“I have a friend who was at one of the camps,” Helen replies. “He might know your brother or be able to help point you in the right direction. I’m happy to ask him.” Her expression changes, a smile lighting up her face, as she glances past me to someone over my shoulder. “Here he is now.”

I turn in time to see a big man walk toward us, his clothes worn, his eyes on Helen and her child.

I grip the arm of the chair.

“The nurses told me you were getting some fresh air,” he says to her. “How do you feel?”

It’s his voice I recognize first, the sound of it unchanged despite time, distance, and the war between us. He sounds like our father.

“John.”

He turns away from Helen and faces me. He blinks. “You look like someone—” His face goes slack with shock. “Elizabeth?”

I burst into tears.

* * *

—

A few days ago, I might have hugged him. Now I understand a little more what he’s been through, now I am more cautious, ready to give him space.

Helen excuses herself, returning to her hospital room with the baby so that John and I can catch up.

“You’re alive,” I say. “I feared you were dead.”

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in New York?” he asks.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “I came down here searching for you. But I didn’t know where you were, so I ended up in Key West, since your last letter was postmarked there, and I went to this café—Ruby’s—and a waitress—your friend Helen—told me the veterans lived up north. So I traveled to Islamorada. And then the storm came. We tried to get out, but it was too late. We were on the rescue train when the hurricane hit.”

Horror fills his eyes. “Thank God you’re alive,” John says, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He pulls back, his gaze running over me. “It’s been so long since I saw you. You were just a girl, then.”

“Not anymore.”

“No. Not anymore.” He frowns. “Did you come down here by yourself? From New York?”

“On Mr. Flagler’s railroad.”

“I should be surprised, but somehow I’m not. You always were the bravest one of all of us.”

“I don’t know about brave. Desperate, more like. And it’s not like there’s anyone else. You left us without a way to get in touch with you.”

Something that seems a lot like shame flashes across his face. “I didn’t think you’d need me. You’re right, I should have kept in touch.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His expression is pained. “I don’t know. I wish I could give you a better explanation, wish I could explain it to myself. I felt like I was drowning in New York, like it was choking me, and I needed to get away, needed to get lost somewhere where people didn’t know me from before, didn’t expect me to be the same person they knew before I went away to war. I told myself you were all better without me.”

“We weren’t. We aren’t. Things are bad. My mother isn’t well. With George and our father gone, the money went, too.”

A curse falls from John’s lips. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I had no idea about the money. Not the full extent of it, at least. I figured their finances took a hit after the crash, but I didn’t think they’d lose all that money.”

“But you knew they were gone. You knew we were alone.”

“I thought they would have made sure you were taken care of.”

“They didn’t. We weren’t.” I laugh bitterly. “Business was bad. Father tried to save it as best he could, but in doing so he borrowed a lot of money from the kind of people you don’t want to owe money to.”

“Who?” John asks.

“No one you would know. Trust me, no one you would want to know.”

“Is this man threatening you? Trying to collect on the money?”

“In a manner of speaking. There was no way we could repay the debt, so he agreed to renegotiate for something other than money. We’re to be married.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” I pull the gaudy diamond from my purse.

He winces. “That’s some ring.” He sighs. “You shouldn’t have to marry someone you don’t love. How could our father be so reckless?”

“He was probably just desperate. It’s expensive to live the way we do—the way we did. He likely didn’t want to disappoint us.”

“And in doing so, he all but sold you to a gangster.”

“I thought it would help—kill two birds, so to speak—clear the debt and ensure we had enough money to survive.” I shudder. “I can’t marry him, though.”

“No, you can’t. What will you do?”

“I don’t know.”

As hard as I try, I can’t figure a way out of this mess.

“Do you think of them?” I ask. “Father and George?”

“Sometimes.”

“Me too.” I take a deep breath. “There was this moment before the wave hit the train when I knew I was going to die. And it hit me then that I didn’t want to. Do you think it was like that for them before they killed themselves?”

“I don’t know. God, I hope not.”

“I was angry with them for a long time. Angry they left everyone here to clean up their mess. I was angry with you for a long time,” I admit. “Upset with you for leaving, for not being stronger, I guess.” Shame fills me. “I didn’t know what it must have been like for you.”

“No one does. Not until you live it.”

“I have nightmares,” I whisper. “The screams. The crying. The bodies. The dark. It was so cold, and I felt my body being pulled away—”

“The nightmares will stay with you. I wish I could tell you they won’t, but they’ll become a part of you.”

I take a deep breath, asking the question I came down here to ask him, even if I already know the answer, even if I’ve already worked out for myself somewhere along the way that John isn’t the solution I’m looking for.

“Will you ever come home?” I ask.

I understand now—the boy who went off to war has been replaced by the man before me. A man I no longer recognize, but one I’d like to get to know just the same.