An idea struck Gemma, sending chills streaking over her skin.A baby.
It was almost opening time when she reached Perfumes by Gemma Clare. Aunt Stella's car was parked in the alley, God bless her, which meant the shop was covered. Free to run an errand, Gemma climbed onto her Vespa and motored off.
Ten minutes later, she turned into Bayview's cemetery. Her family came here every Memorial Day to pay their respects, pray, and reminisce about their loved ones who'd passed away. She knew in general where to find her family's section—no, she'd taken a wrong turn. She backtracked and found the right spot.
Leaving her Vespa and helmet behind, she walked until she reached Paul's gravestone.
Now that she'd read his letters to Gracie, she had a new window into the man he'd been. Paul Bettencourt no longer existed in her mind only as the old man, the cherished great-grandfather. She'd now glimpsed the heart of the youthful, handsome man wearing a cable-knit sweater and trousers in a photo. His love for Gracie had burned like a comet in the pages and pages he'd written and mailed across the Atlantic while Europe and America and the Pacific raged with war.
“Hi, Great-Grandpa.” She knelt and swept her fingers over his name. “I love you so much. I miss you.”
Beside Paul's plot was the plot that awaited Gracie. And next to that lay the flat gravestone she'd come here to see. She rose and came to a stop above it. This was where Warren, their eldest child, was buried.
WARREN THEODORE BETTENCOURT
PFC US ARMY
VIETNAM
OCTOBER 14, 1945 – JUNE 24, 1966
Gemma's hands raised to cover her mouth. Warren had been born just ten days after Gracie and Paul's legitimate marriage. Which meant he'd been conceived around January, when Paul had been in France and when Gracie had been an unmarried Code Girl living in D.C. Paul was not Warren's biological father, but they'd forged a marriage certificate to make it seem as though he was. Then they'd raised Warren as the firstborn of their happy marriage.
Her great-grandparents and Grandma Colette had always spoken of Warren with deep love. What had they told her about him over the years? She racked her brain.
She knew Warren had been excellent at math like his mother. Quiet, introverted, kind. His parents had served their countries in World War Two, and so he'd stepped up to serve his country too, in Vietnam. He'd been killed in action.
Gracie had been right on the day of her birthday when she'd insisted that there was more to her love story during the war years than the rest of them knew. But she hadn't remembered that the full story contained a secret she and Paul had perpetuated for decades. In asking Gemma to unearth her whole love story, she'd unknowingly asked Gemma to uncover a secret that younger Gracie wouldn't have wanted uncovered.
Maybe the strip of paper on which she'd written the code had looked new because she'd scribbled it down after her Alzheimer's diagnosis two years ago. Back when she'd learned that her memories might be stolen from her, it was plausible to believe she'd left a trail of breadcrumbs for herself. Breadcrumbs she alone could follow that would remind her of her full history with Paul.
Gemma wrapped her arms around herself. She'd been waiting to tell her relatives about her findings until she had kinder and more conclusive facts to share.
She had a few answers now, but they'd opened an even bigger question.
Namely,what in the worldhad happened between the date of Gracie and Paul's final letters and the date of their real wedding?
Gracie was the only person alive who held the answer. It was contained in her brain, but locked away there in an area that could no longer be accessed by anyone, including Gracie herself.
Gemma needed to find Gracie's missing diaries.
* * *
Max was observant and Max had known Jude all his life. Which meant he knew things about Jude that Jude might not even know about himself.
For example, Max knew that Jude was in love with Gemma.
Jude had said very little to Max about her. The day they'd met for lunch at the lobster pound, he'd suspected that Jude had deep feelings for the woman he'd said he wanted to help. But Jude likely wouldn't have disclosed even her name to Max had Gemma not shown up at Jude's house while Max had been there. Within seconds of seeing Jude with Gemma, Max's suspicions about Jude’s feelings had been confirmed.
Gemma was beautiful. However, Jude had known many, many beautiful women. Some of them had loved him but Jude had loved none of them. This one, he loved. The fact of it was in his protective posture. In the way he looked at her. In the palpable chemistry between them.
Max had told Jude via text that Gemma had likely mentioned slowing things down because she'd believed Jude was having second thoughts. He'd put that theory forward because Jude hesitated when he was uncertain of the right choice. Also, when Jude was thinking hard, which he almost always was, his face could look troubled and serious. If a man hesitated, looking troubled and serious, after kissing a woman, that woman was going to think the man was having second thoughts. If that woman was smart enough to see Jude's worth and love him back, she was smart enough to know to give him room.
Jude was too humble to see the accuracy of Max's theory. Humility was admirable, perhaps, but also infuriating. Max didn't want to spend the rest of his life with Jude if Jude was going to spend the rest of his life mourning Gemma.
Max was not burdened by humility.
Nor was he above stirring this pot. His intrusion might make Jude mad, but making Jude mad in the short term would be in Jude's best interest in the long term.
