Chapter Four #4
She waited for him to elaborate, but she got the sense that he was holding back, as though there were elements of being a test pilot that he couldn’t talk about because of the secrecy that surrounded such experimental work.
“In a career that is probably more dangerous than ninety-nine percent of the jobs out there, you were looking for something even more dangerous,” she returned.
He laughed. “It sounds a little ill-advised when you put it like that. But basically, yes.”
“Have you ever thought of having a safer, more boring job?”
“Like what, an actuary? You’re killing me here.”
She felt more than a little sorry for whoever he finally settled down with.
He was undoubtedly a heartbreaker, and Vivian couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be with a man who was always chasing danger.
Exhausting, terrifying. Not to mention the added complication of there being elements of his job he wouldn’t be able to share with others.
“I’m sorry. I could see—watching you during the launch—I could tell that something was bothering you.”
“I debated not coming today,” Joe admitted.
“I didn’t think I would be good company.
I had grand plans to watch it at my cousins’ house, but then Frank told me there was a chance you would be here.
I came over a few times with him to see Polly, but you were never home,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
He’d wanted to see her? It was surprising, and yet, if she was being honest, part of why she had thought about him so often through the last few weeks was that she had somehow known that she would see him again.
And not just because of his connection to Frank and Frank’s relationship with Polly, but because it felt like they’d started a conversation that night at the bar that they were somehow meant to finish.
“I—I didn’t know. Polly didn’t say anything.”
“I know. I didn’t ask about you—I should have.”
What did that mean?
Was it possible that two men were expressing their interest in her in the same morning? It felt too bizarre to contemplate, considering it had never happened before, and she hadn’t exactly been inundated with dates in college. And yet, she couldn’t ignore what he’d just said—
I didn’t ask about you—I should have.
Vivian wanted to press him on it, to know why he didn’t ask about her, but he spoke again before she could get her thoughts in order.
“I was curious how things were going with you at work. How is the television business?” Joe asked.
“It’s going well. I never thanked you that night—what you did introducing me to Graham.
I really appreciated it. It’s hard to break into this business.
Harder still when you’re a woman, and you’re young, and no one wants to hire you for anything other than fetching coffee no matter the degree you attained. ”
“It was my pleasure. Did it help?”
“It did. I’ve done some background research for a few stories Graham has reported on. I think seeing that someone of his stature trusts me has given other reporters the impetus to offer me more opportunities around the newsroom.”
“Good for him. He’s a good man.”
“Yes, he is.”
It felt strange mentioning Graham to Joe, considering the coffee date they’d agreed to earlier in the newsroom—an interaction she still couldn’t believe—especially in light of what Joe had just told her.
I didn’t ask about you—I should have.
Silence fell between them, and then—
“I confess, when I watch the news now, I wonder which stories you’ve worked on,” Joe added after a moment, the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth sending a thrill through her.
Vivian smiled even as she fought the fierce instinct to blush.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence. I worked on a story with this reporter last night—Kerry Krieger—she’s amazing.
At the end of it, she told me I had done good work, and it felt like maybe the dream isn’t so out of reach.
Like I might have a shot at this. I want to have a career that makes a difference. ”
“You will. You’re easy to talk to.” Joe looked slightly abashed by the admission. “I’m not saying that as a line or something. I know how it sounds. But you are—you have a way of making people feel comfortable confiding in you. I know you just made me feel better right now.”
“I didn’t do anything, really.”
“You listened. The frustration I’m feeling—all of it—I haven’t even told Frank. I haven’t told anyone. It was nice to be able to tell you.”
“When will you know about Europe—if you’re being sent there?”
Joe was silent for a beat, tearing his gaze away from her and looking out over the skyline once more. “Soon. My orders should be cut any day now. It’s all but a done deal.”
“Where in Europe?”
“Italy. Aviano Air Base. It’s a couple hours north of Venice.”
“That sounds lovely. I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. I checked out this photography book from the library when I was a kid and the pictures of the canals—it was like nothing I’d ever seen. I always told myself I would go there someday. How long will you be stationed there?”
“Two, three years, maybe. It’s hard to predict. You tend to go where the military sends you for however long they want you to be there.” Joe was silent for a beat. “I probably have a week or two before I leave, and I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink sometime. Have a proper date.”
His gaze met hers once more, and he studied her with that same earnestness he’d displayed when he looked at the rocket soaring into space.
He was moving to Italy for years.
Her job was here. Her life was here.
And most importantly, well—
“My father served in the war.” Vivian said it quietly, like it was a secret, which in essence it was because it was a part of her life she never talked about, but she wanted to tell him, needed him to understand. “The Second World War. He was in Europe. He didn’t come home. He was a pilot.”
Just like the sight of Alan Shepard launching into space had him rocking back on his heels, Joe absorbed her announcement with the same reaction.
“He flew fighters,” Vivian added, that familiar tightness filling her chest. “I was six years old when he died.”
She barely remembered him, and that was one of the cruelest parts of all.
Vivian had flashes here and there, moments from her childhood that she wasn’t sure were real memories or products of her imagination, inventions designed to fill in so many blanks.
Sometimes she thought that those blanks existed because there were things she didn’t want to remember, incidents that were simply too painful.
She remembered the idea of him, what he had represented to her, but she couldn’t recall the details that felt important.
Joe didn’t say anything aloud, but there was something steady in his gaze that gave her the confidence to continue.
“His death was the single worst thing that has ever happened to me. He was—” She searched for the right words to describe what her father had meant to her, the effect that his presence had on her, on their home.
“He was my best friend, my family, my home. My mother—” Vivian swallowed.
“My mother was complicated. I never quite knew where I stood with her.
She could be happy one moment and it felt like everything was wonderful, and then something would set her off, something no one even realized, and all that happiness would turn into a cloud that made me want to go into the closet in my bedroom and hide until the storm passed.
“My happiest moments were when my father was home with us. He would take me out of the house when she would get upset. It was like he knew that I just needed to get away. She was happier when he was home, too.”
“And after your father died, were things still difficult with your mother?”
It was the worry in his voice that undid her. The way he asked the question as though he really cared about her answer, as if he needed to hear that there was a happy ending to her story.
“She didn’t—I don’t think she enjoyed spending time with me when I was younger.
I was always too loud, too clingy, too needy.
It was easier as I grew older, as I learned to become the version that she wanted me to be.
She liked me better when I didn’t need things from her, when I didn’t expect things from her.
And I learned not to rely on her. Not to rely on anyone. ”
Perhaps it was too much to tell him so early on, certainly more than she’d ever told anyone, really.
And yet—there was something between them.
She’d never felt anything like it before, but it was here and she recognized it, knew he did, too, by the way he looked at her, and so it felt important to put a pin in this, to explain that despite whatever connection she felt between them, she wouldn’t be going on a date with him.
A line formed between his brows. “Was there no one else—”
“No. We lost touch with my father’s parents after he died.
I’m not sure why, to be honest. I always got the impression that they weren’t particularly fond of my mother and the way she lived her life.
After his funeral, I never saw them again.
And her parents? They died when she was young. I never knew them.
“She was an only child, so it was just the two of us. We’d moved around while my father was in the military, and then after he died, we moved around even more.
She remarried, and divorced, and remarried again, and divorced, and remarried again—and I suppose I just got used to being on my own. It was easier that way.”
Vivian smiled despite the sad tone their conversation had taken. “I am a tremendously boring person at heart. I don’t get lonely. I don’t yearn for the company of others. Give me a book or some paints and I can happily spend the entire weekend ensconced on my own.”