“Halt!” The German voice was distinct and far too close.
Flat on his stomach, Tom stared at Matthew with wide, terrified eyes. Matthew stared back, that cold sense of clarity taking over him once more.
Slowly, as silently as possible, he reached for his pistol. He heard someone walking through the long grass towards them and he propped himself up on one elbow, saw the German soldier frowning as he continued towards them. He was alone, God only knew why, his pistol drawn as he scanned the field in front of him. Matthew took aim and shot.
The soldier staggered
and fell; Matthew had aimed for his chest. Next to him, Tom swore quietly. Matthew rose and checked the man was dead; he stared down at his sightless eyes and wondered, only for a second, who he was. Did he have a wife? A sister? Would they receive a letter like the ones Lily typed?
He turned away, only to see Tom standing there, staring.
“You saved my life,” he said, but his voice was full of fear.
Chapter Sixteen
ABBY
“Why are you looking so down in the dumps?” Shannon gave Abby a smiling glance as she poured them both glasses of wine.
“I’m not,” Abby said automatically, simply because she was so used to saying she was fine. And she was fine. Mostly. It wasn’t as if she and Simon had actually been dating, or anything even close to that. But she hadn’t heard from him in three days, since she’d walked away from him in the orchard after what had definitely been an argument, and the whole thing made her feel anxious and unhappy.
She’d watched from the living room window, Bailey at her side, as he’d climbed into his car and headed back down the drive. It had felt weirdly anticlimactic, a simple driving away, when part of her had wanted to howl with rage and sorrow in a way she never had before. How had they come to this?
“Something’s going on,” Shannon said as she tucked her feet up under her legs and took a long swallow of wine. Abby had come over for one of their every-so-often get-togethers at Shannon’s little rowhouse in town, for wine and Netflix and a general catch-up on life. It was pretty much the extent of Abby’s social life, and she hadn’t minded that until now. Until Simon Elliot had walked into her life and stirred everything up, made a turbulent mess of her calm emotions. “Is it about your Brit?”
“He’s not mine.”
“Oh?” Shannon raised her eyebrows. “That sounds ominous. What’s happened?”
Abby hesitated, and then, with a sigh, she decided to come clean. Shannon would ferret it out of her, anyway, and it might feel good to tell her at least a little bit of what had happened.
Abby didn’t go into too many details, although Shannon wanted them; she just gave the basics—the picnic by Lake Geneva, the kiss, his visit a couple of days later, their argument.
“He’s insisting on digging all this stuff up, even though I asked him not to,” she finished, shaking her head before she downed the last of her wine. “And he claims he’s doing it for my sake—I mean, how patronizing is that?” Shannon didn’t answer, and Abby stared at her, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you agree with him.”
“No, not exactly,” Shannon said slowly. “But come on, Abby. Don’t you think he has something of a point?”
“No, I don’t.”
Shannon sighed. “I know your relationship with your dad is off limits—”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t like to talk about it—”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Shannon.” Abby knew how prickly she sounded. How prickly she felt. Why on earth was her best friend coming over all sanctimonious, acting all I-know-better-than-you now? That was not the response she’d wanted at all.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” Shannon rested her elbows on her knees as she gave Abby an earnest look. “I know this is upsetting you, but I do feel as if I’ve got to say something.”
“Of course you do,” Abby muttered. She’d always taken Shannon’s gentle nudges to have more of a social life in her stride. Yes, she probably should get out more. Date more. Live a little. But whatever her friend intended to say next felt like something else entirely.
“Look, Abby, I know your mom and brother’s deaths… that was hard.”
Hard? Hard was a math test, or a tricky work situation, or maybe a chronic health problem. Her mother and brother’s death, her family’s death, had not been hard. Abby bit her lip to keep from saying something she’d regret.
“Sorry, maybe that didn’t come out right,” Shannon said, seeming to read Abby’s thoughts, as she always did. “It was more than hard. Way more. I do get that.”
Abby forced a nod, even though she knew her friend couldn’t, not completely.