Page 21 of When Stars Dream at Midnight (The Midnight Stars Saga #3)

21

PETER

T he morning after Mireille met Stella for the first time, we all gathered in the dining room for breakfast. I hoped to hear details of her visit. However, Mireille said only that it went well, and she needed time to think about it all before speaking of it to us. Betsy and Mother exchanged a look but didn’t push. We all knew Mireille well enough to know that she took time to process her feelings. She’d talk when she was ready.

For whatever reason, Mireille had barely looked at me since she came home from work the night before. Something had happened. Something she didn’t want me to know about?

Across from me, Betsy buttered a piece of toast. “There’s a dance tonight up at the Elks Club. I’m dying to go out, and you two are coming with me. I’ve invited Charlie as well.”

“Charlie?” I asked. “Who’s Charlie?”

Betsy made a face. “ Charlie . My patient . The one with amnesia. I only talk about him every day.”

“I’m kidding you,” I said. “You do talk about him every day.”

Betsy flushed. “You’re a terrible brother.”

“Just having a bit of fun,” I said.

“And he’s started working for Father. Just today, actually. How did it go for him?” Betsy asked our father.

Father looked up from the newspaper and winked. “Well, I think. Seems like a nice kid. He jumped right in on the factory floor and went to work. Big hit with the ladies.”

“Not surprising,” Betsy said, rolling her eyes. “He’s an impossible flirt.”

“And well-built. My guess is he grew up on a farm,” Father said. “He’s strong and good with his hands.”

“A farm? Interesting.” Betsy bit into her toast, eyes dancing.

“Falling in love with a man who you essentially know nothing about is risky,” I said. “What if he wakes up one day and remembers he’s a mass murderer?”

My entire family, including Mireille, burst out laughing.

“Goodness me, don’t borrow trouble, Peter,” Mother said. “We have enough real problems. No need to find more.”

“Fine.” I held up my hands in mock defeat. “I’ll go out tonight if only to keep an eye on this murdering Charlie.”

Father’s driver took us into town, dropping us in front of the Elks Club Hall, which sat at the end of a quiet street, its brick exterior unassuming but well-kept, with the club’s insignia mounted above the double doors. A small wooden sign hung below, advertising tonight’s dance in neatly hand-painted letters.

The polished wooden floor gleamed under the warm glow of string lights draped from ceiling beams. A bar in one corner offered modest refreshments—a choice of beer, wine, and a few simple cocktails poured by an elderly bartender with rolled-up sleeves.

On the far end of the hall, a band played an upbeat swing tune. Despite myself, my spirits lifted. Betsy was right to force us out tonight. Mireille deserved some fun. Maybe I did, too.

I’d not been prepared for how my heart skipped a beat when she’d come down the stairs wearing a dark green dress that draped over her hips and accentuated her small waist.

“There’s so many people here,” Mireille said now. “Are you sure we should go in?”

Betsy was already inside, having seen Charlie waiting at the double doors.

“We don’t have to stay for long.” I offered her my arm, weaving between people to find a table. The room smelled of polished wood, faint traces of beer, and a hint of cologne and perfume. Ceiling fans spun lazily, pushing the warm air around but doing little to cool the space.

Betsy and Charlie had snagged a good spot in the front, far enough away from the band that we could converse. She waved us over. When we arrived, Charlie stood to greet us, shaking my hand and then bobbing his head in Mireille’s direction.

“Awful nice to meet you. Betsy talks about you both all the time.” His strong, angular jawline and slightly tousled hair made him seem boyish and rugged at the same time. A lazy smile that might be called a smirk if one were unkind lifted the corners of his full mouth.

Mireille returned his smile, seemingly captivated by the man. A flash of worry rose in me. What if his amnesia was all an act? Maybe he just wanted a way to stay close to Betsy.

I offered to get us drinks, but Charlie insisted. Betsy offered to go with him, leaving me alone with Mireille. Who still wouldn’t look me in the eye. I had no idea what I’d done, but she was acting strangely.

“You all right?” I asked, leaning close enough to catch a whiff of her French perfume.

“What? Oh, yes. Fine.” She kept her gaze focused on her lap. A flush crept up her neck.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

She finally looked up at me. “Of course not. You could never upset me.”

The night passed quickly. To my surprise, I was having a grand time. Mireille danced with me twice, and I gloried in the feel of her in my arms. She smelled lovely and moved with such grace. It would take nothing for me to fall in love with her again. But I wouldn’t. Not if I wanted to protect my heart.

I’d held her lightly, careful not to let my hand linger too long on her waist. The truth was, I’d wanted to pull her closer, to lose myself in her warmth, but I knew better. She would not have wanted that. And even worse than unrequited love? Proof that I repulsed her. If I stayed silent, then she could not reject me, and I could go on living as if there was a chance to be happy again.

Betsy and Charlie remained on the dance floor, but Mireille said she wanted to sit and have her drink for a moment. Happy to oblige, I led her back to our table. Our drinks were empty, however, so I rushed back to the bar to get glasses of punch. Once back at the table, I pulled out a flask and poured a little into each of our glasses.

“That makes me think of George,” Mireille said, gesturing toward my flask. “Do you remember that first Christmas I spent with you all?”

“Sure I do.” I’d fallen instantly in love with her, only to know by the end of the evening that it was George she would choose.

“I have that flask. It’s empty now, unlike when George was around.”

I didn’t say anything, sipping my drink. As much as I missed him, I really didn’t want to talk about him at the moment. Too many minutes of my life I’d spent talking about George with Mireille. It was a terrible thing to think about one’s best friend, but even now, when the poor man was dead at the bottom of the sea, jealousy made me mean. What was wrong with me?

My thoughts were interrupted, thankfully, when Mireille started to tell me about her visit with Stella Bancroft. She told me everything in detail. “Do you know what she said when I told her it made me feel guilty to think about loving a new family? She said, ‘There’s room in the human heart for many loves.’ Isn’t that lovely?”

“It is.”

“She’s invited us to her summer home by the beach. Anytime this summer. Apparently, she and her daughters spend the entire summer there.”

“Us?”

“Yes. I told her about you and Betsy and the kindness of the Westbrooks. She said we’re all welcome. Would you like to come with me? If Betsy and I can get time off, that is.”

“I’d like that. Although I’ve been talking with my old editor about coming back to work for the paper, so I don’t know how much time off I’ll have either.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Her forehead wrinkled in obvious concern. “You’ve just barely gotten better. What about working for your father? Won’t he be disappointed to lose you?”

“I can walk without my cane, thanks to the brutality of my dear sister. As far as Father goes, he’s given me his blessing. He knows what I truly want to do.”

“That’s wonderful, Peter.” She touched her fingers to my cheek. “You’re looking so well. And you dance like a champ, too. Do you know, I can’t remember the last time we danced together.”

I did. It was the summer before George and Mireille officially became an item. It had been a summer night, a party at Father’s country club. Mireille had worn a pale blue dress. The skirt had been wide and lifted every time I twirled her around the dance floor.

“I remember.”

“You do?” Her brows rose. “When was it?”

“Summer after you and Betsy graduated from school. At the country club.”

“Oh, yes. I remember. Wasn’t that a lovely time? George kissed me for the first time that night. I was so stunned I barely made it back inside.”

“Where were you when he kissed?” I wanted to know but didn’t want to know all at the same time.

“He took me out to the gazebo, telling me that he wanted our first kiss to be memorable. I nearly fainted.” She smiled, turning her gaze toward the dance floor where Betsy and Charlie danced to a ballad. “I was such an innocent. Much too young to think I was in love. When I look back now, before the war, we all seemed so innocent.”

“Everything felt simpler,” I said lamely, lying through my teeth. They hadn’t been simple for me. You know, being in love with your best friend’s girl and all that.

We chatted some more about what we remembered from that summer. I poured more whiskey into her glass, and she drank it without commenting on the strength of the drink. I sensed a recklessness in her, as though she was anticipating something.

By eleven, my sister and this Charlie fellow had begged off. He promised to get her home safe, and although I didn’t like the idea of her being alone with him, I kept my trap shut. The woman practically ran a hospital ward full of young men. She could handle just one of them. Plus, she seemed smitten with him. I’d never seen her laugh more than she did with him.

Mireille suggested we head home, too. “It’s a nice night. Let’s just walk.”

“Fine by me.”

We stepped into the fragrant spring night and strolled toward home, the silent purple sky twinkling with stars.

“When you were away, I used to look up at the moon and wonder what you and George were seeing. The same stars? The same moon? Yet so far away from me.”

I reached inside my jacket for my flask, taking a swig. I offered it to her, but she said she was a little drunk already. By the time we reached the house, I’d finished what was left. I don’t know why. I wasn’t much of a drinker. That had been George and his way of making everything seem like a party. I was just steady, boring Peter.

We went in through the back door. The kitchen was empty, but Mrs. Burns had left a plate of cookies with a note for us.

“The woman thinks of everything,” I said, grabbing one and taking a large bite.

Mireille leaned against the back of the sink, her arms crossed over her chest, watching me.

“What?” I asked, wiping a crumb from my upper lip.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk. Isn’t that funny? After all this time? All the days and nights we’ve spent together.”

“You and Betsy came home drunk that one evening. Do you remember? It was Christmastime the year you both turned eighteen. Mother was furious. With Betsy, of course. You could never do wrong.”

Mireille laughed. “She did say that Betsy had probably been the instigator. Which, in fact, was true. Not that I would have ratted her out.”

“You were very sick that night.” I’d stayed with her as she vomited into the toilet, making sure to keep her hair out of the way.

Her eyes widened. “You were the one who stayed with me. I’d forgotten that part. You’ve always been such a thoughtful person. Always looking after everyone in that quiet way you have. So quiet that no one even realizes what you’ve done for them until later when we look back.”

I shrugged. “It was nothing. Anyway, I’d do anything for you.”

She looked up at me with those dark eyes of hers. Eyes that had haunted my dreams every night since December of 1938. “You know, I think you would.”

“It’s never been in dispute.”

“Hasn’t it?”

“No.” I shook my head, chuckling drily. “Since the moment you stepped off that train, it’s always been about you. You’ve no idea how I wished and prayed that you’d notice me. That you would feel the connection I did. But you never did.”

Her mouth made a circle. “I noticed you.”

“Not like George.”

“Oh, well, George and me—you know, it was written in the stars. Inevitable.”

“Right.” My stomach soured.

“But you—you’ve always been the one watching over me. Taking care of everyone. That’s our Peter.”

“I’d have liked to have been a little less that way. If it would have turned your head.”

“Turned my head?” Her eyes glittered. “Is that what you wanted? You wanted me?”

“How did you not know? Everyone else knew. They all saw straight through me. Even George.”

“George?”

“He confronted me on the day you two got married. Told me he knew I was in love with you. Said he was sorry that it was him and not me.” I rubbed my cheek. “No, that’s not what he said. But it was something nice. Nicer than he should have been. I mean, who loves their best friend’s girl? What kind of man does that?”

“You were in love with me?” All color had drained from her face, and she stared at me as if I were a ghost.

“From the very first.”

“I didn’t know,” Mireille whispered. “George never said a word. Or Betsy either.”

“They were protecting me. If you’d known, our friendship would have been ruined. I could not have that. Even though it nearly killed me to see you marry George, I wanted to remain in your life. I knew my feelings should be kept to myself. I accepted your friendship. I’d not have done anything to turn you away.”

“Oh, Peter.”

“I know. I’m pitiful.”

Just then, we heard steps coming from outside, and seconds later, the door flew open, and Betsy stumbled into the kitchen. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of us, looking from one of us to the other, understanding flashing in her eyes. Of anyone in the world, it was Betsy who knew us the best. She’d been here for all of my humiliation and hurt.

“Sorry to interrupt. Charlie walked me home. Such a pretty night. Anyway, I’m headed to bed.” Betsy waggled her fingers and headed toward the door out to the hallway. Her hand on the knob, she hesitated and then turned back to look at us. “If we’ve learned anything over the last few years and this dreadful war, it’s that life is fragile. We are here one moment, and gone the next. I suggest we don’t waste any of our precious time protecting ourselves from more hurt. Risking a broken heart is surely better than denying or shying away from the love that’s right in front of you.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared from view, her shoes click-clacking on the hardwood floor.

Mireille and I stood awkwardly, not daring to look at each other fully. Finally, she glanced my way. “Peter, I didn’t know how you felt. It must have been awful to see me with George.”

“How it felt to see you with George is layer upon layer of mixed emotions. I loved him like a brother. I wanted his happiness. And I’ve loved you and wanted you to have the best life you possibly could, especially after leaving your family and your country. I knew George would always take care of you and cherish you. I had to accept it. And I did. I fell in love with Diana, and I thought everything finally made sense. But then it didn’t.”

“She’s gone. George is gone. Where does that leave us?”

The pity in her eyes was too much to take. Why had I opened my mouth?

“It leaves us as we’ve always been,” I said. “Friends. Please, forget I said anything. It was very foolish of me. Anyway, I’m going to take the job in the city and get an apartment close to the newspaper offices. I’m ready to move on with things.”

All lies. I was not ready. I might never be.

Before she could say anything further, I fled the room.