Page 7 of The Lies We Leave Behind

7

William

Seattle, 2003

“Dad?”

I turned and saw Lizzie, a look of concern creasing the space between her brows. She glanced at the woman standing on the porch and gave her a hesitant smile.

“Everything okay?” she asked, looking back at me.

I nodded, my heart racing in my chest. So many years I’d longed to know. To hear something. To have answers. After enough time had passed with no word, I’d assumed I had that answer. It was the nature of the time. Of our jobs. Of war. So many of us didn’t make it back. When the letters had stopped... When she didn’t show up like she’d promised... I knew her future and mine were no longer intertwined. And slowly...painfully...I’d moved on.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked Selene, my voice suddenly hoarse. “I have a nice spot out on the back deck where we could talk?”

Her chest rose in a small sigh and she nodded and stepped inside.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked as I led her through the house, hoping she didn’t notice the tremor in my voice. The tremor radiating through the entirety of my body. “Tea? Lemonade? Soda? Perhaps a beer?”

“A glass of water would be lovely, thank you,” she said in her accented voice.

I nodded and stopped in the kitchen, pulling two glasses from a cupboard while she stood, one delicate hand resting on the countertop while her eyes took in the many boxes stacked against the wall.

“Are you moving?” she asked.

“No. My wife died a year ago. We’re just finally going through her things.”

“I’m so sorry. Loss is difficult. But... en face de la mort, on comprend mieux la vie .” She gave me a small, sad smile. “It means, in the face of death, we understand life better.”

I nodded. “That is the truth of it, I’ve found.”

“It is a lovely home,” she said. “Have you lived here a long time?”

I looked around, trying to see it as she did. The beautiful furnishings Olivia had chosen over the years, the paint colors, the rugs, the items we’d brought back from trips around the world, and photos. Of me, of her, of Lizzie and Emma.

“Decades,” I said. “There have been lots of memories made here.”

She smiled and then stepped toward a shelf, looking to me as if seeking permission before walking hesitantly to a black-and-white photograph. It was of me, dressed in my uniform, taken by a comrade a few hours after we’d arrived in France. Before I was injured.

Before I met Kate.

“You were very handsome,” Selene said and then looked bashful. “You still are.”

I grinned. “You flatter an old man. I appreciate your kindness, but I’ve seen this face in the mirror and my days of being handsome are far behind me.”

“Not at all.”

I gestured to the back deck and she nodded and stepped outside while I followed with our glasses of water.

She headed for the far corner to the black iron bistro table with its happy mosaic tile top that Olivia and Lizzie had made one sunny summer afternoon. She took a seat and I set the glasses down and sat across from her.

I took a sip of my water and stared out at the view for a moment before turning back to Selene, waiting for whatever she’d come here to tell me, my heart racing in my chest.

“I’ve been going through some boxes myself lately,” she said. “Sifting through the remnants of people’s pasts. It is how I came across these.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small stack of yellowed envelopes. I recognized the writing on them as my own.

I exhaled and reached for them, staring down at Kate’s name. How painstakingly I’d written it. How excited I’d been to send them off, anticipating the words I’d receive in return.

“You’ve read them?” I asked.

“I have.” She smiled. “You seemed very in love.”

“Oh, I was. She was...magnificent. Funny. Smart. No-nonsense at first. Wasn’t having any of my sh—Excuse me. My flirting. But I got her to come around.” I grinned and she laughed.

“May I ask how you two met?”

I nodded, thinking back.

“I was injured. Shot three times. Once in the arm, once in the leg, and one life-threatening shot through my back to my abdomen.” I met her eyes across the table. “She was the nurse on the plane taking me from France to a hospital in England. I thought she looked like an angel. Partially from the blood loss, but mostly because she looked like an angel. She had these beautiful pale blue eyes and soft-looking long blond hair that was pulled back into a bun. But a lock had come loose and I was mesmerized by her slender fingers and the way she kept tucking the strand of hair behind her ear, the look on her face so serious as she checked my wounds. So I asked her to marry me.”

Selene’s eyes widened. “While she tended to your injuries?”

“Is there a better time?” I laughed. “She apologized and said she’d already promised herself to a guy with a head injury the day before. She said it with such a straight face—I laughed so hard my stomach wound started to bleed. She was mortified.” I shrugged. “The pain was worth it just to have her attention on me that much longer. In fact, she ended up saving my life. Because of the nature of the wound and being in the air...” I waved a hand and laughed. “I’ll spare you the gory details.”

“What happened after that?”

I turned back to the view and smiled.