The Light Over London(62)

“I think you both should leave.”

“Iris, if I said something to upset you, I apologize,” said Liam, clearly trying to mend what had suddenly broken.

Gran nodded stiffly, and for the first time in her life, Cara was angry at Gran. Liam was only trying to help and didn’t deserve to be a target of anyone’s ire. But it wasn’t just that. In that moment, she felt a loyalty to him and with it a protectiveness.

But this was not the place to parse that out. Instead, she picked up the box and walked to the door, Liam trailing behind.

“We’ll leave you alone, Gran,” Cara announced. “I’d like to take the box with me.”

“I doubt there will be much of interest in there,” said Gran reluctantly.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. Everything about you interests me. You’re my only family left, and it hurts to know you’re keeping secrets from me no matter how I ask.”

Gran’s eyes flashed to the letters, and she stooped to scoop them up and hold them to her breast. “Leave these with me.”

Cara softened a bit at the sight of her gran clutching the link to her past, as though holding them would connect her to her husband.

“Of course.”

She and Liam were out the door and halfway down the hallway when Cara realized that she’d left without saying a proper goodbye. Turning, she said, “I love you to the moon . . .” But all she saw was the door to Gran’s flat closing.

It was ridiculous, really—just a little silly thing they’d said since Cara was a girl—but it was the first time in her life that Gran wasn’t waiting with her usual, “And back.”

After she’d stared at the door for moment, a hand lit on the small of her back. Liam.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“She’s never been like that with me before,” Cara said.

Moving carefully, he took the box from her. She had been gripping it so hard her knuckles were white.

“Sometimes opening up the past can be painful. For everyone,” he said as they stepped into the waiting elevator.

“All I want is to know.”

“Even if you find out things you’ll regret later? I think you should prepare yourself for the fact that Iris doesn’t want you to know because there’s something she’s afraid will change your relationship.”

Just like the fight had marred Gran’s relationship with Mum just before Mum died. Cara felt a stab of pity for Gran then, knowing that her last words with her daughter would always be an argument with no chance of apology.

When they reached the car, Liam propped the box on one hip so he could open her door. He handed it to her before he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry that Gran was snippy with you,” she said, as he turned over the ignition.

He shook his head. “It’s no bother.”

“Why did you ask where she was based?” she asked.

Liam hesitated for a split second before shoving his glasses higher on his nose and letting off the parking brake. “I just become fixated on things sometimes.”

“Are you sure? Because if you need to look some things up, you could bring your laptop over. I could cook dinner and—”

“No.”

The flat-out rejection knocked her back hard.

Liam shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s been a long day and I have a lecture tomorrow on Charlemagne. I’m trying to figure out a way to make sure seventy-five eighteen-year-olds don’t use it as a chance to catch up on their sleep.”

The urge to offer to help tugged at her. She could listen to him run through his notes and . . . what? Help with his lecture prep? She wasn’t an expert or a trusted colleague. She was only his neighbor, a once-broken woman who was just now piecing her life back together. What man would want to get mixed up in all of that mess?

“No, you’re right,” she said, forcing a false cheeriness into her voice. “I should get ready for the week.”

“Maybe another time,” he said.

She nodded and turned to gaze out the window. She spent the rest of the ride home willing them to get to Elm Road as quickly as possible and wishing they could drive forever because she feared there wouldn’t be another time.

14 September 1941

I still haven’t had word back from Paul. I want to pretend that this doesn’t worry me, but in truth it’s gnawing at me. I told him I loved him, and nothing.

I shouldn’t have asked him to tell me the same. If he doesn’t love me . . . I don’t want to think about it, but I am. Constantly.

I thought I was hiding my worry well—not even Vera and Charlie have said anything—but this morning as we left the Ack-Ack Shack, Cartruse pulled me aside.

“Something’s wrong. You going to tell me what it is?”

I was so startled I stopped on the stairs leading down to the street. “What do you mean?”

He squinted up at me against the rising sun before shaking out a cigarette and lighting it, blowing the smoke out of one corner of his mouth so it didn’t stream at me. “We’ve known each other long enough that it’s obvious when something’s bothering you.”

“No one else has noticed.”

He opened his mouth but then closed it just as fast, sticking his cigarette in the corner and shaking his head. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. That’s your prerogative. Just know someone noticed.”