Days after the funeral, Brian delivers a bag of Reg’s stuff to the flat. From his locker at work, he says. Thought you would want everything. Millie doesn’t even invite him in for a cup of tea. Thanks so much, she says, I appreciate it. She stashes the bag in the hall closet, behind the cleaning supplies and the winter coats. For months she leaves it in the closet, unopened. She spends Christmas and New Year’s in the country with her mother. Back in London, she settles into a routine. She takes on another bookkeeping job and she volunteers for more driving shifts: three nights a week and one full day on the weekend. It’s best not to have spare time.
In the days following Reg’s death, all she wanted was for Beatrix to come home. She drafted message after message, asking the Gregorys to put her on the next ship. But she couldn’t manage to send the telegrams. She knew that they had agreed she would stay in America until the end and that Reg would be disappointed in her. She also knew that she was in no shape to take care of her. Beatrix is happy there. It hurts to acknowledge that, but it is true. By sticking to the original plan, she honors Reg. It is the right thing to do.
On a Sunday in mid-February, Julia comes over for a drink after their shift. She takes one look around the flat and starts opening closets. Do you have some empty boxes, she asks. We need to clear this stuff out of here. Millie shakes her head. No, she says. I’ll get to it. Later in the spring. No, Julia says, we’re doing this now. It doesn’t help you to have Reg’s clothes all over the place. Keep a few things, of course, something for both you and Beatrix to remember him by, but let’s get rid of most everything else. Again, Millie protests. Millie Thompson, Julia says. Do you know how many people need warm clothing? And besides, you need to move along here. I would never have taken you to be someone who wallows in their grief. It’s not good for you. Millie nods. She knows Julia’s right. She basically gave the same speech to Julia when her fiancé was shot down over Germany.
They empty out his closet and his dresser, but not before pouring a drink for each of them. Millie keeps a sweater that she had made him before they were married and a plaid tam that he bought in Edinburgh one fall. She doesn’t know what Beatrix might like. Then she finds his tweed jacket with the leather patches on the elbows. She sees him picking Beatrix up and holding her aloft in the park, putting her on his shoulders, spinning her round and round. Millie boxes that up for Beatrix, along with some of his books.
In his top bureau drawer, they find a stack of photos: Beatrix as a baby, as a toddler, as the girl she was before she left. Then photos from America: standing by the Christmas tree with the boys; in her bathing suit on a dock, her arms flexed and her smile wide; in a red wool coat, her arms holding a stack of books. And a collection of photos of Millie, too. Oh, my goodness, she says, I’d forgotten about that dress. That was New Year’s, the year before we got married. How gorgeous, Julia says. What a stunning couple you were. Seems so very long ago, Millie replies. I was a different person then. Weren’t we all, Julia says.
They didn’t notice that the sun had set while they were working. Millie flips on some lights and pours each of them another drink. They collapse onto the sofa and kick off their shoes, Millie lighting her cigarette off Julia’s. So much stuff, Millie says, looking at all the boxes piled on top of one another. It’s all that’s left at the end, isn’t it? Julia smiles. But you still have Beatrix, she says. Don’t forget that. Think about how wonderful that will be, to see her again. They talk about work and one of the new girls, who didn’t know how to drive and yet signed up anyway, and the man whom Julia’s just started dating. Julia falls asleep, and Millie covers her with a blanket and turns off the lamp on the side table.
As she’s putting the broom away, she sees the bag that Brian dropped off months earlier. No more, she thinks, I can’t handle any more. But then the urge to be done, to be finished with all of this, overtakes her and she grabs the bag and heads to the bedroom. She turns it upside down on the bed and shakes until every item is out of the bag.
His work uniform. His Home Guard uniform, including a Tommy helmet and a worn haversack. A book: The Ideas Behind the Chess Openings. A scarf that she doesn’t recognize. A pile of letters, tied up with twine. She undoes the knot and finds letter after letter from Ethan. From Ethan! The letters they’ve received from America, written weekly over the years, are from Nancy, with a line or two added from Ethan. But here are pages and pages of news. Mostly they seem to be about politics and the war. There are lines here and there, though, about how Beatrix did on a test or how helpful she was at some family gathering or another. She reads a few, from start to finish, in somewhat of a stupor, her anger growing as she moves from one to the next. They’re all addressed to Reg at work. He kept this from her on purpose. She bites her finger until it bleeds. Why would he do this? Why would he keep such a thing a secret?
She goes into the kitchen and grabs the kitchen scissors. Julia’s awake and follows her back into the bedroom. What’s all this, she asks. My dear husband, Millie says, was sending love letters to another man. What? Julia says. What are you talking about? Millie shakes her head. Ethan, the man in America, you know, where Beatrix lives. They exchanged letters back and forth for over a year. Over a year, Julia! And not once did he tell me about this. Not once.
She stands in the middle of the room, wielding the scissors. I’m going to destroy every last one of these, she says. I hate him. He made Beatrix go away, he let her think I wanted her to go, and then he up and died. And now I find out that he kept all this from me. Julia takes the scissors out of her hands. Millie, she says, calm down. You’re overreacting. Don’t destroy them. Hold on to the letters for now. You might want to read them more carefully. Beatrix might want to see them one day. Millie sighs and sits down on the bed. She knows Julia’s right. She’s so very tired. I need another drink, she says, wiping her eyes.
Later, after Julia has left, as she’s putting almost everything back into the bag, she finds a yellow postcard with a chessboard on the front and chess moves on the back. It’s from Ethan, and it’s dated two weeks before Reg died. She rummages through the bag and pulls out the chess book, tucking the card inside. Millie knows little about chess. Her father played, and he tried to teach her, but she didn’t have the patience. She didn’t know that Reg knew how to play. Ethan is waiting, though. They were in the middle of a game.