“I’ll go if you want me to,” I said.
She looked up from her glass. “Did you truly think you were in love with me? From letters?”
“I did. I do.”
I held my breath as I waited to hear what she said next.
“You couldn’t have. I’m not that good a writer.”
“I beg to differ.”
Josephine
I stared into the fire as the pungent scent of whiskey tickled my nose. The log had caught, giving the dim room additional light and warmth, but I shook as if I were outside without a coat.
I hadn’t expected any of what had transpired. Now, faced with this earnest man’s eyes staring back at me, I didn’t know what to do or think. I hadn’t wanted to believe what he’d said was true about Walter, but the evidence was right here in front of me. The photograph told the story of a man who’d sworn he kept my image close to his heart, day and night. Only a fool would deny what was obvious.
Everything I’d thought I’d known was now in question, especially about myself. Was it true that I’d made Walter into the person I’d wanted him to be? If so, what did that say about me? Had I been so desperate for love that I’d concocted a story around a man who was essentially a charlatan?
Instead of taking Phillip’s advice, I downed my glass of whiskey. The alcohol caused my eyes to tear up, and I coughed. He got to his feet. “Are you all right?”
I waved him back to his chair. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” I turned away, trying to gather myself. In love with me? How perfectly ridiculous.
Who was I to judge him? My heart had been given to someone with complete abandon. I’d mourned a man for years who didn’t exist. A sudden urge to explain myself to Phillip surged through me. “I’d never been in love before. I had no experience with men. Nothing that would tell me if he were lying or not.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
His kind blue eyes stared back at me with so much sympathy I had to turn away. “I’ve wasted years of my life.”
“No, don’t think that way,” he said.
I observed him for a moment, trying to see what was beneath his angular features. “If you had been there and seen what those two weeks were like—how utterly charming and clever he was—you would see how it happened.”
“I know, because I was charmed by him once, too. When we were kids, I thought we’d be great friends forever. He had this way of making you seem like you were better than you really were, which, for a boy like me all alone in the world, made him seem very shiny.”
I barked out a bitter laugh. “Shiny. That’s a good word for it.” The other women. Had they sent their pictures, too? What were they like? How had they been fooled?
Did they know the truth now?
I returned my gaze to Phillip Baker. “Did you tell the others the truth about Walter?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t sure I was even going to tell you.”
“I wonder if you should. Perhaps they’re wasting their youth away as I was.”
“I could, I suppose. Maybe they’ve all married someone else by now? And, as you said, my reasons for telling you were selfish.”
I blushed. Don’t think of it, I told myself. This is just a nice man who thinks he’s in love with me. He’s come all this way under that assumption, but it can’t possibly be real. He’s a romantic. That’s all.
“What made you wait so long to come see me?” I asked.
“When I got back to the States, I didn’t feel well. Not like some of the boys with the shell shock, mind you. Not that bad. Just uncertain about everything. And the noise. Every horn or crash caused my heart to beat faster. Then I became ill with the Spanish flu. I nearly died. Recovery took longer than I’d wanted.”
“But you’re all right now?” I very much wanted him to be all right.
“I’m fine. When I started feeling strong again, I thought about my life. What I wanted. The thing first on my list was to finally meet you. It took me this long to have the courage to write you.”
“I’m glad you did.”