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“Lily.” Her name broke from him and she buried her head in his shoulder.
“I’m glad I was able to help,” she said fiercely. “I’m glad.” Her body convulsed again and he wrapped his arms around her more tightly. He didn’t think he could have loved her more.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. “You need brandy and tea, and in that order.” She nodded and began to dress, her fingers trembling so badly as she tried to do her buttons that Matthew stayed her hand and did them himself.
She looked up at him as he did the last one by her collar, and a tear slipped down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb as he leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.
“I must smell terrible,” she said in a shaky voice.
“I don’t care.”
She did, and he didn’t; he wanted only to stay there with her, to imbue her with his strength as she gave him her own. But they couldn’t stay; there was nothing more for them to do, as the doctor tended the wounded he could help and the man and his friends began clearing rubble. The man in the hole might already be dead.
With his arm around her shoulders and her head nestled against him, Matthew drew Lily away from the wreckage and they resumed walking towards the safety of Holmside Road.
As they turned onto the road, Matthew stiffened and Lily looked up, drawing her breath in sharply as she saw the rubble in the street, neighbors milling around aimlessly, looking woebegone and lost, as smoke spiraled into a darkening sky.
“No,” she whispered. “No.”
“Lily—” Matthew tried to catch her hand, but she shrugged him off as she started running down the street, heedless of the wreckage strewn about.
Matthew chased after her, knowing before he came to the smoking ruin what had happened.
A V-1 rocket had hit the house directly, so there was nothing left but a gaping hole, a mess of bricks and broken plaster. Matthew could not make out a single thing that had been left intact.
Lily stood in front of her home, her fists clenching and unclenching.
“Was anyone home?” Matthew asked a neighbor quietly; the woman stared at him with shocked eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Carol’s usually home at this time. Richard, too.” She let out a choked cry and shook her head, her fist to her mouth.
Matthew reached towards Lily as an ambulance turned onto the street.
“Lily,” he said quietly. “Lily. Love. There’s nothing you can do here.”
“Don’t say that!” Her voice rose savagely. “There must be. I helped that man. There must be something I can do.” A sob erupted from her then, and then another, and Lily fell to her knees on the pavement as Matthew put his arms around her and she wept.
Chapter Nineteen
ABBY
Abby watched the car come up the dusty drive, just as it had done three weeks ago, only this time she was getting in it and driving three hundred and fifty miles to Minneapolis.
Simon hadn’t told her much on the phone, only that he’d found another man from the 82nd Airborne, Guy Wessel, who now lived in a nursing home outside Minneapolis and remembered Matthew Lawson very well.
“He said he’d talk to us. We might not find any answers, but he’s not too far away and I thought it was worth a chance.”
And so Abby had impulsively, recklessly, agreed to accompany Simon. She wasn’t even certain why; whoever Matthew Lawson was, whatever he’d done, it surely wasn’t going to affect her own life all that much.
Except, of course, it was, because her father was going to be furious, and worse, hurt. And maybe, Abby realized, that was why she was going, at least in part. Because she needed finally to live her own life; she needed to stop making everything she did an apology, hostage to her father’s feelings. And she needed her father to understand that.
She’d left a note for him on the kitchen table, propped between the salt and pepper shakers, and a tuna casserole in the fridge. She’d felt both exultant and terrified as she’d closed the front door behind her, a bag in hand. It was too far to go and come back in one day, and so Simon had suggested they stay in a hotel near the nursing home, separate rooms, of course. Abby had flushed at that, and made no reply.
Now Simon stepped out of the car, smiling in greeting, even though Abby saw an uncertainty in his eyes. She had no idea how things really stood between them, and she had a feeling he didn’t, either. A kiss, an argument, two continents.
She pushed the thoughts away, not wanting them to take over.
“Hey.” She came down the steps and Simon took her bag.
