New York, Summer, 1921 . Your new neighbor across the lake is the mysterious bachelor , Dutch. His reputation for excess and extravagant parties precede him in the prohibition era. But after an invitation to one of his soirees, you discover your...
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"So you haven't forgiven me for leaving, I take it," Tom said with a shade of contempt. The night air was beginning to cool as the party rolled past midnight. You pulled a cigarette out of your bag and placed it between your lips with a sigh.
Tom stepped closer to you and held a lit match to your face. His hands shook slightly as he cupped the flame from the wind. You looked at him and leaned in to light the tip. His eyes flickered with gold as the flame licked his face. You still marveled at their beauty, at how they could convey more than any poetry or prose. Even now in your marred and muddled state of emotions, you still found a bit of solace in them. It was irksome when you just wanted to wallow in your disdain. Those eyes always had a way of turning the tide of any contention.
You pulled slowly on the cigarette. The smoke snaked up into the air and you stepped back. All the while, your eyes remained on his, aloof and unconcerned about anything he said. It was a practiced technique. You had seven years without him to harden yourself. That pumping organ in your chest was sluggish and cold now, like a glacier. If Tom thought his dashing smile and scorching eyes would instantly melt it, then he was a bigger fool than you thought.
"Are you a simpleton?" you asked callously, "I understand why you left, Tom. I may not have liked it, but there was a war and you did what you thought was right."
"Exactly, Violet," Tom said hopefully. He reached for your hand but you jerked it away with an icy glare.
"You never returned," you said , "You made a promise and then the war was over and you vanished. Father looked all over for you," you whispered. You felt those feelings flooding back, your heartache when Father told you Tom was nowhere to be found. His was wounded and to be discharged in the following weeks. But he never returned. Father was beside himself.
"I'm sorry about your Father," Tom said sadly. "When I heard...I...," he trailed off shaking his head.
Your eyes widened at him. You couldn't believe your ears.
"You mean, you knew? You knew Father died and you still didn't come back?" you choked back a sob. What kind of man has your love become?
When your father returned from the war, he was never the same. When word came that Tom was wounded and would be discharged, a sense of relief settled over Father and it seemed to heal him some. He would never have forgiven himself if something happened to Tom. His affection for him only grew after they left for London. He spent countless nights sending telegrams and letters to Tom's superiors in search of him. Then he woke you one day and told you that Tom was to be taking the next boat home. That he suffered a head injury but he was recovered enough to travel. There was such victory in Father's tone when he gave you the news. He looked younger than he had in years. You threw your arms around him and planted kisses all over his face.
But time passed and no Tom. You questioned Father incessantly. When was he supposed to leave? Was he certain that he has the right hospital? How long was it going to take to return?
Weeks turned to months. Father couldn't bare to watch you wither. You never left your bed, you didn't take any food. And then the scandal happened, and he was never the same. Everything started to take its toll and nearly a year after his return Father went to sleep one night and never woke up.
"I'm so sorry Violet. Your father was such -"
"Don't you dare speak of him!" you attacked, "Father loved you like a son!"
You marched towards Tom and poked his chest, incensed by his bereavement for the man that spent his last days full of regret because of him.
"He died thinking he failed because he couldn't find you! You abandoned all of us!"
Tom grabbed your wrist and stopped you. You just stared at him, battling the tears that threatened to fall. He held you there, his eyes looked so damaged and distraught. There were a million secrets behind them, festering in their deception. What became of the man you loved?
"I loved him too, Vi," he finally said, "He was the only father I ever knew."
You pulled your hand from his grip and brushed that teetering tear from falling.
"You promised," was all you could say, thinking of the night before he left. How he held you against his chest, stroking your hair. His skin was like a healing warmth against the cold dread that filled your heart. His lips whispered over and over...
