The Last Embrace (31 page)

He shakes his head. “It was a choice. Look at me—after it all happened I could have gone another way, but I chose not to. We have a choice—it is up to us whether or not we take it.”

I consider this. I might have claimed Charlie back from Grace and said to hell with the consequences. But there was part of me that was stifled under the weight of him, his plans and dreams, and all that had happened. No, Liam is right: I had walked away, made the choice and left. I clear my throat. “It was over when he left Philly after the funeral. It just took a lot longer for us to realize it.”

“I,” he says stiffly, “would not have left you.” I open my mouth to tell him that it had not been Charlie's fault with everything that had happened, the impulse to defend him as strong as it had been years ago. I want to say that it had been circumstances, grief, anything but Charlie's own choice to go. But Liam is right: he would not have left. Emotions too deep to describe stir in me as I remember that he was the one by my side, defending me. In a funny way, he still is.

He is staring out across the fence at the bay where the sun has dropped from view. I am seized with the urge to take his chin and turn it toward me, to kiss him. I stop, caught off guard by the notion. It had never been that way between me and Liam, had it? I was recovering from Charlie and it would not be fair to make him a substitute for his brother.

“It's late,” he says, following my gaze.

“Yes.” For a second it seems as though we are talking about something else. I peer over his should at the clock in the kitchen, surprised to see it is almost nine.

“And there's a storm coming.” I think of the clouds I'd noticed gathering to the west before sunset. I'm not a good enough driver to manage the roads in bad weather.

“Why don't you stay here?” he suggests. “Your old rooms can't be comfortable. You've got nothing there.” I hesitate, looking up at the Connally house and feeling the memories that threaten to swallow me whole. Another night at the shore, when I hadn't planned to stay at all. I want to get in the car and drive, as far and fast as I can. There was a reason I left all of this behind. “It's Friday. Labor Day weekend. There's no rush.” My shoulders sag and a wave of sudden exhaustion overcomes me. Staying here is exactly what I want to do, I realize. But can I really, alone with Liam and all of the awkwardness between us? I study him. His eyes are clear now and his complexion healthy. Behind the surface, though, is the hauntedness that will always remain.

“Aunt Bess will worry.” The coffee shop, where I'd called her earlier, is surely closed.

“You can call her from here. I had a phone put in.” His eyes are searching, not wanting me to leave.

“All right, but let me get a few of my things from next door.”

I return to our rooms for my nightgown and toothbrush. When I return to the Connally house, I ring Aunt Bess. “Hello,” she answers, her voice fuzzy despite the early hour. I imagine her sleeping to try and outrun her memories and grief.

“I'm sorry to have woken you. I'm going to stay another night to finish packing up.” I do not mention Liam, not ready to talk about finding him with anyone.

“Okay, just be careful.” Something in her voice suggests she already knew. Had Aunt Bess sent me here on purpose, wanting me to find Liam? It seems unlikely, given how hard she and Uncle Meyer worked to keep me from Charlie and how they felt about me being with someone who was not Jewish. But perhaps she has changed, too.

Liam comes inside as I hang up. “I'll get you settled.” I follow him upstairs. He leads me past several bedrooms draped in cloth, in various states of painting and repair, and up a second flight of stairs to the attic loft Charlie and Robbie once shared. My chest tightens.

“It's the only room I have ready,” he says, almost apologetic. There is only one bed now, a big one that he's made up with crisp sheets. He must have been sleeping there himself.

“I can't possibly take your room,” I protest.

“I like sleeping on the sunporch,” he replies, and I remember that he always had. He lingers for several seconds in the doorway.

“Good night, Addie. It's great having you here.” I wonder if he might kiss me goodnight. But he starts down the stairs.

After he's gone, I wash and change, then climb into bed. I lie in the semidarkness, beneath the sheets that contain a hint of Liam's aftershave. Rain begins to patter against the rooftop. It seems odd to be here, this place I had not even thought still existed. This had been Charlie's room and I see things as he once had, looking out at the boardinghouse where I used to sleep. Moonlight reflects against the whitewashed plaster, illuminating the crack where Robbie had hit the ceiling with a Frisbee. Thinking of him still hurts, but differently now. My thoughts turn to Liam. I wanted to kiss him—out on the porch and now. The impulse surprises me. Is it just being back here and trying to make sense of all of the memories, or is it something more?

I see him once and then let him go and drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I awaken to the sounds of the gulls calling to one another above the bay. I sit and stretch. Light fills the high open space. It has to be at least ten. I pad barefoot downstairs through the house to the sunporch. The blankets at the foot of the divan are folded neatly and the smell of brewed coffee and eggs tickle my nose. I look up at the house that Liam is repairing with such care. What have I done to make amends for my own misdeeds?

Outside Liam is busily sanding a long plank. The sandy earth is damp from the storm that has come and gone. “There's breakfast if you're hungry.” He does not look up. I notice suddenly the urgency in his work.

At the far end of the yard, freshly washed sheets hang drying on the line, more than are needed for just him and me. “Liam, you aren't doing this just to live here yourself, are you?”

“No.” He stops, eyes meeting mine. “We've got to get most of this done before they arrive.”

My breath catches. “They?”

“Mom and Dad and the others. I asked them to come,” he says, looking away. Hope rises, then falls in my chest at the idea of seeing all of the Connallys again. Would it really be that simple to get them to come home? “It's just all so broken. Mom and Dad nearly split, the rest of us scattered to the wind. The house in the city is gone, but it was always about this place. I thought maybe if I fixed it up, they'd come.” He's trying to repair the damage he had done and bring the family back together.

“Charlie should be coming, too, with his family.” I tilt my head, confused. Liam and myself and the others, we are Charlie's family. But Liam is referring to Grace. She's Charlie's family now. Will I ever get used to reality as it now exists? “Do you mind?”

Even though I had left of my own accord and really, truly set Charlie free, to have to watch him and Grace together would be torture. I swallow. “Of course not. They're family.” I had just seen Charlie days ago in the hospital, but he had not mentioned coming home, even after he remembered who I was.

So Liam had invited all of the Connallys back purposefully. But my arrival had been happenstance. He had not included me. “I didn't think you'd come if I asked you directly,” he adds. Would I have? Being here just with Liam was hard enough, but the whole family would be unbearable. For a minute I consider leaving before they arrive. No one expects more of me, really. I do not even belong anymore.

Liam waves his arm up at the house. “That's why I'm doing this. I'm trying to bring the family back together.” I stop, stunned by the audacity of his plan—not just to fix up the house and live here. He is trying to reunite the family he had destroyed and undo the heartbreak he had caused. He looks at me hopefully. “We can do this. We just have to get them all back in one place.”

We. Suddenly I'm his partner in all of this. I want to tell him that with or without me he cannot do it, that it is impossible to rewrite the past. That, above all else, is what I had learned about my own life these past months in London. There is something in his eyes, though, that says he needs this, needs to try to make things right. He is clinging desperately to this one hope and I cannot take it from him.

But still I need to warn him. “We can't go back.”

“I'm not trying to go back,” he replies firmly. The past is not a place to which he wants to return. “I'm trying to build a future. If you have to go, I understand.” There is a sudden guardedness to his voice, the lone, defensive Liam of old.

“We should get working,” I say.

His eyes widen. “You'll help me?” He sounds too scared to hope. I nod. “Does that mean you're staying?”

“I don't know.” Panic rises in me. I was supposed to be here a day, get Aunt Bess's things and go again. Yet I feel myself being drawn back in slowly. I can go, now, pile the boxes in the car and sort them back in the city. There is nothing stopping me. But Liam's face is hopeful now, more so than I've ever seen. I cannot destroy that. “I'll stay—at least through the weekend,” I add hastily.

Liam looks as if he wants to argue for more than that. But he swallows, backing down. “Only if you want to.”

I do want to stay, I realize. I hold out my hand. “Then I guess we'd better get started.”

* * *

“Try this.” It is nearly evening and we have been painting for hours, first inside the house and now out.

“Can't,” I reply, distracted. I hold a dripping paintbrush in one hand and a roller in the other; my forearms are uniformly covered in white paint. But we hadn't stopped for lunch and the scent from the plate he holds under my nose is tantalizing. “Mmm, what is it?”

“Gumbo. I traveled some after everything happened, and I learned how to make it when I was down in New Orleans. Tried out the recipe the other day, but I had to substitute a few ingredients I couldn't get.” He lifts a spoonful to my mouth, and the warm, spicy sauce floods my tongue with flavor, warming me on the way down.

“Delicious.” I nearly miss the second mouthful which he aims at me as I speak. He holds the spoon beneath my lower lip for a second to catch the drip. “Let me wash up and we'll break for dinner.”

“No time to break,” he answers earnestly. “It might rain tonight and I want to get as much done as possible.”

“But I'm hungry,” I protest, an almost whine. “You can't tease me with something that good and not let me eat.”

“I'll feed you,” he offers.

“Okay.” I turn back to my painting, not taking my eyes from my work as he spoons the gumbo for me. It is the oddest feeling of helplessness. I dip my head to meet the spoon and let the soft pieces slide down my throat. Small drops of brown sauce fall from the fork, grazing the edge of the paint bucket.

And all the while, I am intently aware of Liam. He feeds me slowly and with great care, not taking his eyes from me in between bites. His forearm grazes my cheek each time he brings the spoon to my mouth. I want to lean across the soppy bowl and kiss him. I stop, surprised at the thought. It is the third time I've had it in two days. Something is drawing me to him now, strong and unexpected.

“Thanks,” I say, when he has scraped the bottom of the bowl. “Aren't you going to have some?”

He shakes his head. “Not hungry. It was fun watching you, though.” He grins wickedly and I can feel my cheeks flush.

“Liam!” I swat at him playfully, sending drops of paint cascading through the air. Then I wait for him to retaliate, but he does not.

“It won't change things,” he says, suddenly somber. I stop, brush suspended midair. “I can fix this house all I want, but unless Robbie is gonna come bounding through that door, it won't change what I did. I know that.” I shift, not answering. We are getting to it now, that deep place we'd been circling since seeing one another. The attraction I'd been feeling for him these past two days seems to evaporate and I see him once again as the boy, whose selfish recklessness caused his little brother to die.

There is a moment of painful silence between us. “I should wash the dishes.” He jumps up and the bucket between us on the deck tips and spills.

“Oh!” I scramble to right it and reach for a cloth. As we wipe the mess, I look down at his hands. “Dammit, Liam.” This was bigger than spilled paint. I am angry at him still for all that he had done years ago. I beat at his chest and he does not try to stop me, but absorbs the blows with sharp silent, breath. A moment later I stop and crash my head against his chest sobbing. “Why?” I ask, over and over, demanding answers he does not have. Then exhausted, I lean on him silently. Forgiveness, it seems, is harder than I might have thought—perhaps because it is not mine to give.

“After I was released from the hospital, I tried to turn myself in to be arrested.” His words spill out. “But the police wouldn't take me because it was an accident. I'll answer for my crimes in another way.” His voice is hollow. For all of his healing, there is a place inside him that would never be whole.

“I've tried a million times to figure out who I was and how I could have done those things. I was just so lost and I never quite fit in. I went lower afterward,” he confesses. “More drinking and drugs. I was on the street. Jack found me and got me into a program. He saved my life.”

Neither of us speaks for several minutes. “You tried to warn me, so many times—that day on the beach and in the city. But there was nothing you could have done to make me hear.”

“No.” It is true. Through all of the pain and shock and pondering what might have been, I had never once hated him. “I understand in a way. You see, when I was in England, I found out the truth about my parents.” I swallow. It is the first time I have told anyone. “They were arrested because I was missing. It was my fault.”

He puts his arm on mine. “Addie, that's not at all the same. You didn't do anything. You didn't even have a say in leaving Italy.” He leans back and I take in the lean silhouette of his torso. A shiver runs through me. Is it nostalgia? No, there is something about him, subtle and more vulnerable than Charlie, that draws me to him.

Then he smiles, and the darkness blows away like dust. “I wanted to ask you to come, too. That's why I sent the picture.”

“You?” I turn in disbelief to see him nod.

“I wanted to ask you to come back. But I didn't have the nerve. So I mailed you the photo, long before I asked the others.” All that time I had thought it was Charlie or even Jack who had sent the picture. I had not imagined that it was Liam who had been searching for me and calling me home. “But when that didn't work—”

“You got Aunt Bess to help.” I hadn't thought to question why she needed the things she had left down here.

“Yes. I contacted her when I started this a few months ago, but she said that you were in London and there was nothing she could do. I guess when you came back for the funeral...”

“She had a change of heart,” I finished for him. How odd that after all of her years of keeping me from the Connallys, she had helped bring me back to them. But fortune had played a role, too—if I hadn't come back because of my uncle, I might have missed them again.

“I didn't think you'd say yes if the invitation came from me,” he says sheepishly.

I want to tell him that it isn't true. What would I have said if Liam had asked me to come? I'm not entirely sure. I would have remembered the old, angry Liam who had caused so much pain, not the man who stands before me now. “Well, I'm here now.”

“Being away, was it easier or harder?”

I shrug. “Being away just makes it easier to forget.”

He nods in agreement. “When I was away I could pretend Robbie was still here, running down the street.”

“I couldn't stand to be here but I couldn't separate when I was away. I was always torn.”

“And now?” Liam is looking at me, green eyes expectant.

“I don't know.” When I'd come home for my aunt, returning to London had seemed a foregone conclusion. But what did I have left there, really? I had turned Teddy away and could hardly go back and work closely with him at the bureau as I once had. I had helped the orphans. Charlie was gone. There was nothing left for me now.

He steps back and surveys the porch. “I think we've done all we can for tonight.” It is getting dark and hard to see. He takes the paintbrushes to wash and disappears inside the house. I look up at our rooms at the house next door. Earlier, I'd rung Aunt Bess to tell her I would be staying a few more days. She didn't argue, but I worried about leaving her for so long after all she had been through.

Pushing down my guilt, I walk to the edge of the porch to peer at the house on the far side of the Connallys'.

“What are you thinking about?” Liam asks, returning with coffee.

I wrap my hands around the warmth of the mug he hands me. “Remember that time when I broke the window and you took the blame for me?” He nods. “You were trying to protect me. I only wish I had been able to do the same for you when things got tough.”

“I'm not sure you ever needed protection,” Liam observes. “Even as a girl you were so strong.” I look at him, surprised. I had not seen myself that way, and I hadn't imagined anyone else had either. “You were tiny and quiet, and we all wanted to protect you. But for Christ's sake, you had just come halfway around the world. By yourself. No, you weren't the one who needed saving. We needed you.”

The music changes to Cole Porter, and for a second we might have been in the Connallys' living room back in the city, their father dancing their mother around the frayed rug while the boys and I watched and grinned. Liam pulls back and cups my chin. For a moment, I think that he might kiss me, but he uses his thumbs to wipe away the wetness beneath my eyes. Then he holds out his arms to me expectantly. “Shall we?”

“Dance, here?”

“Why not?” We stand. As he spins me around, the record skips slightly as it rotates on the turntable, an imperfection that would never be quite right again.