8. Peter
8
PETER
M inutes before we were to leave for the church, I stood with George in my father’s study. The day was cold and gray, with a feeling that snow would fall at any moment. I couldn’t help but think the weather matched my mood. Dark and somber, with the threat of something unleashing. Not snow, but something else. Something that tasted of tar and acid that had churned in my stomach for weeks.
An insidious voice whispered in my ear.
Be happy for your friends, you selfish fool. She didn’t choose you. In fact, you never had a chance, not against George.
I should hate him. But I couldn’t. He was my brother, and I adored him. Did it hurt any less that I wanted his woman for myself but knew I could never have her? Certainly not.
George stood in front of the mirror, tugging at his tie for the fourth time.
“Here, let me,” I said, stepping toward him. The knot was crooked. I straightened it with practiced precision. “There. That should do.”
George grinned, his reflection smirking back at me. “Thanks, buddy.” He held up his arms. “How about the cuffs?”
“How are you going to make it through the war without me?” I asked as I fastened his cuff links he’d gotten from my sister that first Christmas we were with Mireille.
“I don’t know, actually,” George said. “You’ve been by my side for so much of my life. I shall indeed be lost without you.”
Touched by his words, I covered my emotions by turning to my father’s liquor cabinet. “Let’s have a drink before we set out. It’ll calm our nerves.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
I poured us each a two-finger glass and handed one to him.
George sat down near the lit fireplace and sipped his drink, looking oddly pensive.
I joined him by the fire. “You holding up all right, old man?”
“Yes. I was thinking about my mother. She would have enjoyed this day very much.”
“She would have loved Mireille. I know that for certain.”
“How could she not?”
“Agreed. Mireille’s special. No question.”
“I’m not worthy, but she said yes, so who am I to argue?”
“She could do worse,” I said drily. “And yeah, you’re the luckiest guy that’s ever lived.”
George chuckled, but his hands twisted together in his lap. Nervous? Our George?
He looked up, meeting my eyes. “Peter, if something happens to me—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “If the war takes me, promise me you’ll look after her.”
His words hit me like a blow to the chest. I tightened my jaw, forcing down the surge of emotion that threatened to surface. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not going anywhere. We’re going to serve, do our duty, and then get ourselves home to the women who love us.”
“But in case something happens, it will make me rest easy to know you and your family will be here for her.”
“We will be. My mother thinks of her as another daughter. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“It’s just she’s been through so much. If she loses me too, I don’t know. It might break her.”
“You think a lot of yourself,” I said, teasing.
He stared back at me with uncharacteristic seriousness. “I mean it. She’ll take it hard.”
“Well, then, don’t die. Come back to her in one piece.”
“Yes, good plan.” George lifted his glass.
“I’m scared too. If you want to know the truth.”
“We’d be only half alive if we weren’t. Who knows what we’re headed into? All I know is that I love my country and our freedom, and I’ll fight for them as long as I have to.”
“Maybe it’ll be over quick. Now that we’re in it. We can put a stop to it once and for all.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears.” George clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm and warm.
“Your family’s been…well, you know, I can’t thank any of you enough for taking me in. Giving me a home and family. I wanted to make sure I said that before we ship out. You mean a lot to me, and I love you.”
“Good Lord, you’re turning soft right before my very eyes.” I brushed his words aside, acting as if they hadn’t moved me to near tears. “But yeah, same for me.” I swallowed hard, glancing away.
“Listen, there’s one other thing I wanted to clear up before we ship out of here.”
“What’s that?”
“I know how you feel about Mireille.”
“What? Who?” Please don’t say it.
“You love her. I know you do, and I know you’ve never done anything about it because of your loyalty to me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.
“You’re a better man than I am. I couldn’t do it. If it was the other way around. I couldn’t stand by your side and do the right thing. I’m too selfish. I love her too much.”
I tossed back the rest of my whiskey. “Well, whether or not that’s true, you don’t have to find out. Now, get up. We can’t be late, or my mother will kill us before we get sent off to war.”
We stood, straightening ties and smoothing our jackets in tandem.
Before we reached the door, George stopped me. “Peter, are we all right? Do you hate me, even just a little?”
I forced myself to smile and speak lightly. “I wish I could. But no. I love you. Always have and always will. And this is nothing. Just a stupid crush I’ve had for too long. Please. Let’s get you to the church and forget all this nonsense.”
“Will do, brother,” George said, tears caught in his lashes.
We shook hands, then hugged. Then we walked out of the house and got into the car without another word.
On the way to the church, my emotions reeled from shock to shame to anger. My father drove us—the chauffeur was taking all the women—and he kept glancing over at me with a worried knit creasing his forehead.
How had George known? And for how long? I’d thought I’d kept it hidden so well. If George knew, did that mean Mireille did as well? That thought was possibly the most horrifying of all. Maybe they even discussed it between them, filled with pity for me. All right, that was the worst of it. If that was true, I wanted to run away and hide, never to show my face again.
After what felt like hours, we finally reached the church.
Just get through the day. Then you can leave. Start a new life. One where I didn’t have to watch the two people I loved marry each other, leaving me behind.
George bounded up the steps and into the church, but I held back to have a cigarette. My father asked if he could join me. I reluctantly agreed. I wanted to be alone for a moment, to gather my wits and get myself under control.
After I lit Father’s cigarette for him, he took a puff, rocking back on his heels, watching me with his discerning gaze. He knew me too well. He could see into the hole that fed directly into my battered heart. “Anything you want to talk about?” Father asked.
“Not in particular.”
He took another drag, then let it out slowly, the smoke mingling with his warm breath to make a cloud between us. “This probably won’t mean anything to you now, but behaving with honor is always the right choice. Even when it’s hard.”
“Sure.” I brought my cigarette to my lips, taking a puff, wishing it would help settle my nerves. I might need another strong whiskey before I had any hope of that.
“You’re doing the right thing.”
“What’s that exactly?” I asked.
“Not putting them both in an awkward, hurtful position by acting like a child and ruining their day.”
“I’d never do that,” I said. As much as my insides felt scraped raw, I had too much love and respect for both George and Mireille to do anything to harm their wedding day. Or our friendships. Especially when the future was so uncertain. George nor I had any guarantee of making it out of the war alive. We had to leave as devoted to each other as we’d always been.
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I’m sorry, bud. It might be hard to believe right now, but there’s a woman out there for you. One who’ll make you forget all about your best friend’s wife.”
I inwardly cringed at the word wife . That made it all real. This was happening. My feelings must remain hidden. I would have to spend the rest of my life perfecting an act. Because as much as my father may have believed he was correct and I would fall in love with someone else, I highly doubted it.
“There are no feelings,” I said, trying my best to sound convincing. “I’m fine. I’m happy for them and wish them a long, joyful marriage. That’s all there is to say.”
“Yeah, all right. If you say so, just know I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
I took one last drag from my cigarette and dropped it into the frozen grass, stomping it out with my heel. “Father, we should go in.”
“Yes, yes. I’m right behind you.” Before I could turn away, he grabbed hold of my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “The measure of a man is what he’s willing to do or give up for the people he loves. You’re a fine man, even though to me, you’ll always be the freckle-faced little boy in my leather chair reading books far beyond his years.”
I flushed, moved by his words and the sentiment behind them. “Sometimes I’ve felt I’ve disappointed you. Like you wished, I was more like George.”
He blinked. “Son, that’s simply not true. You’re the finest person I know. I could not be more proud of you.”
“Even though I have no interest in business?”
“What’s that to do with anything? You’re a writer. It’s what you’ve always been meant to do. I didn’t raise you to be anyone but yourself. Do you understand?”
I nodded, too choked up to speak.
“I want you to remember how much I admire you and love you,” Father said. “On those days over there when you feel hopeless and alone, I’ll be here, thinking about what a gift you’ve been to me.”
“Father, thank you,” I said, fighting the crack in my voice. His words released me in a way I didn’t even know I needed. I could leave knowing that everything was right between us.
“It goes without saying—at least I hope it does—that you and your sister and mother are my whole heart. You’ve given me great joy. I’m proud of you. Today and every day.”
“I’ll write when I’m away. As much as I can.”
“Your mother and I will do the same, although I suspect she’ll be more prolific than I. You get your writing talent from her.” He drew me into a quick embrace. “I love you, son.”
“Thanks, Father. I love you too.”
He let me go, nodding toward the door. “You can do this. A little acting. That’s all that’s required.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I trudged up the stairs and into the church, feeling about as low as a man could be. However, by the time I got to the double doors, I’d plastered a smile on my face. One that would have to remain there for the rest of the day. When I was alone, I could grieve, but for now, I must be the man my father thought I was.
Just get through it. Pretend I’m not dying little by little, my heart shattering into a thousand jealous pieces.
The strong scent of lilies from the altar arrangements assaulted me the moment I walked inside the church. Where had they found lilies this time of year?
Many of the guests were already seated. Mother had invited a good forty people, mostly friends of hers and Father’s. There were a few friends of George’s parents there as well, some who looked familiar and some who didn’t.
I straightened my tie and headed toward George, who was already standing by the pulpit, speaking softly with the pastor who would carry out the ceremony.
George nodded at me, his dark eyes full of love.
“How you holding up, old man?” I touched my fingertips to the shoulder of his suit jacket. “I forgot to mention how dapper you look.” He wore a simple black wool suit that looked great on his muscular frame. We’d both filled out during our military training. I doubted I would be using my physical prowess in intelligence, but who knew? In fact, I knew next to nothing about what was coming my way.
I took my place beside my best friend, watching the rest of the guests settle into their seats. The woman hired to play the music for the occasion sat primly at the piano, her hands poised over the keys for a split second before playing the first notes of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” for the pre-processional music. Mother came down the aisle, escorted by one of George’s friends from childhood he’d asked to usher. I smiled at Mother as she took her place in the front pew, looking like royalty. She blew me a kiss. Was that pity in her eyes? God, that meant she knew, too. It was a good thing I hadn’t decided to try my hand at acting. Clearly, I’d not fooled anyone.
Next, Betsy came down the aisle, tall and slender and beautiful. It occurred to me that I might not be around to see her marry. If I didn’t come back from the war, I would never get to see her in a wedding dress on my father’s arm. Betsy, oblivious to my morbid thoughts, beamed at me. I managed to smile back at her, but it wasn’t easy.
Then the music swelled, and everyone turned.
Mireille appeared on my father’s arm. She looked like an angel. Her dress fit her perfectly, and suited her small frame. Not too much material, I thought, absently. She wore a new set of pearls—a gift from my mother. But it wasn’t the dress or the veil that floated around her like a lacy halo or even her glowing skin that cut the deepest. It was her expression. Her face lit up the moment her eyes met George’s. Her joy and love were unmistakable, pure. Mireille loved George. There was no doubt.
And I must remain a gracious loser.
I tore my gaze away, focusing on George instead. He stood taller, his smile breaking wide and bright, as she approached.
Father handed Mireille off to George. She glanced at me first, her smile grateful for my presence and without pity. The smile one gave a friend, one who had treated her as a sister. She didn’t know how I felt. No one had told her. She and George had not spoken of how sad it was that I must face unrequited love while they celebrated theirs.
A saving grace, as they say. For this, I thanked God.
I didn’t listen to the vows they exchanged. Instead, I allowed my mind to drift far away from this place, this moment. And so, when it was all done, I was almost startled.
When the pastor pronounced them husband and wife, George pulled her close and kissed her gently. The church erupted in applause. Did we all feel the undercurrent that permeated the church and happy couple? Were we all wondering what kind of future they would have? What kind of world would we inherit at the end of this war? Would one ever come? Would George make it back?
Too many questions for the human mind to understand or reconcile. For now, we would be happy for them and pray for a future in which George and his lovely wife raise a family and grow old together. It wasn’t much to ask. Not really. Yet the war overseas had robbed so many of simple, safe lives.
Afterward, the couple stood at the entryway to the church, greeting guests and thanking them for coming. When it came to my turn, I was glad to have Betsy by my side.
I clapped George on the back, then pulled him into an embrace. “Congratulations. I wish you nothing but the best. You know that, right?”
“I do, brother. I surely do.” He looked me in the eyes. “Let’s get home in one piece, shall we?”
“I’ll do my best.” I turned to Mireille, leaning down to kiss her soft cheek. “You look beautiful. The prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, Peter, you’re always so complimentary. Thank you. Thank you for being such a good brother to me.”
“It’s been my pleasure.” Brother . If she only knew how that word hurt.
“Peter, please stay safe. Write to me when you can.” Mireille looked up at me beseechingly.
“I will.” I gave her and George one last smile before heading down the stairs of the church and out into a world that felt colder than it ever had.
The wedding reception at my parents’ went by in a blur. I mostly stayed away from the couple, acting as if I were the perfect best man instead of a jealous loser, entertaining guests, and making sure everyone had food and drink. Anything to keep my mind off the truth.
Toward the end of the evening, I sneaked outside to the back terrace for a smoke. The reception had dwindled to a handful of lingering guests and staff clearing the remnants of the party. Our glowing couple had left hours ago to spend two nights together at an inn before George had to leave to report for duty.
It sickened me to think what they were most likely doing at the moment.
I leaned against the railing, staring out into the black night. I’d forgotten to wear a coat and had discarded my dinner jacket some time ago. A bitter cold, the kind that sank into a person’s bones, worked its way up my pant legs, and slipped under the collar of my shirt. Yet it felt good to be outside. To feel the damp, frigid air against my hot cheeks.
From inside came the faint sounds of a piano playing a lively turn for whoever had remained. I would have preferred a sad song. A funeral dirge, perhaps, to match my somber mood.
I was a little tipsy, too, the world off-balance and my thoughts sluggish. Too much of my father’s whiskey had made my limbs loose and heavy at the same time. I fought an impulse to run across the frozen grass. Where to? That was anyone’s guess. Just away. To toss aside this sadness and regret and ugliness that made it feel as if the only solution was to shed my own skin. Instead, I took deep breaths of the air that smelled of wet earth and woodsmoke and that faint metallic tang that rose from frozen ground to fill my lungs and clear my head. It didn’t work. I still felt as if I was dying.
Below me, the gardens looked lifeless, flower beds buried under patches of old, melting snow and skeletal branches that mostly disappeared into the mist that clung to the edges of the property. Everything was swallowed by fog and night.
The door creaked open behind me, and Betsy stepped out to the terrace, closing the French doors carefully behind her. She wore a coat, proving that she was smarter than me. A fact never truly in doubt. Despite the dim light, I could see that the cold reddened her cheeks and nose almost immediately upon stepping outside.
“Hey Bets. How goes it?” My words sounded a little slower than they should. Maybe I was drunker than I thought. I didn’t care, though. A recklessness had worked its way in and pushed out logical reasoning. Anyway, it was only Betsy. She would forgive me.
“I saw you sneak out here.” My sister sidled next to me at the railing, a waft of her velvety perfume accompanying her. “Thought you might want some company.”
“I’m not good. Company.”
“Be that as it may, I’m your little sister. Which means it is my inalienable right to follow you wherever you go.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flask. “Plus, I brought party gifts.”
I gave her a faint smile and reached for the flask. “You are a good sister.”
“Do you have a cigarette? Mother’s kept her eye on me all night. She’s against women smoking. Did you know that? Says it makes our skin age more quickly than it should.”
I took a swig from the flask, handed it back to her, and grabbed a cigarette from the packet in my pants pocket.
“Here. But don’t rat me out.” I lit her cigarette.
“What brings you out here?” Betsy asked.
“Wanted fresh air. I’m a little drunk.”
“Ah, yes, as am I. Isn’t that what one does at weddings?” She leaned back against the railing, exhaling a stream of smoke into the damp air. “Is it just me, or was this the most depressing wedding ever?”
“The impending fear of death can do that to an event.”
“Don’t say that,” Betsy said. “No one’s dying. Not you. Not George. I simply forbid either of you to do so.”
“Well, now that we have that settled, I can relax.”
“Everyone pretending like we’re not sending our handsome boys off to fight a war we didn’t start.” She dropped her voice into a mockingly high tone. “‘What a lovely wedding! You must be so proud!’”
I huffed out a laugh. “It was a lovely wedding. I mean, other than the aforementioned gloom.”
“It was.” Betsy’s tone softened. “They were both happy. Yet I could see it under the surface—his departure, stealing their joy.”
“Who could blame them?”
“Not I. But how are you ?” She nudged my arm. “I know it was a hard day for you.”
“I’m fine.”
Betsy didn’t react; she just took another drag of her cigarette and waited.
“Does everyone know?” I asked.
“Not Mireille.”
“Thank God for that.” I stared out at the garden. Mist hovered low over the ground, softening the harsh lines of the bare trees. “It was awful. Every second of it.”
She placed her hand on my hard. “I’m sorry, Peter. I really am.”
“I never had a chance. Not with George around. I kept thinking he’d ruin it, you know, by cheating with another girl or doing something hasty and reckless. But he never did. From the time he first met her, he’s been steadfast.”
“As have you.”
I groaned, rubbing the corner of my left eye. “I’m glad she doesn’t know. I was imagining her and George being all sorry and pitying. It was more than I could take.”
“She has no idea,” Betsy said softly. “You mustn’t worry about that.”
I turned to her, my throat tightening. “George confronted me about it today.”
Betsy’s brows knit together before she let out a low sigh. “So he knew. I didn’t think he’d notice. Careful observation isn’t his strong suit.”
I laughed without true mirth. “Not usually, no.”
Betsy flicked her cigarette, tiny embers disappearing into the night. She turned to face me fully, her free hand gripping the railing. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Father says my strong moral compass will keep me warm at night.”
“Ah, yes, well, one can hope.”
I closed my eyes, the ache in my chest spreading like a wound.
“But in truth, you’re the finest, bravest person I know,” Betsy said. “Someday, you’ll look back and know you did the right thing.”
“Even if I’d told her, it wouldn’t have mattered. In fact, it would have made things awkward for her. She’s only ever had eyes for George.”
“I guess so. But I don’t know. When I first brought her here and you two seemed to naturally drift toward each other, I thought it would be you she chose. And I also figured George would act a fool and mess everything up.”
“He’s smarter than we thought,” I said. “Even George could see what was right in front of him. A rare, nearly perfect woman.”
“Sometimes she snores. Loudly too. For such a small person.”
I laughed, which set her off, too.
“You’re just saying that,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Making it up to make me feel better.”
“No, I’m not. And she flops around all night, tossing and turning, talking in her sleep. And she eats a strangely small amount of food. Like a bird. It’s not normal.”
“I have noticed that,” I said, shaking my head as another burst of laughter rose out of my belly.
After another moment or so, we sobered. Betsy turned back to me. “Are you afraid?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Please, come back to us. You hear me?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“My only consolation is that big fat brain of yours. They’ll have you tucked up somewhere interpreting intelligence, which hopefully will keep you out of harm’s way.”
I didn’t say anything. We both knew I would be in danger, but neither of us wanted to admit to it.
“When you come home, you’ll meet someone else. You’ll see. Someone who only has eyes for you.”
“Sure. Of course, I will.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the mist thickening around us. Betsy reached for the flask and took a sip, shivering as the whiskey hit her.
She handed it to me. “I joined the Red Cross. I’m going to train as a nurse.”
I turned to her, startled. “Really? Are you sure?”
“That’s what Mireille said.”
“You’ll be good at it. You’re strong. And courageous. Not to mention stubborn as hell. You’ll bully those boys into getting better.”
She grinned. “That’s an excellent point.”
I reached out and pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly for a second or two. “I’m going to miss you. Badly.”
“Me too,” Betsy replied, her voice muffled against my coat. She pulled back and gave me a small, lopsided smile. “But we’ll be together soon enough. Once they have you over there, we’re sure to win this thing before next Christmas.”
“Obviously.”
We stayed there for a few minutes more, the cold all around us, until finally, my sister linked her arm into mine. “We better go inside before Mother finds us and sends us both to bed.”
I did as she asked, grateful for this lively sister of mine and the love she showered upon everyone she knew especially me.