Into the Darkest Day

Abby smiled a little at that. “And your parents?”

“Dad’s retired now, but he was chair of the mathematics department at the University of Lincoln. That gene skipped me completely. Mum was an assistant lecturer of Norse mythology, of all things.” Which had suited her, because she’d been like some tempestuous Nordic goddess herself, perhaps Freya, goddess of love and war, sorcery and death.

Abby sat back. “That sounds like quite a family.”

“Yes.” Talking about his family made him think of Maggie, and how she still hadn’t texted him, even though he’d sent her a video on WhatsApp of his tiny cabin by the lake, with a jokey narrative, longing for her just to smile at something he’d said. He’d also asked her if she wanted him to bring back anything American—“A whole suitcase of Hershey’s, sweetheart. Whatever you like.”

All of it was too little, too late, Simon knew. He hadn’t even told her he was going to the States for several weeks until he was practically on the plane, a fact that made everything in him cringe and squirm in shame, as if snakes were writhing under his skin, in his gut.

Perhaps that was why he wanted there to be a mystery to discover, because it would justify him coming here for so long. Then it would be less about running away, and more about going to.

But maybe there was no mystery, at least not a big one. Maybe they’d just been friends or sweethearts and it had fizzled out. That’s all it probably was, and yet here he was, digging, digging, trying to justify coming all this way… and for what?

Just so he could avoid what was unraveling back at home, what had unraveled a long time ago?

“I’ve discovered something,” Simon said after a moment, feeling he needed to tell

Abby, and wanting to get away from his own desperately circling thoughts.

“Discovered…?” Abby looked more trapped than curious. Was she hiding something, or was he just paranoid, because he knew he was? He could have told her about Maggie, but he hadn’t, and the truth was, he had no intention of doing so. He wanted to keep his complications back home. “What is it about?”

“Tom Reese.”

“Oh.” A look of naked relief passed over her face. So she was hiding something, even if just her own reticence. Like father, like daughter. Why were they so reluctant to share anything? Of course, he was too, so he could hardly point the finger. “Okay…”

“I looked up his Purple Heart medal online. There’s a Hall of Honor thing—you type in a name and it gives you all the information about the person and why they received the medal, or at least as much as is known.” He gave a grimace of apology. “Sorry if I was prying. I was just curious, especially after your dad seemed so reluctant to talk about it.”

“That’s okay. If it’s online, it’s there for anyone to see, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“So what did you find out?”

“He was in the 82nd Airborne, which was a unit of paratroopers who parachuted into Normandy behind enemy lines on D-Day. He was wounded in Belgium, in December 1944, during the Battle of the Bulge.”

“Oh.” Abby let out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t actually know about any of that, really.”

“Didn’t you say you studied the Second World War?” Simon teased, and she laughed again.

“That was years ago. I’ve forgotten it all now.”

“I don’t know if it’s important, anyway, in terms of your family. It was a surprise attack by the Germans, who had amassed a huge amount, or ‘bulge,’ of troops and weaponry, in Belgium, to prevent the Allies from advancing into Germany. There were a lot of casualties.”

The waitress came back to check on them, and Abby gave her a fleeting smile of thanks before turning back to Simon. “So what do you think?” she asked. “It doesn’t tell you much more about your grandmother, does it? Or even much more about my grandfather, really.”

“I just wonder,” Simon said slowly, “why it was such a secret in your family. His Purple Heart. You heard Helen—most people were proud of those medals. It meant they’d fought for their country, and they’d paid a price. And if he received it during that operation… it meant he’d been fighting on the front lines for months. I did a little research on the 82nd Airborne, and although they had some leave in the middle, they saw all the major battles. It was seriously tough stuff. Crack troops and all that, and your grandfather was part of it. Wouldn’t he have been proud?”

Abby held his gaze for a moment before looking away. “When you talk about him,” she said slowly, “it feels as if you’re talking about someone else. A stranger, not a relative. You could be talking about Douglas Bryant, or anyone, really. Not my grandfather. Not that I even remember him, but… all I’ve known, all I’ve related him to, is the orchard. The land.”

“So are you curious?” he asked, because he heard a tremor of wonder in her voice. At least he hoped he did.

“I’m afraid to be curious,” Abby admitted with a sigh. “As ridiculous as that probably sounds. My dad and I… we have a complicated relationship. You’ve probably realized that.”

“It was a bit noticeable.” Simon smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but Abby still looked unhappy, and he didn’t like it. “Because of your mother and brother dying?” he guessed.

“That’s part of it,” she answered after a moment. She turned to look out the window again, and Simon had the sense she didn’t want him to see the expression on her face.

He was silent for a moment, wondering how much to press. How much he wanted to. He usually avoided the messy, emotional stuff, kept it light and charming. Easy. But something about Abby’s sadness tugged at him, made him want to help.