Images flashed through my mind: Henry, early that afternoon, sitting on Jilly’s bed, making her giggle. Henry, staying out all night with flimsy excuses as to where he’d been and what he’d been doing. Henry, holding me in his arms as I cried over our lost son. Hiding money in the armoire. Berating Reverend Sam for no good reason. “For the most part,” I said, “he’s a good man, but I don’t think I can ever love him. We … there’s no closeness there. No emotional closeness. No physical closeness.”
He raised his eyebrows, and I shook my head.
“It’s strange, Vincent. There was that one time in Washington, when we’d both had too much to drink. And when we got married, he never seemed attracted to me and I realized he only married me for the sake of the baby. And when I lost the baby, I thought we could get divorced, but he refused. Then I thought we could have our marriage voided, since we’d … there’d been no consummation, at least not since we’d been married. I asked him and he got angry about it. And that night he … suddenly there was. Consummation. As though he wanted to lock me into our marriage. But there’s been no … no closeness since.” My cheeks burned. “It’s as though he both wants and doesn’t want to be married to me.”
“And what do you want?” His jaw was tight. I knew that tense, angry look. I’d missed every one of his expressions, even this one.
“I want my old life back,” I said. “I’d give anything to turn back the calendar. To be back with you the way we were. Looking forward to our wedding and our future together. I know I ruined it all. I’m so sorry.”
He sighed. “Are we going to be able to work together?” he asked. “Will our past get in the way?”
“We can’t let it,” I said. “The work here is too important.”
“I don’t ever want to meet your husband,” he said with a flare to his nostrils. “I’d knock his block off. He took advantage of you. What kind of scum picks up a girl in Washington and sleeps with her that same night?”
“What kind of girl does the same thing?” I gave my head a weary shake. “He’s no more to blame for that night than I am,” I said. “He did the honorable thing by marrying me, though I know he doesn’t love me.”
“Do you love him?
I shook my head. “I love you,” I said, before I could stop myself.
He looked away from me. “A little too late for that, isn’t it,” he said, and I winced, wishing I’d kept my feelings to myself.
“Can you take me home now?” I asked. If I didn’t get home soon, Henry would be full of questions.
He turned the key in the ignition without another word. It had grown dark and I guided him out of the site, through the woods and onto the main road. I hated for him to see where I lived. I didn’t want him to think that I’d been attracted to Henry for his money.
“Where are you staying?” I asked as we neared my neighborhood.
“The Hotel Hickory,” he said. “Strange environment,” he added. “Eighty nurses, an epidemiologist, and me.”
I nodded, trying to imagine how different the hotel must feel right now from when I’d stayed there with Henry.
I told him where to turn, and when he pulled up in front of the house in all its grandeur, the front porch lights warm and welcoming, he simply looked at me with a shake of his head.
“I’m sorry you’re not happy, Tess,” he said. “Truly, I am.”
68
July 8, 1944
Oh Gina,
He’s here. Vincent. I was in shock when I first saw him. We have to wear masks and gowns in the hospital and it wasn’t until he was right in front of me that I recognized him. Those beautiful eyes. How I’ve missed them! How I’ve missed him!
I told him everything. He’s angry with me for the way I handled what happened and I’m angry with myself. I told him I still love him. I didn’t mean to say it, but the words slipped out. I don’t think he loves me though. He’s too angry and disappointed in me. He knows I’m not happy with Henry and that Henry won’t give me a divorce. Even if he would, I don’t think Vincent wants a future with me any longer.
I still think of leaving Henry to start living the two years apart that will be necessary for me to have a chance of getting a divorce, but even if I could figure out where to go, I can’t possibly leave right now. The hospital needs me and, frankly, I need it. I love being a nurse so much, Gina. That’s the one good thing in my life.
I’m so torn. On the one hand, I’m thrilled Vincent is here and that we’re working together (which is what we always wanted to do!) and I don’t ever want him to leave. Every time I see him across one of the wards or walking around on the grounds, my stomach does a flip. On the other hand, it’s painful to know he could have been my husband and now I can’t have him.
Thank you for getting that doll for the little girl I told you about. She adores it! And thank you for keeping my secret all these months, Gina. Vincent told me you did a good job of it!
Love,
Tess
69
“You’re so quiet lately,” Henry said as he drove me to the hospital the third morning after Vincent’s arrival. “Are you all right?”
“Tired,” I said. “The work is exhausting. But I love it,” I added quickly, not wanting him to suggest I stop. “It’s a good kind of tired.”
To be honest, if I wasn’t completely absorbed by a task I was doing, my mind was on Vincent. Whether by coincidence or design, he and I never seemed to be in the same place at the same time since our conversation in his car. Oh, we were often in the same ward—that was unavoidable. But I would be at one end, usually caring for Jilly or Carol Ann or behind the curtain with Amy Pryor, still in the iron lung, and he would be at the other. I had to fight with myself not to look at him. My greatest fear was that I would arrive at the hospital and he would have left. Gone home to Baltimore. I wouldn’t be able to bear it, even though I couldn’t have him or touch him or talk to him or even look into his eyes. I needed his presence. I needed him close by. I would be bereft if he left.
I thought we were both doing our best to avoid contact at the hospital. On his part, there was anger. I felt certain of that and I didn’t blame him. On my part, there was shame and regret. My regret was strong enough to consume me, and outside of the hospital, I grew quiet and introspective, so much so that Henry was beginning to notice. I passed it off as fatigue every time he mentioned my strange mood.