's life, and his, in that moment. With bitterness, he thought Jill might even be satisfied if she knew, as spiteful and mean as she had been to him. But it was in the past, and he reminded himself of that, even as he contemplated the wasted years full of pain in between then and now.
"I love you," he whispered, feeling Sarah's muscles finally starting to relax as he held her. He meant it as an absolute, an answer to every question spinning in his mind at his new revelation. And it was absolute, as undeniable as the gravity holding him to the ground. That love could lift him and her above the wreckage of the past.
Her response was to hold him intensely in return, holding him like he was a life preserver on a turbulent, storm-riddled sea. They fell asleep clinging to each other.
May 14, 1952
Worcester, Massachusetts
Babinska's bakery was on Millbury Street, the main road that ran through Green Island, the Polish neighborhood where Chuck's father had grown up. The message Babinska had left for Chuck last evening had listed his bakery as the place, and the time as right now, 9 am.
Chuck stepped to the glass door entrance, noting the business sign clearly stated the bakery opened at 10 am on Fridays. He reached for the handle and pulled, surprised that the door was locked.
He hadn't pulled his hand away from the door handle when a blur of black and white appeared, rushing to the door and unlocking it. Chuck stepped through the door as the man who had opened it moved behind the counter.
Dominic Babinska was short and stout. His hair was thick and white.
He's the same age that my father would be if he was alive. Chuck's parents had died in their late 30s, forever immortalized in Chuck's memory as relatively young, despite how Chuck himself had aged. He often wondered if when he looked in the mirror, Chuck would see what his father might have looked like as Chuck aged. Everyone had commented on how much he resembled his father, at least before his parents had been killed and all mention of them became taboo.
"I can tell you must be Charles," Babinska said with a twisted smile. "You look so much like your father I thought for a moment I had gone back in time." Babinska scanned Chuck's body up and down. "Though, you're a tall drink of water, son. Taller than Stephen."
Babinska didn't speak broken English, but he had what Chuck thought must have been a Polish accent, though he believed he had never heard one before. Or if he had, he no longer remembered hearing it.
"The last time I saw you, you were still in a baby carriage," Babinska noted, as if adding to Chuck's thoughts about his past.
"Long time ago," Chuck said conversationally. He sighed and started, "The reason I wanted to talk to you–"
"I know. Sal's been keeping abreast of the situation," Dominic replied. His reference to Sal, as if assuming Chuck was on a first name basis with the man, was troubling. Sal was Salvatore Cipriani.
Nothing like cutting to the chase, Chuck thought. "Then you know I came here because I need help."
Babinska's friendly smile sobered. "Tell me what you know."
Chuck thought back to what Carina had said at the restaurant. Babinska was connected, but he wasn't mafia, not like Cipriani. But could he trust this man, no questions asked?
You don't have a choice, he thought. He thought of his father, and started to speak.
"Jack Burton borrowed money from Frank Iaconi and he found himself unable to repay the loans. Jack had been stealing from my father's company the entire time I was growing up…after my parents died. I don't know how the debts weren't called in, but they weren't. Jack owed Iaconi thousands of dollars when he died."
Babinska nodded along as Chuck spoke. "You married Jack's daughter, didn't you?" he asked.
Word got around fast, it seemed. "Sarah."
"Lucky man," Babinska chuckled. "The girl's a beauty."
Chuck was lucky, but not merely because of Sarah's looks. "I've known Sarah since she was six," he said softly.
Babinska nodded and smiled. "Jack thought the world of you, Son. Not sure if he ever told you that, but he did." He folded his hands on the counter before him. "Sal and I didn't pay our respects at the funeral. Didn't think it was appropriate, or that it would have been appreciated. But please pass my condolences to your wife."
After a brief pause, Chuck asked, "Do I need to worry about the unpaid debt?" He swallowed hard. "Is someone going to come after my wife?"
Babinska shook his head forcefully, before Chuck was even done speaking. "No one will touch a hair on her head. She was Jack's daughter. His little girl. Sal, Iaconi, too, for that matter, have daughters. Jack's girl was innocent of all of this. Jack fell on his sword, so to speak, just as he should have, to make the proper amends. I know it sounds too easy, but it's the greaseball Italian bullshit. Old country, casa nostra. All that."
As anxious as he had been, hearing that again, like a confirmation of his hopes, made Chuck feel better. "I was told I should…you know, do something…make a peace offering."
Babinska's jaw clenched and he looked away. "I can talk to Sal, if you want. My word of advice, don't offer to pay these people. Don't give them any ideas about where their next paycheck could come from. The bosses have quotas, so the captains have quotas, even Sal."
It was similar to what Roan had warned him about. At least he was talking to an intermediary.
Babinska's face softened. "If it helps you find any kind of comfort, or forgiveness, Jack made mistakes and he lost money, and he eventually stole to cover his tracks. But the large sum, the one he couldn't pay back…he borrowed for a good reason. To help someone, not to help himself. I can't tell you any more than that, but I am telling you the truth."
Chuck tried to digest that information. The sickness sloshed in his stomach when he thought the person Babinska couldn't tell him about was Sarah.
"Daniel Shaw. He works for Cipriani, doesn't he?" Chuck asked.
Babinska's countenance shifted at the mention of Shaw's name. His eyes bulged and he paled. Babinska is afraid of Shaw.
Babinska nodded silently, then he spoke carefully. "The man's an animal. He beat Jack up pretty bad more than once."
"What if I told you I have proof that Daniel Shaw was blackmailing Jack? That was the reason why Jack couldn't pay back the loan."
"I'd say I'd tread lightly if I were you," Babinska said slowly, "lightly. Iaconi won't come after your wife. But Shaw, Shaw sure as hell will."
His stomach still sloshing, Chuck pressed on. "What would Cipriani, or Iaconi, do if they found out Shaw was blackmailing Jack but not paying them their cut?"
Babinska's eyes darted back and forth, calculating. "Whack him for sure. But understand–the only thing more dangerous than a wild animal is a cornered wild animal. Shaw won't go quietly…and he'll take you down the instant he knows it was you who informed on him, even if he has to take you down with his last breath."
Babinska must have noted how Chuck had reacted, his hands fists. Babinska continued. "I can arrange a meeting with Cipriani. Sal loved your dad, Charles. Like a brother. That still counts for something in these parts."
Chuck left the bakery feeling worse than when he'd arrived. Sal maybe had loved Chuck's father like a brother. But what if he had once felt the same way about Jack, but still regarded Jack's suicide as appropriate? Brother or not, a debt was a debt. Jack's death was justice in their eyes. That was how they saw things. A merciless vision.
Would such vision persist? Or was there truly a way out? Chuck wished he knew.
A/N: Thanks to Zettel for pre-reading. Historical notes: In the early 1950s, even at prestigious boarding schools like Dana Hall, the curriculum would have been extremely limited. In this story, Sarah would have basically been in finishing school, that is, learning how to set the table correctly, conversational instruction, etc. Employment available to most women would have been teaching or secretarial, as a place holder until she was married. Situations like Anna's were very rare.
