Kathryn lit the last candle and stood back to admire her handiwork. Her apartment was bathed in the inviting glow of a dozen candles strategically placed in a romantic halo, the last two on the small kitchen table now residing in the middle of her living room.
She looked at the clock. It was five until seven. Perfect timing. Jenny would probably be on her block by now, or, perhaps, in unbridled anticipation, uncharacteristically early.
Kathryn rubbed her hands together and looked around, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything. Dinner was warming, the wine was chilling, table made, fresh flowers, soft music, clean sheets, candles burning. Now all she needed was a certain wonderful someone to knock on her door and make the evening perfect.
She deposited the box of matches in a drawer and closed it with a quick swat of her hip before treading expectantly to the front window to see if she could get a glimpse of Jenny coming down the street. She wondered if she was as nervous as she was. Nervous, she chuckled to herself as she parted the wooden blinds ever so slightly. What the hell did she have to be nervous about?
Jenny made everything easy, so terribly easy. Even their phone call the night before, the one she was convinced would end badly, had quickly become a cathartic lesson in the power of forgiveness, an unexpected reward for letting go of expectations and fear. She couldn’t remember allowing herself to be so vulnerable, yet she felt perfectly safe in the intimate isolation of Jenny’s disembodied voice at the end of the phone line. How safe she would feel face to face remained to be seen, but trying very hard to remember her new lesson, she pushed the insecurity out of her head.
She leaned back from the window, letting the blinds flap into place. No Jenny. She glanced at the clock. Seven on the dot. Well, Jenny wasn’t known for her punctuality. She rolled up the sleeves on her crimson colored blouse and tried to busy herself. She checked on dinner, rearranged the flowers, unboxed the pie she’d rushed out and bought at the last minute, having completely forgotten about dessert, and before she knew it, it was seven thirty. She found herself at the window again, hand on hip, and this time there was nothing slight about the parting of the blinds, her fingers prying the wooden slats into unnatural curves.
She was more concerned than angry. A few minutes late was typical, but a half hour was worrisome, especially knowing how much Jenny was looking forward to their date, or so she had said. Kathryn set free the blinds and shook her head. She was not going down that road. She had not been stood up. There was another explanation. Jenny would call at any minute. She looked at the ominously silent phone. Why hadn’t she called already? Possibilities took turns tormenting her. Did she miss the call while getting dessert? Not likely. Surely, she would have called back. Train behind schedule? Accident? Her heartbeat quickened. She spared one more futile look up and down the street, not wanting to consider the option, and disregarded it. Fate had already played that card. She paused and dialed the hospitals anyway. Thankfully, she came up empty.
As the minutes dragged on, she paced her small apartment and tried to keep sinister thoughts from her mind. Jenny wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet. She’d antagonized Forrester, the strikers at the plant, and Lord knows what her Uncle Paul might be into that could come back on her. She cleared her head of such thoughts and passed them off as a reflection of her own paranoia. She found herself leaning on the kitchen counter, staring at the dinner plates she’d taken out of the oven. The domestic normalcy of the oven mitts on her hands was an absurd contrast to the conspiracy theories fighting for supremacy in her head.
A shrill ring quickly erased it all, and she bolted for the phone, taking note of the time—seven forty-five.
“Please be you,” she whispered before she picked up the handset. “Yes?”
Jenny impatiently grabbed her coat from the hall tree. For once, she wasn’t late, just excited. She looked at her watch. Six thirty. She would get there with ten minutes to spare if everything was running on time. She checked her reflection in the hall mirror and grinned at the thought she might catch Kathryn dressing.
She gathered her purse and keys from the foyer table and headed out the door. She no sooner got outside when a taxi pulled up in front of her house and Bernie emerged. She could tell by his body language that something was wrong. Very wrong. She hurried across the lawn to meet him and, she could see he’d been crying. He wiped his nose with his sleeve.
Jenny reached out for his hand. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat and sniffled. “Cal’s shipping out.”
“Oh, Bernie.”
“We had a fight. I told him if he came back, I didn’t want to see him again.”
“Oh, Bernie,” she repeated, trying not to sound incredulous but failing badly. “You didn’t.”
He nodded regretfully and wiped his nose with his sleeve again.
That didn’t sound like him. “That must have been some fight.”
“He’s known for weeks, Jenny, and he didn’t tell me.”
“Well, Bernie maybe—”
“I know, I know. I’m sure he had a very good reason, but it just made me so darn mad. I could have spent more time with him, or cherished the moments more, or something! He didn’t give me the chance.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Of course not.” He looked to the setting sun and then to his feet. “I think I love him.”
That’s all Jenny needed to hear. “Okay. You’ve got to straighten this out before he leaves.”
“Can’t.”
“Bull. There’s nothing you can’t fix.”
“He’s leaving tonight. He’s at the station now.”
“Penn?”
Bernie nodded.
“When does his train leave?”
“Seven forty-five.”
Jenny looked at her watch and grabbed his arm, dragging him toward her father’s Cord. “Come on, we can still make it.”
“Bug, I can’t,” he said as he resisted. “The things I said.”
Jenny wanted to say, Yeah, that’s going around. “Bernie—” She stopped short and faced him. “Can you live with yourself if something happens to him and you don’t have the chance to set this right?”
He hesitated, and she answered for him. “I’m here to tell you that’s one burden you don’t want to bear. Now come on. You’ve got plenty of time to learn to eat crow. I hear it tastes pretty good with a little humility on top.” She pulled him toward the car and then stopped. Kathryn. She looked at her watch. “Get in the car, I’ll be right back.”
“Say, does this thing even run?”
“I sure hope so,” she said as she hurried to the house. With gas rationing and the rubber shortage, it mostly just sat in the driveway, but she drove it once a month just to keep the temperamental thing running.
She dialed Kathryn’s number but got no answer. “Damn.” She looked at her watch again. By the time she got to another phone, she would be fifteen minutes late for her date. Time was wasting, and allowing a half hour to actually find Cal in the madness of Penn Station meant she didn’t have a moment to spare. She decided she’d just have to drive a little faster, in hopes of calling Kathryn sooner, and trust that after their phone conversation the night before, she would understand.
Two traffic jams and one construction detour later, they were standing in a maelstrom of humanity with only fifteen minutes to find a needle in a haystack. Jenny sent Bernie to the concourse and she headed to the phone bank. Luckily, someone was just hanging up as she arrived, and she managed to convince the next fellow in line that her call was a minor emergency, thus avoiding the lines of primarily soldiers and businessmen. It was seven thirty by her watch, and she was prepared to grovel. She was not prepared for a busy signal. She looked at the handset like it was insane and thought about dialing again, but she caught sight of Bernie pointing down at the trains and arguing with a porter at the top of the platform stairs. She relinquished the phone and made a mad dash for her friend, feeling like a steel ball in a pinball game, as she curtly excused her way through the bustling crowd.
The porter wouldn’t let Bernie down to the platform without a ticket, and one look at the ticket window line told Jenny there was no way they would get through in time. She reached into her purse and pulled out a letter she hadn’t mailed and waved it in the porter’s face with a sob story about a dying mother writing down her last words to her son before he ships out.
“He’s right there,” Jenny lied, pointing vaguely at the crowd of boarding soldiers below.
Shouts of “For crying out loud, brother, have a heart! The kid’s mom is dyin’!” floated above the impatient crowd. Reluctantly, the man let them pass, and by some sheer stroke of luck, or fate, or serendipitous coincidence, there was Cal, just ahead, with his stuffed duffle bag hanging low from his shoulder, his hat perched lackadaisically at an angle atop his red hair, and an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear.
Bernie suddenly got a case of the nerves, but Jenny marched right up to the soldier, yanked him out of line, and dragged them both to a dark corner beside a large electrical conduit box under the stairs.
“Cal, Bernie has something he needs to tell you.” She turned to her friend. “And if you don’t tell him, I will.”
He knew she was serious.
“You have eight minutes. Go.” She shoved them into the corner and stood guard with her back turned, shielding them from the mass of humanity swirling around them.
The final call for boarding rang out, and the two men emerged. Jenny could tell by their appreciative smiles that the trip had not been in vain. She hugged Cal and finally allowed her emotions to register that he was shipping out.
“Please be careful,” she whispered into his ear as his long arms engulfed her.
“I will, Jenny. Thank you.” He looked at Bernie, who was doing his best to hold back his tears. “You take care of him,” he drawled with an easy grin as he released her and stood up straight.
“Don’t you worry.” She smiled bravely. “You just come back to us.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No!” Bernie and Jenny said in unison.
Cal and Bernie exchanged a brotherly hug, and Jenny turned away again, trying to make their last moments as private as one can on a crowded train platform.
When Cal was safely on board, they climbed the stairs to the concourse. Jenny tipped a hand of thanks to the porter as she passed him and headed toward the phones again. Bernie stayed at the top of the platform and watched the train pull away.
The telephone bank cleared, thanks to the departing train, so Jenny stepped right up, and this time when she called, she got an answer.
“Yes?”
Kathryn didn’t sound angry, but to cover all the bases, she immediately said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get away to call. I—”
“Jenny! Thank—” A pause “What do you mean get away?” Kathryn sounded a little frazzled. “Are you all right? Did someone—”
“Kat, I’m fine. I’m okay.” Jenny went on to tell her story, apologizing over and over for missing their date. Kathryn’s lack of comment concerned her. “Are you angry?”
“Of course not.” Kathryn’s voice became softer, more intimate. “I’m just glad you’re all right, and I’m glad Bernie got to see Cal before he shipped out.”
“I’m so sorry about dinner, Kat.” She looked at her watch. “Listen, I want to take Bernie home and make sure he’s okay, but I’ll head right over after that.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “That’s okay, Jenny. We can get together some other night. I’m sure you’re exhausted, and I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
Jenny bit her lip, wondering if Kathryn was a little more upset than she was letting on. “Are you mad?”
“No, honey, I promise. Just disappointed.”
Kathryn’s term of endearment and the tone in which she breathed it hit Jenny in all the right places, finally settling in her weakening knees. “Me too.”
They heard a click on the line and the operator broke in. “Please limit your call to five minutes. Others are waiting.”
The curfew on nonessential calls meant theirs was over.
“Be careful driving home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, Kat. I was so looking forward to tonight.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Kathryn replaced the handset and paused for a few moments with her hand on the phone. She was disappointed but thankful Jenny was safe. Her evening over, she sat at the candlelit table, reached into the now-melted bucket of ice, removed the wine bottle, and poured herself a glass.
“Expectations,” she said with a weary grin, finding them a hard habit to break. She gave them one more thought, then bid them farewell, like the candle flame she extinguished between her two moistened fingertips.
Jenny propped her head up on her fist and exhaled for the umpteenth time, trying to pretend it was the snarled traffic responsible for her foul mood, but Bernie knew better.
“I’m sorry about your date, Bug. You should have said something.”
She shrugged and smiled amiably. “Don’t worry about it, Bernie.” She glanced in the rearview mirror in an attempt to sell her deflected annoyance and waved her hand at the beeping frustrated jumble of taxis, cars, buses, and delivery trucks before them. “Look at this mess.” She laid on her horn for effect. Getting Bernie to the station to set things right with his guy was more important than her date, in the big scheme of things, but having accomplished that task, her lost evening was beginning to demand payment for its neglect. She didn’t want Bernie to feel any worse than he already did about it, but she could tell from his expression and the way he absently scratched his cheek at her performance that she wasn’t doing a very good job of masking the extent of her disappointment.
After a few moments of guilty contemplation he asked, “So how’s it going with her?”
Jenny eased into the adjacent lane of traffic, its turn to crawl, and used the distraction to arrange her thoughts. Knowing most of the details were not only personal but out of Bernie’s scope of allowable knowledge, she decided on a positive, but generic, “It’s going well.”
Bernie looked at her sideways. “Well? Not terrific, fantastic, the best sex ever?”
Jenny had to admit that the slow progress of their relationship was frustrating, but if their one night together was any indication, there would be many more nights to compete for the title of the best sex ever. In fact, if only they could get on the same page, she was sure their relationship would be terrific and fantastic as well. “It’s complicated. You know that.”
“Well, there’s complicated and then there’s not worth it.”
She turned to him with a look that was almost a warning, his casual comment betraying his lack of comprehension. “It’s worth it to me.”
Bernie paused, and she knew he recognized the same fierceness in which she defended her last disaster, Marcella.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Jenny.”
The use of her first name accentuated his concern, which she appreciated, but he needed to understand. “She’s nothing like her, Bernie,” she said, unable to speak her ex’s name in comparison.
“What do you really know about this woman?”
Jenny debated about what to say. She couldn’t very well avoid the subject, and keeping in mind what was public knowledge and what was private or OSS business, she covered the basics as she knew them: schooling, singing, a stint in Paris, and what she imagined would be the typical life of a nightclub singer, with the added adventure of being a mobster’s mistress. Having heard herself tell the story, and suffering through Bernie’s deafening silence after, she could understand his trepidation and felt the need to instill upon him just how important Kathryn had become. “She’s an incredible woman, Bernie, unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“You’re in love.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He tilted his head, incredulous. “Hello?” He scolded her for even asking and then softened his demeanor. “Does she know?”
“I hope not,” Jenny said into the driver’s side window as she negotiated another lane change.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m afraid she’ll run if she finds out.”
Bernie shook his head and proffered a look, expressing both warning and concern. “Jenny—”
“She’s special, Bernie,” she said before Bernie could articulate everything she already knew was against them. “I can’t explain it. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
He was quiet for a few moments, and Jenny knew he was cautiously accepting her devotion while turning it over in his romantic head.
“Life’s too short, Jenny. If you love her, tell her.”
Kathryn turned off the music and circled her apartment, blowing out candles. Worry and relief had grounded her uncharacteristic flight into romantic giddiness, and the dousing of the flames was merely ceremonial, signaling the end of a pleasant distraction. It was an odd feeling, returning to herself. Odd in that she hadn’t purposely tried to become someone else. But there she was, a happy girl, anxiously awaiting her date. How often had she pretended to be such a thing, using her performance to ensnare this person or that, flawless and irresistible in her portrayal? Whether acting for personal gain or under government directive, it was never her, never genuine. Feelings weren’t something she reserved for herself. They were for assignments, playacting, a means to an end. But suddenly, there they were, and unbidden.
It had been so long since she’d looked forward to something—to someone. She wondered seriously if she ever had before. Could one person, much less one she hardly knew, change a lifetime of opportunistic make-believe? She took a full swallow from her glass of wine and shook her head, as if she’d imagined the whole thing.
Her unusual foray into the sophomoric world of raging hormones was over now, and she reminded herself that personal sentiment was something she’d banished for a reason. Emotions only complicated a life that had no room for them. They could only bring disaster, or, worse, ignite experiences she had no desire to relive. This is who she was, who she had to be. She finished her glass of wine and poured another to celebrate her return to form.
She raised a toast to herself. “Here’s to you, Kat Hammond—” Then the first glass of wine hit her, and she couldn’t think of anything to celebrate. Certainly not a return to self.
She meandered toward the bedroom, her second glass now half empty, and she leaned on the doorjamb, smiling at the single yellow rose she’d placed in the middle of the bed. She caught a glimpse of that happy girl again, but she was just a ghost, a gentle smile and a lift of the spirit, and then she was gone. Another time, she lamented, as she took another drink, another lifetime, maybe.
Her muddled pragmatic mind struggled to convince her alcohol-induced optimistic mind that she didn’t deserve Jenny or happiness, but she was tired, so very tired of the darkness, of herself. She sat on the bed and twirled the rose between her fingers. She brought it to her face and reverently buried her nose in its fragrant petals, vowing from this day forward, the flower would remind her of the happy girl, however fleeting she might be. She placed it on what would have been Jenny’s pillow and smiled. Jenny made it all bearable. Until just then, she hadn’t realized how unbearable it had become. She exhaled the heaviness and rubbed her eyes, finally blinking at the wineglass in her hand.
“You know you can’t drink wine,” she scolded her sentimental self. She put the glass on the nightstand and lay back, staring at the dancing shadows on the ceiling as the remaining candle cast its glow past the motionless ceiling fan blades.
She didn’t jump when the phone rang. She merely rolled to the side and dragged the whole unit with her as she returned to her back again, far too relaxed to even venture a guess as to who it might be.
“Hello?”
“Are you sleeping?”
“No,” Kathryn said with a grin into the receiver, “I’m not sleeping.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I had to call.”
She curled onto her side. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”
Marcus Forrester’s grin crackled through the phone line, and Kathryn rolled her eyes.
She babysat his uncharacteristic longing for her and played the part of the lonely mistress on cue, slipping into the role with little effort or thought.
When their conversation ended, she dropped her cheerful persona and frowned as she hung up the phone. She sat up and finished her wine with one annoyed gulp before stalking into the living room and depositing the empty glass on the dinner table with a thunk. How effortlessly she could pretend to care, and poor Jenny, for whom pretending had long since ceased, had to settle for sporadic bouts of does she or doesn’t she, brought on by inadequate attempts to express emotions she barely remembered, let alone understood. Why was it so hard to surrender to something, to someone, she wanted so badly? But then she realized that she had surrendered. Jenny was more than a want now. She was a need—a need that threatened to upset the delicate balance between her ingrained indifference and her desire to love and be loved.
In a strange moment of panic, Kathryn recalled her automatic surrender to Forrester and found herself unsure, confused, and wondering if she really knew how to care about Jenny or if she was just going through the motions, like with Forrester. Had she become so adept at pretending that she’d begun to think they were real feelings? Had she just adopted another guise? Would Jenny see through it and realize she was dealing with an emotional fraud?
She’d already told Jenny she couldn’t express real emotions. If suddenly she could, would Jenny believe her? Or would she think it was a performance, one she’d seen enacted on many occasions with Forrester?
Kathryn’s quickened heartbeat gave life to her fear. She looked at the half empty wine bottle and exhaled a relieved chuckle. She shook her head and scrubbed her face in her palms. “You really need to swear off wine.”
Jenny picked up her pace as she crossed the street to Kathryn’s apartment. The traffic and settling Bernie into his place took longer than she intended, but he had said Tell her you love her, and she decided that life was indeed too short not to.
She could see a light on in the living room, so her first fear was alleviated. Kathryn was still up. Her second fear was proclaiming her love and Kathryn’s reaction. She was at home, so there was nowhere to run, and Jenny couldn’t quite see her removing her bodily from her apartment, so she reasoned now was as good a time as any to confess.
“Tell her when you first walk in,” she said under her breath as she reached for the outer doorknob, hoping Kathryn hadn’t locked it when their date was called off. It was unlocked, so she started up the steps to the second floor and then stopped. “No, after sex.” She nodded and continued to the landing, where she stopped again. “No, before sex.” She thought again and shook her head. “No, after. There might not be any sex if you tell her before.” Satisfied with the game plan, she proceeded to the door, where she heard music. She put her ear to the door and at first thought it was the radio, but then she realized it was Kathryn playing the piano. Jenny smiled as “Clair De Lune” filled the space.
She closed her eyes and relaxed into the door, enjoying the moment, as she imagined Kathryn’s long, graceful fingers dancing effortlessly over the keys. The music stopped abruptly, and Jenny worried that Kathryn might turn in before she got a chance to speak her peace. The worry dissipated when she heard the same note struck repeatedly, followed by a few quick scales through the note and then the note again, Kathryn apparently questioning the tuning of that particular key. Jenny decided that while there was a break in the music, she would take her shot. She took a deep breath, straightened her coat, and knocked confidently on the door.
The door opened a few inches, and Kathryn apprehensively appeared behind it.
“Jenny. What are you doing here?”
Jenny raked her eyes down the pleasantly disheveled woman before her and smiled. Kathryn’s hair was haphazardly down, loose ringlets falling over her reticent face as she tucked in her shirt. Jenny thought God, you look sexy would have been an appropriate opening line, but by Kathryn’s demeanor, she didn’t think it was a good idea. “Is this a bad time?”
“No,” Kathryn said, as she guided her hair behind her ears and glanced around guiltily.
It occurred to Jenny for a panicked second that Kathryn wasn’t alone and that she was interrupting something. “May I come in?”
Kathryn gave way. “Of course. Sorry.”
Jenny entered and didn’t need to see the half-empty bottle of wine on the table, or the uncomfortable expression on Kathryn’s face, to get the picture. She had been drinking, and she was obviously embarrassed about it. She was alone, and judging from her disposition, the company had not been pleasant.
Kathryn didn’t move forward to greet her in any way, so Jenny followed her lead and didn’t attempt to either. “Sorry I’m late.”
Kathryn shut the door. “That’s okay.” She absently rubbed her hands on her pants and looked lost in her own living room.
Jenny quickly looked around, searching for some way to diffuse Kathryn’s discomfort. “Ah, wine. Thank God. What a night.” She shrugged off her coat, handed it to Kathryn, and headed for the table. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest,” Kathryn said, laying the coat neatly over the back of the wing-backed chair.
Before pouring, Jenny raised the bottle at Kathryn’s empty glass on the table next to hers, wondering if she would accept.
She smiled and shook her head no, so Jenny filled her glass and approached Kathryn until they were toe to toe—someone had to get this evening started. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” Kathryn said politely, as if they were mere acquaintances.
Undaunted, Jenny moved even closer and put her arm around Kathryn’s waist as she pressed her pelvis to her thigh, reminding her of the progress they’d made after the falling out on their last date. “Hi,” she whispered intimately as she raised her chin, mouth hopeful.
That finally elicited an easy grin from Kathryn, and Jenny was rewarded with a tentative kiss for her efforts. Tentative wasn’t in her plan, however, and she made sure Kathryn knew it, as she purposefully, sensually, kissed her top lip, then her bottom lip, until Kathryn finally surrendered to the invitation. She parted her lips and accepted her tongue with a pleasurable moan.
Jenny felt Kathryn relax into her arms, and if there was any question from the night before about whether they would still be lovers, it was answered in the intense desire swimming in the half-lidded blue eyes staring back at her when they finally parted.
Jenny backed off slowly to get a better look and grinned. “That’s better.”
“Sorry.”
Jenny cupped her face. “Are you all right?”
“Wine on an empty stomach,” she said. “Not good.”
“You haven’t eaten?”
“Not yet, I … I got distracted.”
“I haven’t eaten yet either. Dinner in the fridge?”
“Yeah, I’ll—”
“Never mind,” she said, as she put her hand on Kathryn’s warm chest, “it’s my fault we’re starving. I’ll take care of dinner, you stay here and,” she looked around, settling on the piano, “play me something.”
“Probably safer that way,” Kathryn said.
Jenny laughed and headed toward the kitchen.
Kathryn sat down at the piano and put her head in her hands, begging it to clear. She wasn’t drunk exactly, but she was out of sorts enough to make her uncomfortable, especially around Jenny. The last thing she needed to do was blurt something out about her assignment, or, God forbid, admit her feelings. Her elbow slipped from its resting place on the music stand and landed on the keys in a cacophony of sour notes.
“Oh, hey,” Jenny called from the kitchen, “I once had a cat that could play that tune.”
Kathryn laughed. “Oops.” Despite her unease, it was hard not to feel comfortable around Jenny. “What do you want to hear?”
“‘Clair De Lune’ was pretty.”
“Mm,” Kathryn said, more to herself than to be heard. She began to play, and immediately the music filled her with a familiar peace. Muddled mind or not, her hands needed no direction, as her heart led the way. She got lost in the depths of the bass and the hollows of the sustain, accenting both with the sweetness of the melodious treble line. She didn’t hear Jenny come to her side, noticing only when she leaned on the piano in quiet wonder.
Jenny watched Kathryn’s hands in fascination. The music flowed from them in equal parts grace and aggression. Some notes were attacked while others seemed merely an afterthought on the way to the next and the next. Kathryn spared her a smile before launching into a flowing rush of frenzied but precise finger movements and sweeping arcs, hand over hand, creating such a seamless, fluid stream of sound that if Jenny hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would hardly believe ten fingers could create such an effect. The symphony of notes rolled in the air like waves on an open sea until they finally reached safe harbor, the musical passage serene again and thoughtful, like waves melting into the sand as they’re welcomed back to shore.
Kathryn closed her eyes as the last notes played, and the faint smile on her lips made her face glow with contentment, as if she’d just received an answer to a prayer.
“That was beautiful,” Jenny said with the reverence she felt the moment deserved.
Kathryn let the final chord resonate on the sustain pedal as she brought her hands to her lap and didn’t release it until she raised her eyes and smiled a thanks.
“I always play the middle part too fast.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t notice. That was amazing.”
Kathryn leaned back on the bench, letting her posture relax as she ignored the praise. “I played it too fast when I was a child, and I guess I never got out of the bad habit.”
“You could play that when you were a child?” Jenny asked in disbelief.
“A simplified version, yes. It was my mother’s favorite. She used to serenade us to sleep with it, and I insisted she teach it to me.” She chuckled and shook her head. “The sheet music said presto, so I would play it fast. My mother would say, ‘It says presto, not fire in the barn. Give the notes some room to breathe—slow down, Kathryn.’ But my fingers just had a mind of their own, and soon it was a game. It became like a lyric to the song. The arpeggios start, and then … ‘slow down, Kathryn’ would come like clockwork at the start of the next measure.”
She smiled, and Jenny imagined her remembering her mother’s voice.
“I hear her say that even to this day. So, when I’m missing her, I play it.”
“I was wondering what you were thinking.”
Kathryn smiled wistfully. “I’m thinking of her. Remembering her. Sometimes I can’t remember her face, but when I play, she’s with me again.” She looked past Jenny to a small painting on the wall, where a child’s hand reached for a seashell offered from a woman’s open palm. “I may not remember what she looked like, but I remember what she felt like. She was warm and safe, and she’ll always be that way.” She looked at the keyboard reflectively. “Eternally young and beautiful.”
“You’re missing her today.”
“Today is her birthday.”
Jenny allowed the significance of the day to sink in and slid onto the bench. She ran a comforting hand down her arm and then entwined their fingers.
Kathryn acknowledged the gesture with a smile and an appreciative shrug of shared understanding. “I used to go out to the cemetery on her birthday. Just to be with her, to let her know she’s not forgotten and that I love her. But I’ve decided to celebrate her life, not her death. This is where she is—” She caressed the ivory keys. “In the music. In my heart.”
Jenny squeezed her hand. There was nothing to say.
Kathryn closed her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. Jenny expected a tear to escape at any moment, but Kathryn merely inhaled and opened her eyes, a brighter expression on her face.
“So, what happened to that dinner?”
Kathryn’s head was considerably clearer after dinner, and the coffee didn’t hurt either. She didn’t know what had come over her earlier, revealing something so personal. It went against everything her life had become. Years of losing her identity, forgetting her past—first out of necessity, then part of her training—it was all gone in an instant, ancient walls demolished by a young woman too enamored to see the difficulties or too self-absorbed to care.
She didn’t honestly think either was true, but she was hard-pressed to explain Jenny’s devotion or her effect on her. It should have made her uneasy, but, instead, it gave her comfort. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the desire to be alive, if only for stolen moments, to love and be loved for who she was, not for someone she pretended to be. Jenny was oblivious to her many faces, or maybe she just saw through them all, blessed like an oracle with the gift to know the truth in one’s heart.
Kathryn realized she wasn’t an emotional fraud. Her feelings for Jenny were like none she had ever known. She wanted Jenny to know her, to understand her past, so that perhaps their future had a chance. Just seeing her again filled her heart and lifted her spirits. She knew, without a doubt, she’d fallen in love. Even she wasn’t good enough to pretend that.
“Kat?”
“Yes?” she said, blinking Jenny into focus. Jenny had carried the whole conversation through dinner, regaling her with her day and Bernie’s woes, and somewhere along the way, Kathryn got lost in her thoughts.
“You mentioned us when you spoke of your mom. I asked if you have siblings.”
“Oh, yes, sorry. I have an older brother.”
Jenny settled in for the rest of the story that Kathryn had no intention of telling, and then Jenny did what Jenny does. “Tell me about him. Is he in the service?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Clay’s a banker, lives just outside the city with his wife, I think.”
“You think?”
Unfortunately, this new openness required her to field questions about her family, which also required her to admit she rarely had contact with her brother.
“What about your father, where does he live?”
Kathryn shifted in her chair. She really didn’t want to talk about her family anymore. “I’m afraid I’ve lost track of my father.”
“And you haven’t been able to locate him?”
Kathryn was sure it was inconceivable to Jenny that one could misplace a father on purpose, but she had, and it would stay that way.
“Well, it’s—”
“I’m sure you’ve tried the police, but I’m sure the OSS has resources that—”
“I think the OSS has more important things to do than find my father.”
“Well, your brother must—”
“Jenny,” Kathryn said sharply, and then smiled curtly, trying to reign in her irritation, “I have nothing whatsoever to do with my family, and I have no interest in changing that.”
Jenny was speechless for a beat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Kathryn shook her head and raised a hand, turning the apology around. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just … well, there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“I understand.”
But Kathryn knew she couldn’t possibly understand. She berated herself for being unable or unwilling to explain it. So much for her newfound openness and trust. Maybe it could only be found in the bottom of an empty wineglass after all. The thought was unsettling and did nothing to promote her chances for a healthy relationship. She’d hurt Jenny’s feelings. She wanted to blame the wine, but she knew its effects had long since worn off, and she was left with her dour self and typical results.
Jenny sipped her coffee, now gone cold like the conversation, and flagged another mine in the Kathryn Hammond minefield. “Maybe we should have finished that bottle of wine instead,” she said with a smile, trying to blame the caffeine for the aggressive behavior.
“Maybe so,” Kathryn said
“In vino veritas,” Jenny said with a grin.
Kathryn’s humorless eyes snapped to hers, and she knew she’d just stepped on another mine.
“Are you insinuating that I can only tell the truth when I’m drunk?”
Jenny clanked her coffee cup onto its saucer in frustration. “No, I’m trying to impress you with my conversational Latin and get this evening back on track. Honestly, Kathryn, I don’t understand you.” She threw her napkin on the table.
It could be good between them. She knew it could, she’d seen glimpses of it, but as soon as she tried to pursue that avenue, she’d find a dead end and more frustration. While she was not ready to give up, she was not willing to put up either.
“Back and forth, back and forth, Kat,” she said, hands demonstrating the pattern. “Most of the time I don’t know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, where to step, what to say … I’ve tried, I’ve really tried, but if we’re going to make this work, something’s got to change.”
Kathryn closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jenny.”
“Don’t be sorry, just—” She stopped when she realized she was yelling and reduced her volume to something more sympathetic. “Just let me in.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Have you tried?”
Kathryn bit down on her response, and Jenny could see a blanket of weariness settle over her bowed head.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Kathryn. It shouldn’t be a fight.”
“I know it,” Kathryn said as she stared at her hands. “I’m just no good at this.”
“At what?”
“I know how to have sex, Jenny. I don’t know how to have a relationship.”
Jenny wondered if it was as painful to admit as it was to hear. She didn’t know how to respond without crying or stepping on another mine. She stared for a moment, holding in her emotions, and then nodded without comment as she reached over and squeezed Kathryn’s hand before getting up and gathering their finished dessert plates and silverware and heading into the kitchen.
Kathryn stared at Jenny’s empty chair and wondered what she was thinking. It scared her when she was quiet. If she needed any proof that what she felt for Jenny was real and not a performance, like with Forrester, the fear of losing her confirmed it. Let me in, Jenny had said. Maybe it was that simple, but it scared the hell out of her.
She approached her from behind and longed to encircle her waist, bury her head in the soft blond hair falling over her shoulders, and beg for forgiveness. That would lead to soft kisses trailing down her neck and wandering hands as Jenny leaned into her body, and she would be hers, unable to resist—no one ever resisted. It would be so easy, so typical, and so wrong. Instead, she stood to the side, where Jenny barely acknowledged her arrival.
“I’ll do that,” she said, taking the soapy dish and dishrag from her hands.
Jenny let her take it and moved over, rinsing her hands and then drying them on the towel casually flung over her shoulder. She stood expectantly with her hand on her hip, but didn’t say a word.
Kathryn pretended to care about removing a stubborn bit of baking from the dish in her hands but soon let it fall into the suds-filled sink and turned off the water. She stared out the kitchen window into the blackness of the night and took a deep breath before she began.
“Do you remember when I told you my mother was killed by a drunk driver?”
Jenny softened her stance. “Yes.”
“My father was the drunk driver.”
After a beat of silence, Jenny’s hand settled on her arm.
“Oh, Kat, I’m so sorry.”
Kathryn didn’t want her sympathy. She just wanted to get the story out before she felt the full impact of the event she was retelling.
“They were on their way home from a party. My father was drunk and drove the car into a tree. My mother was killed instantly when she went through the windshield. He walked away without a scratch.”
The hand on her arm tightened, but Jenny didn’t say anything. Just as well.
Kathryn returned to her task and braced for whatever letting someone in brings.
Jenny moved closer, her hand dropping from her arm to her hip, inviting her to face her. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “About them and about tonight.”
Kathryn dried her hands, accepting the invitation. “You don’t have to be sorry. I just want you to understand.” She stroked Jenny’s face, trying to ease her stricken look. “I don’t want you to stop trying. I don’t want you to think that I’m not trying. I want to give us a chance, I do, but—”
Jenny silenced her with a hug. “No, buts. You want to try. That’s enough.”
Kathryn tightened her embrace, wondering how on earth she’d found someone so patient and forgiving. “I do. Of course I do.”
Jenny gave her an extra squeeze and released her. “You won’t regret it.”
“Regret never entered my mind.”
The lie didn’t fool Jenny, who laughed and picked up the next plate.
As they went about finishing the dishes, Kathryn noticed that she was suspiciously quiet.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said as she dried the silverware.
Knowing Jenny as she did, Kathryn imagined she had dozens of questions running through her head.
“Go ahead and ask.”
“Ask what?”
Kathryn smiled, and Jenny gave in with a sheepish grin. “Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”
“Ask.”
“What kind of sentence did your father get?”
Kathryn exhaled a humorless chuckle. “He didn’t get any sentence. You see, my father was a high-ranking police officer with political aspirations. The accident report stated he was run off the road by a truck that then fled the scene. But it was a lie. There was no truck, and the beat cop who took the report got a promotion shortly after.”
“They covered it up,” Jenny said in disbelief.
Kathryn nodded and continued putting away the silverware.
“How did your brother take that?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“How can he not know?”
Kathryn stopped what she was doing. No one knew her personal story except Smitty, and even he didn’t know all of it. She wanted Jenny to know everything. She deserved to know, and soon, before they went much further, so she could choose to stay or go, but not tonight. Tonight, she would share the beginning, not where it led.
She explained that a few months after the accident, she heard her father on the phone late at night, apparently in an alcohol-induced state of guilt, crying and begging the officer involved to arrest him for manslaughter. I killed her, he kept crying, I killed her!
“I confronted my father the next day, and he didn’t deny it. He found it hard to face me after that, and, frankly, I couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him, so I ran away.”
She continued putting away the rest of the silverware. “They would bring me back, and I’d run away again. This went on and on until, finally, the authorities got the hint that I wasn’t going to stay. My brother was away at college, so I was put into another family’s care until I graduated high school.” She smiled. “Smitty’s parents took me in. They were wonderful.” She closed the silverware drawer, wishing her past as easily put in its place. The Smiths were good people—she couldn’t have wished for any better—but nothing could replace the family she’d lost, and the look on her face must have shown it.
“Did you never try to talk to your brother about it?”
Kathryn shrugged and mindlessly rearranged the spice jars on the counter. “He’s always had a good relationship with my father. I see no need to change that. Telling him won’t bring Mom back.”
“Is that why you don’t speak?”
“He couldn’t understand why I behaved the way I did. He said I broke my father’s heart, and I couldn’t tell him how the man had broken mine.”
Jenny was silent again, and Kathryn could see her struggling with her emotions.
“It’s okay, honey,” she said, gently lifting Jenny’s crestfallen chin, “he’s got his life now, and I’ve got mine.”
“But it’s just so unfair to you, and now you’re alone.”
Kathryn smiled. “I’ve got Smitty and his mom.” She paused and softened. “And I’ve got you, if you’ll put up with me.”
An armful of agreeable blonde was her answer.
Standing in the kitchen had worn out its welcome, so they moved to the living room and began dismantling their little romantic set, starting with the table in the middle of the room. The silence was decidedly easier this time, and Kathryn marveled at how safe Jenny made her feel in sharing something so personal.
She cleared the candles from the table while Jenny folded the tablecloth and then stopped abruptly.
“Do you wish you’d never found out?”
It took a moment to register the question. “About the truth?”
Jenny nodded.
Kathryn had never really thought about it. She tried to imagine how her life would have been different. She had lost her mother and, shortly after, her father. Only pity could explain why she distanced herself from her beloved brother. She was unwilling to expose the truth and leave her mourning father childless. She’d long forgotten the close bond she’d formed with her father immediately after the accident, how her brother had rushed home, putting off school to be by her side. In the midst of tragedy, she’d never been so loved. No doubt her life would have been completely different.
She pursed her lips regretfully as she attempted to wipe the vision of what might have been from her mind. “Yes,” she said, “I wish I’d never found out.”
Jenny had spent the last ten minutes sitting in her car, wondering why she was leaving. She knew in her head it was the right thing to do. Kathryn was emotionally exhausted and just barely managing to focus on their relatively, thankfully, mundane conversations. But in her heart, Jenny was still with her. She wanted to absorb the tragedy and heartbreak of her childhood and the horrific events of her recent past and offer her sanctuary in loving arms. She knew Kathryn would surely perceive it as pity and would never surrender to such an idealistic panacea, but how much could one person bear with no respite from the pain? To lose so much at such a young age … and that was not the end of her suffering. She wondered how Kathryn survived. She supposed those survival skills were the same that allowed her to endure her war experience and perform her OSS job so admirably, but at what price? Kathryn stood alone, surrounded by a carefully crafted shield, propped up by a staunch denial of emotions that, if considered, would bring her to her knees. Her survival was a testament to her strength, and Jenny could not fault her inability to let someone in.
Watching Kathryn relive her mother’s memory in her music showed her a glimpse into the beauty and depth of her soul, something she was afraid Kathryn had forgotten existed. How could she tell her she loved her? How could she breach defenses that enabled her very existence? She couldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Kathryn suddenly seemed precariously positioned atop a house of cards, her strength merely a shell surrounding the fragile remains of a fourteen-year-old girl who never had a chance to live.
When Jenny stepped out onto the sidewalk, she heard the strains of “Clair De Lune” floating down from the apartment above. Kathryn was alone again with her mother, perhaps the only person with whom she would allow herself peace. At least she had that.
Jenny slid over into the passenger seat of her car, hoping to get a final glimpse of Kathryn. She lifted her eyes to the second-floor apartment, watching as the living room window went dark and then, shortly after, the bedroom. She put her hand on the glass and closed her eyes.
“I love you.”
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Smitty said as they drove to the training center.
Kathryn hadn’t noticed. So many things were going through her head, and all of them involved Jenny.
“Didn’t you have a date last night?”
“I did.”
He waited for details, which were not forthcoming.
“That bad?”
“It was good, actually.” She paused, considering whether she should elaborate. “I told her about Dad … the truth.”
Smitty looked over in disbelief. Kathryn wasn’t surprised by his reaction, as he knew he was the only person she’d ever told.
“What brought that on?”
She wanted to say she was tired of being alone, but she was afraid it would hurt his feelings, so she offered a noncommittal shrug and said, “I just wanted her to know.”
Smitty nodded. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t say anything.”
He chuckled. “That’s a neat trick.”
“What’s there to say?”
“True.”
Kathryn thought long and hard about how to approach the next subject. She didn’t like testing Smitty’s loyalty, but things of late had been anything but routine in her life.
“She knows about overseas.”
Smitty was silent for a beat. “How did that happen?”
There was no hint of his dishonesty. She didn’t think there would be if he chose to lie about it—he was too good for that—but she had hoped he would choose to tell her the truth. “Gossip at HQ, I guess.” She rubbed her forehead as if she were exasperated by the intrusion into her personal life. “You know Jenny, always making with the questions. She’s hard to resist once she sets her mind to something.”
“Mm,” was the extent of his reply.
Kathryn was sure he’d take the opening to come clean, but he didn’t, and disappointment deflated her confidence in her longtime friend. Their bond took another blow, as, once again, trust proved to be an elusive commodity. She let his deception hang in the air, hoping its weight would make him think better of it, but apparently it settled comfortably on his shoulders, because he bore it in silence. Kathryn noted his decision and moved on.
“Forrester called me last night.”
“At home?”
“Mm, he misses me.”
“And?”
“That was it. He just wanted to tell me he misses me.”
“Next thing you know, he’ll be asking you to marry him.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun,” she said sarcastically.
“Would you?”
She looked at him, surprised he would ask. “Whatever it takes, Smitty. Nothing’s going to change that.” Not even Jenny, she reminded herself, just in case her subconscious had any notions to the contrary.
Smitty appeared eager to change the subject.
“Did you hear what Forrester did to your boy Lawrence?”
Kathryn raised an interested brow.
“Cut him up into pieces and sent him to his compadres as a warning.”
“Charming.”
“Head to Phoenix, unmentionables to Chicago—”
“I get the picture, Smitty, thank you.”
“He’s a real piece of work, that guy.”
“He feels threatened.”
Smitty glanced her way.
“Threatened people do desperate things,” she explained, as if she were turning her assignment to the monster over in her head. In fact, Jenny was in her head. What would she do if Forrester asked her to marry him? Could she live such a life? The question wasn’t would she do it but how would she juggle her relationship with Jenny? Could Jenny accept such an arrangement? Such questions were ridiculous. She didn’t have the luxury of asking questions. Since when did her wants shape what she would or wouldn’t do to get the job done?
As if he could read her mind, Smitty asked, “So, when do you see her again?”
He may have lied to her, but no one knew her better, and with everything else in her world seeming less and less certain, she found comfort in that. She smiled. “Tonight.”
“I thought you had that gig with Tommy Wallace tonight?”
“Oh, nuts! I forgot.”
“That’s not like you.”
A lot about her was off lately, and it was disconcerting and exciting all at the same time. This, however, was an oversight she could do something about. She would just meet Jenny in the city, go to the gig together, and take their date from there. It would be spontaneous and, dare she say, fun.
Kathryn organized papers on her desk in the small wooden out-building she used as a classroom at the training center at the Long Island estate on loan to the OSS for the duration. The day went by quickly as she got ready for the monthly class of new recruits and brushed up on procedures, just in case Colonel Forsythe accepted her application for mission training. Her mind kept going back to Smitty and his duplicity, though, and the more she thought about it, the more it ate at her. She knew it wasn’t done out of malice. It was just his way of protecting her, but trust was a fragile thing, and lies had a way of burgeoning into bigger lies if gone unchecked. It was the principle of the thing, and he had to know he wouldn’t get away with deceiving her.
They rode home in relative silence, with only a few exchanges about procedural updates dominating their sparse conversation. Smitty stopped the car in front of her door, and she kissed him on the cheek, as usual, and thanked him for the lift. He watched her unfold her long legs as she got out of the car and slammed the door. Instead of walking directly to her apartment, she stood at the open window, her fingers impatiently tapping on the top of the doorframe. Smitty leaned over to get a glimpse of her face, but she made that unnecessary, as she bent down and leaned into his field of vision.
“I asked you not to lie to me ever, Smitty,” she began in deceptive calm.
“Okay,” he drew out. “I’m not sure what this—”
She held up her hand. “Smitty, don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything.”
He reluctantly complied.
“I know you told Jenny about overseas.”
“Kathryn—”
“That’s one issue,” she interrupted with a raised finger, “then you lied to me about telling her.”
“You have to listen—”
“No, I don’t have to listen to you. In fact, right now, I don’t really care why you did it. It irks me to no end that you continually try to deceive me.”
“Continually?”
“Yes. Doing this for my own good and that for my own good. I’m not a child.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop treating me like one.” She straightened and abruptly turned, walking purposefully toward her door.
“Kat!”
She ignored his plea, throwing a cool “See you tomorrow” over her shoulder.
“Ka—” Smitty knew explanations at that moment were futile, so he let her name die on his lips and let her go, slamming his palms into the steering wheel as he slumped back into his seat. “That damned kid!”