The Pieces We Keep

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

CHAPTER 1

Mid-May 2012Portland, OR

The sound of her name, in that deep familiar timbre, sweptthrough Audra like a winter gale. Her lungs pulled a sharpbreath. Her forearms prickled. In line at the airport gate, sheclutched the shoulder strap of her carry-on, a makeshift lifeline,and turned toward the voice.

"Babe, you want anything else?" the man in a floral-printshirt hollered from the coffee stand. "Andrea?"

Andrea. Not Audra.

And the man wasn't Devon.

"Just the vanilla latte," a woman replied from a nearby table,then resumed chatting on her phone.

For an eternal moment Audra Hughes remained frozen. Shebraced against the aftershock of hope, like the rush of a near carcollision, when blood rages in your ears and every pore yawnsopen. Even now, two years after her husband's death, she hadn'tconquered the reflex, nor the guilt. But in time she would, andtoday's trip would serve as a major step, regardless of others'opinions.

"Ma'am?" The male attendant stood at the door of the Jetway."Are the two of you boarding?"

Audra and her son were suddenly the only passengers at thegate. She would usually make a quip, about the plane not comingto them, but her senses were still recovering. "Sorry," shesaid, striding forward. "Not enough coffee."

Truthfully, she didn't drink the stuff; too hard on the teeth andheart. But the excuse flowed out, plausible for any Northwestnative, the caffeine kings of the world. A person couldn't walkthe length of five gates at Portland Airport without hearing theturbo blast of an espresso machine.

The man scanned her boarding passes. Beep. Beep.

"Enjoy the flight."

Audra was about to continue through the doorway when shenoticed Jack hadn't followed. The seven-year-old stood severalyards away, the rolled cuffs of his jeans hanging uneven fromdressing himself. Beneath his Captain America backpack and favoritegray hoodie, his hunched shoulders downplayed hissturdy form. His attention remained on a window dotted byThursday-morning rain. The sight of their idle plane widened hisslate-blue eyes, same shade and shape as Devon's. Their hair,too, had been a perfect match, the color of sweet molasses.

If it weren't for that rounded nose and chin, Devon's fatherused to jest, you'd never know who his mom was. It was actuallya fitting claim in more ways than one. And every day Jacklooked more and more like Devon. Or less and less like Audra,depending on the choice of view.

"Buddy, time to scoot," she told him.

Still entranced, he stroked his little toy plane, its silver paintworn thin from the habit. He'd been awed by aircrafts since theage of three, when Devon gave him a 747, stuffed and plushwith cockpit eyes and a propeller nose.

"Jack!"

He snapped his head toward her.

"Let's get onboard."

She expected dazed excitement to fill his eyes; what shecaught was a flash of dread. Not the common kind among kidsat the dentist's or on the day of a quiz, but the type she'd witnesseda hundred times over, from animals being led intosurgery or about to be put down. A look saying they knew whatwas coming.

Could it be Jack sensed something wrong with the flight?

"Mom," he said in a hush. It was the way he often spokethese days. But this time, the plea in the word leapt out andcinched Audra's chest.

"Ma'am," the attendant repeated, "we have to close thedoors."

If Audra missed this flight, there would be no final job interview.She was currently the top pick according to her contact,who encouraged her to bring Jack along. A smart idea. The transitionwould be easier if he was involved in the process. Togetherthey'd scout out houses with plenty of acreage andtop-rated schools near the brand-new animal hospital. At the facilityjust outside Philadelphia, everything would be shiny andflawless and unused. An empty slate.

She assessed the plane, a strong and trusted transport. Flyingranked safer than driving according to statistics.

This had become her method of reasoning: the tangible, theprovable; X-rays and blood tests. Any faith in the spiritualrealm—airplane premonitions included—had been buriedalong with Devon.

"Jack, let's go," she told him. "Now."

The command prodded him forward, though only increasedthe pursing of his lips. She clasped his hand to hurry him ontothe jet bridge. The gate door sealed, dimming the snaking tunnel.Jack tightened his hold, so snug she could feel waves of apprehensionpulsing through his body.

Instinct implored her to pick him up, yet her own lectureslammed back. Let them walk on their own. It was the instructionshe gave any clients whose coddling, albeit well intentioned,stunted the confidence of their Chihuahuas, Yorkies, anynumber of small breeds. Treat them like big dogs and they'll believethey are.

Whenever applied, the lesson proved reliable, swellingAudra with pride. A stark contrast to this moment.

If Devon were here, what would he say? What magicalphrase would rid the stiffness from Jack's steps? There was ahuge difference between nurturing animals and children. It washer husband who excelled at the latter.

Audra rubbed the crown of Jack's head, the airplane now insight. His hair smelled of green apple, from a shampoo thatclaimed to prevent tears. "Nothing to worry about, buddy. I toldyou, this is going to be fun."

"Good morning," a uniformed woman said from the plane'sentryway. An ash-blond updo topped her petite form.

Audra was about to return the greeting when somethingyanked her arm. Jack had concreted himself a few inches fromthe door. His eyes went wide, not blinking.

The flight attendant leaned down to his level. "Is this yourfirst plane ride, cutie?"

Jack didn't answer.

Audra explained, "He flew a few times when he was a baby.But this is the first time he'd be old enough to remember."

"Well, in that case," she told Jack, "I'll have to make thisflight extra special. How about you take your seat, and I'll see ifI can scrounge up some pilot wings. What do you say?"

Jack perked ever so slightly. After a moment, he gave a nodand inched onto the plane. The red lights on his sneakers flashedlike a warning.

Thank you, Audra mouthed.

She followed Jack's shuffling into First Class, through wafts ofa Bloody Mary and champagne from mimosas. Business travelersflanked them in suits and polished shoes and perfect layersof makeup. Audra, with her cushioned sandals and fadedkhakis, winced from the heat of her neon sign: Coach Class Passenger.

She tucked away stragglers of her bound black hair, a loopedponytail parading as a bun. For a moment she had the urge tooverhaul her trademark look. But as she continued down theaisle, a smattering of baseball caps and windbreakers reinforcedher practical nature.

Their assigned row waited empty near the rear. It was theusual quarantined section for those with children, of whichtoday there were few. She encouraged Jack to take the window,a coveted seat for any kid.

He craned his neck to peer under the half-raised shade. Seeingwhere they were going would alleviate his worry.

But Jack shook his head.

The blond flight attendant announced over the intercom,"We'll need all passengers to take their seats at this time." By allpassengers, she meant Audra and Jack. Pressure mountedaround them from people anxious for departure.

"All right, you take the middle," Audra sighed. She slid intothe row, stowed their carry-ons, and buckled their seat belts.Surely, before their layover in Chicago, Jack's nerves wouldmorph into a thrill over their adventure. And maybe, just maybe,the excitement would resuscitate even half the innocence he'dlost.

Soon they were pulling away from the gate. Lights dinged,engines groaned, overhead compartments were clicked closed.A dark-haired flight attendant demonstrated the use of life vestsand oxygen masks, the audience more interested in their conversationsand magazines. Not long ago Audra, too, would havepaid little mind. Now, solely responsible for the human besideher, she hung on every word, fending off doubts about a thin,aged seat cushion as a reliable floatation device.

When the emergency charades ended, she realized she wasn'tthe only one absorbing the worst-case scenarios. Jack had latchedonto the armrests. His knuckles were white, the toy plane glued tohis palm.

"Everything's going to be fine," she said, trying simultaneouslyto convince herself.

His face had gone pale.

"Jack, really, it's okay." She layered her hand on his. And thenit hit her.

This was how Devon had held Audra's hand the day theymet. They were strangers seated on a flight together, bound forvarious conferences, when a winter storm lashed out at theirplane. Once back on the ground, passengers burst into prayersand applause, not a single complaint of connections being canceled.Supplied with vouchers for a meal and hotel, Audra andDevon shared a booth at a local diner, chatting nonstop untilclosing. She'd never been one to trust easily, but there was akindness in his eyes, sincerity in his smile. Somehow everythingabout him made her feel safe. She had realized this in the hotelhallway as they lingered in a handshake before going their separateways. Then a week later Devon tracked her down, and bythe end of their date they joined in a kiss that ultimately led toan aisle lined with pews and candles and promises.

This had been their story. A suburbanite fairy tale. Eight yearsago, during a toast beside their wedding cake, Devon had regaledtheir guests with the turbulence, the fates, that had brought themtogether. Later he would repeat this to their son, soothing him atbedtime with a happily ever after—not foreseeing how quicklyJack would learn such an ending didn't exist.

No wonder the kid was frightened. The guarantee of safeflights would be lumped into a pile of Easter bunnies and Christmaselves. Deceptions, like kindling, worthy of a match.

She squeezed his small hand, scouring her mind for a solution.A distraction. "Do you want me to get a notepad out? Wecould play Tic-Tac-Toe."

He shook his head stiffly.

Strike one.

"It's kinda fun, missing school today, isn't it? I bet all yourfriends are jealous." The words, once out, cracked and withered.He rarely socialized with classmates anymore.

A second strike.

"Hey, how about some food? Are you hungry?"

She reached into her bag. Amid her just-in-case travel supplies—Tylenol,Tums, and Pepto, all for Jack—she found a granolabar. She offered the snack, to no response, so put it away asthe plane launched down the tarmac.

The wheels bumped and rumbled as they picked up speed.Jack's breaths shortened to choppy bursts, reflected in the pumpingof his chest. Crinkles deepened on his brow. Tension condensedin their arched confinement.

At the sensation of going airborne, a smooth release from theweathered runway, Audra glanced out the window. In the sky,on the ground, tragedies happened every minute of every daywith no rhyme or reason. The thought closed in around her.

She used both hands to lift the stubborn shade that ultimatelyyielded. They were at treetop level and climbing. Before long,the cars and buildings would all shrink to a size fit for an ant.This was something she could point out, to calm Jack down.Everything seemed safer, less real, when viewed from a distance.

"Jack, look. It's like they're all toys down there." She gesturedto the window and turned for his reaction.

Aside from his little gray plane, the seat was empty.

"Jack?" A blade of panic whisked through her.

Across the aisle, a plump woman gawked toward the front,where a din of yells erupted.

"Let me outta here!" a voice screamed. "We're gonna crash!We're gonna crash!"

Audra fumbled to release her buckle. She dashed down theaisle that stretched out for miles and struggled to comprehendthe scene. The flight attendants were both on their feet, attemptingto restrain Jack. He flung his arms fiercely, a wild beast battlingcaptors.

"We're all gonna die!" He lunged for the handle of the cabindoor. "We have to get out!"

Almost there, Audra tripped on the strap of a purse. Herknees hammered the ground and her forehead rammed an armrest.Dazed, she grabbed the back of a chair to rise, just as threepassengers sprang to help the crew. Their bodies created obstaclesdenying her passage.

"I'm his mother. Let me through!" In spite of her trim build,she was no longer the athlete she once was, and she suddenlyregretted this.

"Nooo," Jack shrieked in a muffled tone. A husky man hadwrapped Jack's mouth and chest from behind and wrenchedhim away from the door.

"Stop it," Audra roared. "You're hurting him." Logic told herthey were doing the right thing for all aboard, including Jack,but primal instinct dictated she claw at this person who could bestrangling her child.

By the time she'd wrestled her way to the front, two male passengershad secured Jack to the floor, facedown, by his wristsand ankles.

She folded onto her throbbing knees. Through the tangle oflimbs, she placed a shaking hand on his back. "It's okay, Jack.Everything's okay."

His gaze met hers, and his squirming body went limp. Confusionswirled in his features. "Mama?"

The endearing address, for the keeper of wisdom, the providerof all answers, delivered a punch to her gut. She replied with thesingle truth in her grasp. "I'm here now, baby. I'm right here."

The captain made an announcement that Audra barely registered.

When they guided Jack to stand, he flew into her arms. Heclung to her shirt, convulsing with sobs. She swooped him up,her adrenaline rendering him weightless.

They were led down the aisle like prisoners to a cell. The silencewas deafening, the stares nearly blinding. She wished herarms were wide as sails to fully blanket her son.

The plane tilted and lowered in a U-turn for the airport.

At the very last row Jack was directed to the window seat.This time he didn't resist. Audra assumed the middle, the cushionwarm from a shuffled passenger. She cradled Jack's head toher chest, his trembling lessening with their steady descent.

A flight attendant took up post nearby. Spectators stole glancesthrough gaps between seats. What a story they would tell. The onlineposts, the e-mails and texts.

Once parked at the gate, Audra waited for officials to helpgather her and Jack's belongings and escort them off.

"Look outside," she told Jack. "See that? We're safe now.We're safe." She offered the assurance twice, hoping throughrepetition to believe her own lie.

CHAPTER 2

Early August 1939London, England

Light flickered over his face, a mask of shadows in the darkenedroom. Vivian James edged closer in the velvety seat besidehim. Once more she exaggerated a sigh.

Alas, Isaak's gaze remained glued to the screen. In black-and-whiteglory, a squadron of Spitfires roared off the runway. Britishmilitary had become a standard of these newsreels, a flexing ofroyal muscle, a pep talk for patriots. From Isaak's rapt interestfew would guess he was actually an American, the same as Vivian.Before each picture show the RAF propellers would appear,and on cue his spine would straighten, eyes wider than afull moon over the Thames.

So easily she could see him as a child, even without the projector'ssoftening beam. Youthful curls defied hair tonic in histhick golden hair, and a light dimple marked his chin. His entireface had a striking boyishness, save for his gray-blue eyes that remindedVivian of the locked file cabinet in her father's den: prohibitiveand full of mystery. A good reason, in fact, to have kepther distance from the start. After only three months of their clandestinecourtship, her yearning to be with him, her fear of losinghim, had grown to a point she despised.

Was Isaak aware of the power he held? She wondered thisnow, studying the profile of his handsome lips. His unbuttonedcollar pulled her focus to his medium-framed chest and downthe series of buttons. She forbade her gaze from wandering on.

Determined to balance the scales, she brushed aside fingerwaves of her long brown hair. The motion freed a waft of theperfume he had given her, Evening in Paris. Raising her chin,she exposed her neck, the slender, bare area he had declared irresistible.

A claim now proven false.

She recalled Jean Harlow, the elegance of her feline moves.Brazenly, Vivian arched her back as if stretching for comfort.Against constraints of a girdle, she showcased the curves of hertrim, belted dress. She parted her full lips, painted deep cherryred, to complete the sensuous pose.
(Continues...)Excerpted from The Pieces We Keep by Kristina McMorris. Copyright © 2013 Kristina McMorris. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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