Breakdown (25 page)

As he passed her door, he glanced into Pauline’s room. She was sitting on her bed, digging through a shoebox of photos. Back in his room, Chris put the things she had brought up into the duffel. He took out the jumper, which made plenty of room for the food he had agreed on with Grace, and put it back in the dresser drawer. Pauline came into the room.

“Here, I found this for you,” she said, and held out a picture to him. He took it. She was sitting at a table, smiling at the camera. She wore a black sleeveless top and a bit of makeup.

“Thanks,” he said.

“It’s the most recent one I have, I think. It’s from the summer before it happened.”

“I like it.” Chris got his journal out of the bag and slipped it inside the front cover. “I don’t have one to give you. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “That’s okay. Are you packed already?”

He put the journal back into the bag. “Except for my toothbrush and the food.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I left Jim’s clothes in the drawer.”

“You can take them. It’s okay.”

“I don’t have room.”

“Do you want a bigger bag?”

“No, really. I’m okay.”

She bit her lip and fussed with the hem of her shirt. “Just a minute,” she said and left him. She came back shortly, holding out a small sheaf of clothing coupons. “Here, I hardly use them, I don’t need them.”

“No, I don’t need them. You keep them.”

“I kept a few, for shoes,” she said. “That’s the only thing I might need. I don’t wear all the clothes I have. When you get there, you can get yourself some more clothes. Or maybe you’ll find another orphan.”

Chris took a deep breath. “Okay, thank you.” He put them into his journal with her picture.

Pauline folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, stared off out the dark window in the exact same position as on the first day he had arrived. He remembered how on that day, he had seen her the way Michael’s description had influenced him to see her.

“You’re really going?”

“Yes.”

“Come downstairs.”

He went down after her, and they sat in the kitchen for a while. George found some maps among his old papers, and they discussed possible routes to Bath with the most likely places to have bus service. Chris went out with George to do the evening chores and close up the barn for the night. Grace had gone to bed when they came back in, and Marie was knitting at the kitchen table. Pauline sat doing nothing, something Chris had rarely seen.

“Can I talk to you, Pauline?” Chris asked. She followed him into the study.

Chris took a seat in one of the chairs, just so she’d know he didn’t plan to kiss her again. Pauline lowered herself into the other. They didn’t have to pretend now, like they’d been doing in front of the others. Her face nearly made him weep.

“I was with Laura for almost five years,” Chris began, “but in the end, it wasn’t love.” Pauline sat with her hands clenched together in her lap. “Sophie was different. I know I loved her. I still love her.” Chris couldn’t go on if he kept watching her, so he focused on the carpet at his feet. “Look at our situation. I was lost; I was sinking. You saved me. You listened, you cared, you showed me goodness and hope when I’d about given up. How could I
not
end up feeling the way I do? And you. You’ve been here, in a place with no opportunities, no available men. Michael broke your heart, and you’ve had no other chance to move on, and I showed up. It’s understandable—logical—that you feel the way you do. It’s circumstance, Pauline. It’s two people grabbing desperately at what’s closest.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know. Oh crap, I don’t.” Chris put his head down into his hands.

“So you’ll just run away?”

“Don’t say that to me. I was always going to go. I’d never planned to stay. You know that. The whole point of all this was for me to get well and go to Bath. You know that. Be fair.”

“Yes, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right about that, anyway.”

“If we stand back from it, give it some distance...maybe that will make it clearer, to both of us.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?”

“Why do you want to make this harder for me? Don’t you think it’s hard enough?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Pauline said, her voice catching. “Maybe I want to be angry so it doesn’t hurt so much.”

Chris had no reply. He knew all about that. He couldn’t blame her.

“Will you come back?” Pauline asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“If I find my family, I’ll stay with them.”

“You could still come back. They’d understand.”

“After all this time? All this time apart, each of us thinking the other is dead? You want me to find my mother and my brother, and then turn around and walk away again? Just like that? How could I do that? Would you leave here like that?”

“I...no.”

“It’s not like it used to be. No phones, no e-mail. No hopping in the car for an afternoon visit. Family is more important now, when so many have died. I know you understand that. You, all of you, are so much like family to me now. But I have to know. I have to find out about my real family and be with them, if they’re alive. I know you can understand that.”

“My head can, yes. It still hurts.”

Chris knew. “I’m sorry this happened the way it did. I wish it all could have been different.”

“How?”

“I wish I could have met you as a normal person, not so...damaged.”

“We wouldn’t have met. The only reason we met is because you were damaged, and Michael knew it and sent you to me.”

“I know. He has good intentions. I know it. I’m trying not to dislike him so much.”

It seemed there was nothing else to say. They sat for a while longer, silently. Chris pushed himself up from the chair.

“Good night, Pauline.”

“Wait.” She stood, too, stepped close to him, reached out a hand to touch his face. “Stay with me tonight.”

He wanted to. It surged through him with force, a hunger, a need, a nearly overwhelming urge to grab her and not let go. It had been too long. He had done it to himself. He fought it.

He put his hand up to hers and kissed her palm. “No.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Of course I want to. But how could I leave tomorrow if we did? No. I’m sorry. No.” He had to keep saying it to convince himself.

She pulled her hand away. Chris fled to his room before he changed his mind.

* * *

He had the dream again, the one with Sophie searching the house. He followed her through the halls and rooms, pressed against the glass of the patio doors, calling out to her, while she checked all the usual places without hearing him. And then finally, as the dream was fading, she seemed to hear him, and she turned around, but it wasn’t Sophie anymore. It was Pauline, and the blackness crept in and swallowed her.

Chris awoke sweating. It wasn’t light yet, but he heard birds chirping and knew morning wasn’t far off. He got out of bed and went to the window, put his forehead against the cool glass, and watched the light come. There was no sunrise; the sky was overcast and grey. Fog hung in the low spots in the field across the road, as it had the first morning he had awakened in this room. He closed his eyes and tried to think about Bath, but kept seeing the door of Kevin’s flat in London.

Chris went to the loo, and then downstairs. There was no one in the kitchen yet. He went out to the barn, began the chores. After a while he heard someone coming quickly, and Pauline ran in through the door. Her eyes were big and she was slightly out of breath.

His heart lurched. “What is it?”

“I thought you’d left,” she said, and turned away from him.

Her tone pierced him. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. He wanted to touch her, but stood where he was.

“I’ll get the eggs.” She left the barn without looking at him.

George came as he was finishing. “You were up early,” he said, and they went in together for breakfast.

Breakfast was almost as hard as dinner had been the night before. He tried to enjoy the food; it might be his last good breakfast for days, maybe longer. He tried to smile, tried to compliment Grace and Marie on the food. He tried not to keep looking at Pauline. It was over too soon. They all sat quietly for a short time, lingering over a bit of water left in their glass or one last bite of muffin.

“I should get going,” he said finally, pushing back his chair. He started to gather his dishes.

“Just leave them, Chris dear,” Grace said. “We’ll take care of it later.”

“I’ll just get my bag,” he said, and went up. He half expected Pauline to follow him, but she didn’t. He wanted her to. He wanted some time alone with her, even if it was just a few short minutes. He got his duffel and looked around his room, then brushed his teeth and went back down.

They had the food ready for him and helped him fit it into his bag. It was time for good-byes. He hugged Grace and Marie, shook George’s hand, hugged Pauline. He knew he said all the right things, but wasn’t really sure what it was he was saying. He picked up the duffel, and they all went out into the grey morning.

Most of the fog was gone. The birds had quieted some. A heavy dew hung on the grass and bushes. They walked as a group around to the front of the house.

“I’ll write, let you know how it goes,” Chris said. He turned to Pauline. “Do you want to walk down the road a bit, see me off?”

“Sure,” she said lightly, pretending, and shook the hair back from her face.

Chris waved back at George, Marie, and Grace as he went through the gate. Pauline latched it, and they walked down the road, their hands in their pockets.

As they passed the church, Chris reached a hand out, and she took it and squeezed hard. They came to the crossroad that would take him to the bus route. They stopped and stood, near to each other but not as close as either of them wanted to be. They avoided looking at each other. Chris glanced down the road he would take, Pauline toward the village. Then he turned to her, and she to him. He dropped his duffel and they closed the gap between them, grabbing on tight. Why couldn’t it just be this, with nothing else to think about?

Chris loosened his hold. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Don’t cry, please.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. Chris felt her hands clutching at his clothing.

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said into his chest. “I’ll be all right. I really will.” After a few minutes, her shaking subsided and she pulled back a little and looked up at him, her face wet. “See?”

He took her face in his hands and brushed at the tears with his thumbs. She licked her lips and he kissed her, for a long time. He didn’t want to stop. But he pulled away finally.

“I have to go,” he said. She grabbed him again for one last hug.

“Come back,” she said softly into his ear and let go.

Chris picked up his duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and walked away on the road toward the bus. He had told himself he would not look back, but he couldn’t help it, and he turned. She put up a hand to wave at him, and he waved, then kept walking. The road curved to the right, along a wall and some bushes, and he knew she couldn’t see him anymore, but he knew she was still standing there, watching the place where he had left her sight.

CHAPTER 22

August 2006—Hurleigh, England

S
unlight leaking in through the window curtains on the wrong side of the bed woke Chris. He squinted, blinked, trying to sort out what he’d dreamed and what was real. The room was too big, and he sat up to confirm it: the bigger room, the double bed, the window on the left side instead of the right...and the picture of his family on the bureau. Not some agonizingly vivid dream, then. He thought back to his room in Breton: the single bed, the chest of drawers half-full of someone else’s clothes, the bar on the half-sized closet door where he’d hung his towel. He got out of bed, put on his brother’s clothes, and laced his shoes.

It still amazed him that the loo actually flushed. He washed his face with water from the tap, not a bucket. He lingered at the top of the stairs. A window looked down on the yard at the back of the house, where he’d reunited with Jon the evening before. He saw a neat vegetable garden on the right. A worn path led off through the fields to the next farm. Cows and a few sheep dotted the pastures, and away on the left, a square church tower stuck up through the trees. After a few minutes, he went down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Fiona and the boys sat at the big table.

“Good morning, Chris.” She smiled, getting up from her chair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, very well, thank you. Someone should have got me up.”

“Jon wanted to let you sleep. Have a seat. I have eggs for you.” She indicated a place set for him.

Chris hesitated. He didn’t want her to have to do everything, but he also didn’t want to intrude. “Can I help?”

“No, no,” she insisted. “Sit, really.”

Chris sat. “Good morning, chaps.”

The boys mumbled good mornings back.

“Everyone else is off at the moment,” Fiona said. She carried Chris’s plate to the Aga. “Jon and Simon go over to Mr. Dealy’s—that’s the farm behind us—every morning to help with the cows. Brian’s off with the road crew. Alan and Vivian have gone to church. Laura and David, I’m not sure, they may have gone to church, too.”

“Oh, right, it’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

She turned and grinned at him. “Yes, Sunday. Not much of a day of rest, though, not around here.” She got him two pieces of toast that had been keeping warm. “I’m sorry about last night,” she said softly as she bent near to put the plate in front of him.

“Oh, never mind,” he said. “Thank you for the toast.”

“Pass Chris the butter and jam,” Fiona said to Ian, and he leaned over to push them wordlessly from his place near the end of the table. Preston watched Chris silently.

“Thanks,” Chris said. He looked at Ian as he spread up his toast. “So what’s road crew?”

“Um, we have to fix the roads to keep the bus service. There’s a different crew each week.”

“They’ll be out all day,” Fiona added, breaking two eggs into a pan. “Scrambled okay?”