Chain Reactions Read online

  She stepped back and returned to her seat. “I will, however, try to exercise better self-control. For now.” She winked.

  “Incorrigible.” Brooke straightened her blouse. “How about if we finish reading Nora’s letter?”

  “Good plan.”

  Brooke picked up the pages again and moved her chair closer so that Diana could read too and so that she could maintain physical contact.

  By now, you both are convinced I’m rambling, so I’ll get to the point. Within the trunk I referenced, you’ll both find answers that you seek. I am sorry that I’m no longer here to clear up any residual questions you might have, but God has granted me reprieve not to have to relive old memories that have caused me many sleepless nights, or to face the embarrassment of your discoveries and your scrutiny.

  I hope by leaving you these records and writings to explore, you’ll see my life as a cautionary tale. Please don’t think less of me for my actions and choices. Instead, use my experiences to learn a different way to be.

  Choose a different path, one guided by love. Please, my dear girls, do not close your hearts to love as I did. Instead, open your hearts and find the love that lives within. You both have a tremendous capacity for love—it is my great wish that you use it to heal yourselves and each other.

  Remember always that I am with you, and that I love you.

  Yours,

  Nora

  Brooke reached over and took Diana’s hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so. I don’t know about you, but I’m really curious about what’s in that trunk.”

  “Me too. Right now, though, I could use some fuel. How about you? Lunch in town?”

  “Deal.”

  The Post Office Café was quiet now that the peak-season crowds had abated, and they had no trouble getting a table toward the back of the small space, away from the drafty front door.

  Once they were seated and had ordered, Diana removed both the letter she read earlier and the unopened envelope she previously set aside. She placed the two on the table between them.

  Brooke looked at her in question.

  “If we’re going to investigate Nora’s past, as she seems to have given us license to do, we’re going to need to be open with each other and share what each of us knows.”

  “Fair enough.” Brooke produced her letter and laid it on the table on top of Diana’s envelopes. “I’ll go first.” She removed the letter from the envelope and handed it to Diana. “I told you about Mary. Putting two and two together, the bit about me reminding her of someone she loved makes more sense. Maybe I reminded Nora of Mary.”

  Diana finished reading. “Sounds like a strong possibility. And maybe the regrets she references are about her relationship with Mary.”

  “Could be. I really hope there’s something in that trunk that gives us definitive answers.”

  “No kidding. There’s nothing worse than an unsolvable mystery.” Diana returned Brooke’s letter to its envelope and handed it back to her. She slid her opened letter across the table. “My turn.”

  As Brooke read, Diana said, “Aunt Nora obviously wrote this note at least a week ago.”

  “That would make sense, since I can assure you she wasn’t in the kind of shape these past five days to write anything like this.”

  “Do you think…” Diana played with the condensation on the outside of her water glass. “Could I have caused Aunt Nora’s death by bringing up painful memories?”

  “What?” Brooke put the letter down. “Nora died of complications from lung cancer. Nothing you said…or did…killed her.”

  Her voice was soft and firm, and Diana wanted badly to believe her.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Right before she passed, I was questioning her about some historical documents I found in the archives at Columbia. It was about the Manhattan Project. She got very agitated about it and…” Diana couldn’t go on. In her mind’s eye, she watched Aunt Nora gasp for air, her hand movements jerky as she tried to grip the covers, and then…she was gone.

  She shuddered, and Brooke briefly covered her hand with her own. “Don’t do this to yourself. Your Aunt Nora passed away of natural causes. You brought her nothing but joy.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t feel that way to me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that last conversation, the one right before she died. I keep reliving it in my mind. I never should have asked her those questions, but I just had to know.”

  “I don’t understand. You asked her about history and you think that caused her death?”

  “Not just history—her role in history. And maybe I didn’t cause her death, but I might’ve hastened it.”

  “No you didn’t. What did Nora have to do with the atomic bomb?”

  “Aunt Nora was part of the Manhattan Project. She was one of the scientists assigned to work with Robert Oppenheimer.”

  “Nora Lindstrom? The woman who helped Sid Farber cure childhood leukemia? Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive, and Aunt Nora confirmed it for me right before she passed. Read the section of the letter about moral choices and science.”

  Brooke picked up the pages once again and scanned down. “You mean where she says, ‘Diana, I’ve been following your work and your career. You are a brilliant scientist with a bright future. Please promise me you’ll make more principled choices than I did. Ask questions. Always know and understand the end goal of your work. Trust your instincts. The moral imperative must at all times supersede the exigencies of scientific discovery and implementation?’”

  “That’s it, yes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I wouldn’t have understood the reference except for that last conversation with her. I found papers showing that Aunt Nora was in Oak Ridge during World War II and that she was a high-ranking physicist charged with overseeing the making of the fuel for the first bomb.”

  “Wow! That’s amazing.”

  Diana thanked the server as he delivered her chef salad. She waited to speak until he’d handed Brooke her spinach salad and walked away.

  “I had the same reaction as you, but it’s like she was haunted by the experience. She helped win the war, but all she could think about was the Japanese lives lost.”

  Brooke took a forkful of spinach, strawberries, and pecans. She chewed and swallowed before asking, “Do you think that was what she meant when she urged us in the joint letter to use her life as a cautionary tale? And does it have anything to do with her living and working overseas?”

  “Maybe. I’m hoping we’ll learn more from whatever is in that trunk.” She wiped her mouth. “As you can see, the rest of that note is just like yours—I’m free to do anything I want with the Cambridge house, etcetera, etcetera.”

  Brooke carefully folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. “We should put these away until after we finish eating.”

  “Right.” Diana grabbed her two envelopes off the table and moved them out of harm’s way as Brooke did the same with her letter.

  “Aren’t you curious about what’s in the big one?” Brooke asked.

  “I am.”

  “So why haven’t you opened it yet?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the last thing I’ll ever hear from Aunt Nora that’s meant specifically for me, you know? Once I read what’s in it, that’ll be it. I’ll never hear from her again. I don’t want to rush that.” She set down her fork. “Does that make any sense?”

  “It does.”

  “Still, I suppose I shouldn’t delay any longer. Charles made it pretty clear that Aunt Nora was adamant and methodical about the order in which she wanted things done. I suppose I need to see what’s in this one too.”

  “Do you want to be alone when you open it?”

  “No.” She smiled at Brooke. “I think I’d like you to be with me, if you don’t mind.”

  They finished eating, paid the bill, and headed back to the cottage. Diana reached the front step
s and stopped short.

  “What is it?”

  “This is your place now. I’m waiting for you to invite me in.”

  Brooke fumbled in her coat pocket for the key ring Charles gave her.

  “You do remember that you already had a key that Aunt Nora gave you, right?”

  “Oh. Right.” Brooke looked flustered. “All this is going to take some getting used to.” She unlocked the door and let them in.

  After they’d put down their jackets, they returned to the kitchen table. Diana hefted the envelope in her hand. It was bulky and larger than the other letters.

  “I guess I’d better get this over with.” She tore open the seal and peeked inside. “Huh.”

  “Huh, what?”

  She turned over the envelope and dumped out the contents. Four photographs spilled onto the table, along with another brief note in Nora’s handwriting. Her hands shook as she picked up the first photograph. How had Aunt Nora gotten these? Her seventeen-year-old self stared back at her, graduation cap askew, as she gave the valedictory address at her high school commencement.

  “Is that you?” Brooke asked.

  She nodded.

  “There’s something written on the back.” Brooke angled her head to read. “Diana, high school valedictory address, June, 1989.”

  Scrawled in black ink below the caption were the words: Diana, dear, I took this photo with my Canon. Thank God I invested in that 300 mm zoom lens.

  Diana grabbed the next photo. There she was, giving her first big lecture at Columbia to a full complement of one-hundred-fifty eager first-year med students. She remembered the day with crystal clarity. She’d been so nervous, she’d thrown up before class. This snapshot was grainier, as if the lighting had been too dim.

  “This one’s captioned too,” Brooke said. “Professor Diana Lindstrom, Columbia University. First lecture hall lesson.” Oh, my, I was so proud of you that day I could have burst a button.

  “Nora attended your first class? Did you see her there?”

  She shook her head. She was dumbstruck. How could Aunt Nora have been there? Wouldn’t she have seen her?

  She recognized the next photo instantly. The local newspaper had captured twenty-year-old Princeton University ice hockey right wing Diana Lindstrom scoring the winning goal against arch rival Cornell.

  “You played ice hockey?”

  “Yeah.” She stared at the back of the photo. Although I was in attendance, the Associated Press photographer’s photo was far better than anything I took, and when I wrote to him asking for a copy of the photograph and explained the circumstances, he was quite happy to comply. That sport was too violent, Diana. I always worried for your safety.

  “Isn’t this one the same as the framed photo—”

  “The one of my grad school graduation,” Diana finished. “Yes.”

  “Nora wrote you a note.” Brooke handed her the single sheet of paper.

  My dearest Diana,

  I hope these photographs are as meaningful to you as they were to me. Although I was forbidden to make contact with you, I never lost sight of you, as you plainly can see. I have always kept watch, even if you never saw me.

  I am so proud of you. I watched you grow from a precocious, inquisitive child into a beautiful, talented, accomplished adult. Each step of the way, I cheered you on, applauding every success.

  Diana, you have always had a place in my heart. No amount of time or distance has changed that. I shall remain, I hope, forever in yours, even though I likely will never see you again.

  All my love and admiration,

  Aunt Nora

  Diana wordlessly handed the note to Brooke. She revisited each photograph and each handwritten comment. Aunt Nora had witnessed every important milestone, and she’d never known. She’d been practically close enough to touch, yet completely out of reach. So much wasted time. So many opportunities lost. So many things Diana wanted to tell her, and now she would never have the opportunity again.

  When Brooke came around and opened her arms, she gratefully fell into them. The scent of her perfume was a balm to her battered soul.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Neither woman said a word as the sight of nearly bare trees whizzed past the car windows. It was just as well, since Brooke needed the time to sort through her emotions and try to bring some order to her scattered thoughts.

  Since when have you become impulsive? When Diana announced she’d been given two weeks bereavement leave and asked Brooke if she’d go with her to the Cambridge house, Brooke hadn’t even hesitated. She packed a bag with enough clothes for the two weeks and suggested that if they left now, they could be there before dark.

  “What are you thinking?” Diana’s tone was light.

  She turned her head and regarded Diana’s profile as she drove. It was amazing how much softer her features were when she relaxed. The sight made her smile. “Honestly? I’m wondering who is sitting in this car with you and what happened to practical, non-spontaneous me.”

  “I see. Were you being practical and non-spontaneous when you walked away from Dana-Farber and ran away to the Cape?”

  “That’s not fair. I was past the point of overload when I left, and I’d been considering it for the better part of a year when I finally pulled the trigger.”

  “Okay. When you agreed on the spot to take on the responsibility for Aunt Nora’s care, was that practical, non-spontaneous Brooke?”

  “All right. All right, already. You’ve made your point.” She held up her hands in surrender. “But I want it noted that, up until very recently, I wasn’t the least bit impulsive. I measured and weighed everything, including what kind of underwear to buy so that my panty lines wouldn’t show. I actually did a scientific study.”

  Diana smirked. After a beat she said, “Well, now I know two things about you—you wear underwear, and you’ll never suffer from unsightly panty lines. Good information to have.”

  Brooke slouched down in the seat as far as the seatbelt would allow. If she could’ve slithered under the floorboards at that moment, she would have. How was it that she was constantly embarrassing herself around Diana?

  “So, which brand won?”

  “I’m so not going to have the rest of this conversation with you. I stick my foot in my mouth every time I’m around you.”

  Diana glanced at her and then back to the road. “I think it’s adorable.”

  She crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, you would. It isn’t you who keeps digging herself a hole.”

  “Don’t ever change, Brooke Sheldon. I find you charming.”

  In a bit of fortuitous timing, the GPS announced they were approaching their street. Saved by a disembodied voice with a British accent. If Brooke could’ve, she would’ve kissed her.

  Less than five minutes later, they turned into the driveway of a stately old red-brick Colonial home just off Brattle Street. Diana cut the engine.

  “Wow. Impressive place,” Brooke said.

  “No kidding. Holy smokes.” Diana’s hands remained on the steering wheel. The stress lines were back.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just…It’s just…”

  “A lot to take in?” Brooke offered.

  “A lot to take in. I feel like I’m in some alternate universe. In a little while I’m going to wake up and I’ll be in my classroom, teaching the next batch of Nobel-Prize-winning wannabes who are certain they’re going to be the ones to cure all the world’s diseases and syndromes.”

  “That will be true. You’ll be back in the classroom before you know it. But you’ll also be the proud owner of a fabulous and no-doubt historic home in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in the Boston metro area.”

  “This is a good neighborhood?”

  She laughed. “You’re a stone’s throw from Harvard Square, the Mt. Auburn Cemetery is practically around the corner—”

  “Being around the corner from a cemetery is a good thing?”

  “Being around the c
orner from a really old, really historic cemetery is a good thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re less than fifteen minutes from Massachusetts General Hospital and four minutes from the Harvard campus. As they say, ‘location, location, location.’ You’ve hit the proverbial jackpot.”

  “Except that none of it means anything without Aunt Nora here.”

  “I can’t argue with that. But I know this—Nora would never want you to stay sad for long. She told me more than once that she was ready to go. She’d had a long, full life. She was at peace with death.”

  “She might’ve been ready, but I wasn’t.”

  Brooke reached across the expanse between them and took Diana’s hand in hers. “I know. Death is most difficult for those left behind. A wise person who’d suffered a near-death experience once told me, ‘Dying is easy. Living is hard.’”

  “That’s profound, and true, I guess.” Diana ran her thumb across the back of Brooke’s hand. “I feel like I got cheated, though, you know?”

  “I do. You had so little time to get to know Nora.”

  “I barely scratched the surface.”

  “True. But the good news is, it seems like Nora left us a roadmap so that we can learn more about her and her life. What do you say we go inside?”

  “Okay.” Diana tightened her grip as Brooke pulled away. “Before we go in there, I want to say thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. What are you thanking me for?”

  “For coming with me. For not weighing and measuring first. For not leaving me to go through all this alone. For everything. Thank you for everything.” Her voice broke. “It means the world to me.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for sharing your grief with me, for trusting me enough to show your vulnerability, for wanting me to share this journey with you, and for giving me the privilege of discovering the mystery of Nora Lindstrom with you.”

  “You’re welcome. Shall we?” Diana gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing her.

  Diana ran her fingers along the gumwood wainscoting. The hardwood floors, the wooden accents and brightly painted walls, the oriental area rugs… Everything was so clean and well maintained. Yet she knew Aunt Nora hadn’t been here any time recently.