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  “Yes, ma’am. Miss Nora trusted me with everything. I look back on it now and I was such a greenhorn. I don’t know what she saw in me, but I sure am grateful to her. If it hadn’t been for her, I probably would’ve gotten stuck working on cars down at the gas station. I’d do anything for Miss Nora, and that means I’ll do anything for you, Miss Diana.” He nodded, as if that was his bond.

  “I really appreciate that, Trent. If Aunt Nora trusted you, then I do too. I have no idea yet how often I’ll be able to get here, so I’m going to rely on you to do exactly what you did for Aunt Nora.”

  “Right. You can text me anytime and let me know you’ll be coming to town. I’ll make sure everything is set for you and stay out of your way. Otherwise, I’ll stop by every day like I normally do and check on things, make sure the pipes don’t freeze and the like.”

  “That sounds perfect, Trent. Did Aunt Nora pay you by check, or cash, or…?”

  He shuffled from foot to foot. “She sent me a check once a month, ma’am. But heck, I’d do it for free for her. She was like a grandmother to me.”

  “I understand, but I’m going to pay you just the same as Aunt Nora. I think I have your address, but just to be sure, please text it to me.”

  “Will do, ma’am. Do you want me to show you how to work the wood stove and the fireplace?”

  “Sure. Also, is there an attic in this place?”

  “Oh, yes ma’am. I’ll show you how to get up there after.”

  “Thank you, Trent.” Diana winked at Brooke behind his back as they headed toward the living room, and mouthed, “Attic, trunk,” and waggled her eyebrows.

  Brooke smiled and nodded. If it had been her, she’d have stored the trunk in the attic too.

  Diana locked the door behind Trent and leaned against it. He was a nice, earnest guy, and she could understand why Aunt Nora trusted him. But boy, could he talk! She and Brooke got a primer not just on how to properly light and care for the woodstove and fireplace, but also the lowdown on the hot water heater, the breaker box, the water pipes, and the heating system.

  “He was trying to impress you. Admit it. He was adorable, even if he bored you to tears,” Brooke said.

  “Was I that obvious?”

  “Let’s just say you went glassy-eyed after about the first fifteen minutes.”

  “But you were paying attention, right?”

  “I hung on his every word.”

  “In that case, I’ll have to keep you around in case anything goes wrong.”

  Brooke trailed her fingers playfully along Diana’s jaw. “You’ve got Trent for that. You don’t need me.”

  She moved out of range before Diana had time to respond, but every nerve ending was on high alert. Oh, she needed Brooke, all right.

  “Are you coming?” Brooke called over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs.

  “I have so many retorts to that.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Dr. Lindstrom. I’m heading to the attic. Care to join me?”

  She dutifully followed. They opened the door to the attic, climbed the narrow, rickety stairs, and ducked their heads to avoid the wooden beams, having learned the necessity of that the hard way earlier with Trent.

  Brooke pulled the cord illuminating the single, naked lightbulb. “I thought I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a trunk down this way.”

  Diana pulled out her phone, accessed the flashlight feature, and pointed the beam so they both could see. They walked along the ancient floorboards until Brooke came to an abrupt stop. They were midway to the other end of the attic.

  “Shine that over here.” Brooke pointed to the right.

  Five feet in that direction, a dusty canvas chair sat next to what appeared to be an old, weather-worn, wood and metal trunk. A battery-operated lamp was set conveniently nearby.

  She shuddered. She half expected Aunt Nora to be sitting in the chair, a cup of tea at her elbow, visiting with the ghosts of her past and the memories that apparently haunted her for the remainder of her life.

  “Shall we?” Brooke picked up the lamp and clicked it on. It didn’t work. “You don’t happen to have any double-A batteries handy, do you?”

  “Stay here. Trent has some tools in the garage. I thought I saw some batteries there. I’ll be right back.”

  She hustled down the three flights of stairs and into the garage, found the package of batteries she’d seen earlier, and returned to the attic. She handed the package to Brooke while she caught her breath.

  “Thanks.” Brooke switched the light on. The glow lit the space adequately so that the details of the trunk came fully into focus.

  She ran her fingers along the wood grain. By her estimate, the trunk could have dated back as far as World War II. Did Aunt Nora have this trunk in Oak Ridge? Had it traveled with her ever since? Had it been with her overseas? Or was the trunk something she picked up when she returned to the states to live?

  The wood was a green hue, as though it had once been painted but the finish had faded. Its sides and seams were reinforced with metal strips and hinges, and the clasps on the front latched like buckles. In the center was a key inserted into a keyhole lock. With trepidation, she turned and removed the key, opened the lock, and unclipped the buckles.

  “Are you ready for this?” Brooke asked. She held the lamp aloft so that Diana could see what she was doing.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Was she? Once she opened this lid and discovered the contents within, there was no going back. Whatever was inside, Aunt Nora harbored shame about it. Maybe they should simply walk away. Some things were better left undiscovered.

  As if reading her thoughts, Brooke said softly, “Nora instructed us to investigate. It was one of her dying wishes. We have to honor that, even if we’re afraid of what we might find.”

  “I know.” Diana sighed. “I just… What if what we find makes us think less of Aunt Nora? What if it tarnishes her memory?”

  “I guess that’s a bridge we’ll have to cross when we get to it. I worked with Nora for years. Her stellar reputation is ironclad and well deserved. Besides, we owe it to her to follow through, don’t you think?”

  “Okay. Here goes nothing.” Cautiously, Diana lifted the lid. It was heavier than she anticipated and took both hands to heft. She crinkled her nose at the musty odor. “No one could say Aunt Nora wasn’t organized.”

  “Not surprising, when you consider how carefully she’s planned every step of this process.”

  “True.” Diana peered inside. The left side was filled with a series of ledgers and manila file folders, all neatly stacked and labeled in the courier font typical of old typewriters.

  The main compartment of the right-hand side was obscured by a large tray that fit into a wooden ledge. She tilted her head to see the embossed lettering on the bottom left corner of a leather-bound journal that took up the entire tray. N.L.

  Goosebumps broke out on her arms. This was Aunt Nora’s personal journal—her most private thoughts. Gently, reverently, she lifted the book out and held it in her hands. Gold metal guards protected the corners of the leather, and the journal itself was clasped closed by a leather strap fitted through another vertical strip of leather. She turned it over and examined it from every angle. The pages appeared to be linen paper, saddle-stitched into the binding.

  “That’s in remarkably good condition,” Brooke noted. “It’s hardly even got any dust on it.”

  She nodded. She knew she should open it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. Aunt Nora deserved her privacy, didn’t she? How would Diana feel if someone read through her journal? She’d never kept a journal, but that was beside the point, wasn’t it?

  “How about if we set that aside for right now and decide whether to read it or not later?” Brooke asked.

  Diana faced her. “How is it you always seem to know what’s on my mind without my ever saying a word? You’re freaking me out.”

  Brooke smiled and winked. “It’s a gift. Plus
, your thoughts are loud and generally written all over your face.”

  “Good to know.”

  She set the journal down carefully on the canvas chair and removed the tray from the trunk. Underneath, she discovered bunches of letters bundled into several groups, a colorful, intricately patterned Japanese silk kimono, and a reddish-gray fossilized piece of stone the size of her palm. “What do you suppose this is?” She handed the stone to Brooke.

  Brooke rotated it in the light of the lamp and rubbed her thumb and forefinger over the surface. “I’m not sure. We need better lighting.”

  “Agreed.”

  “How heavy do you think the whole trunk is? Maybe we should carry it downstairs with everything in it?”

  Diana shook her head. Moving Aunt Nora’s trunk from its resting place simply didn’t feel right to her—like it would be a desecration of her private space. “No. I think we need to look at everything here. That’s what Aunt Nora would want.”

  “In that case, we’re going to need a second chair, warmer clothes, and more lighting. It’s dark and freezing up here.”

  Two hours later, they returned to the attic with full stomachs, a new canvas chair purchased at Target, fleece throws to cover their legs, and three additional battery-operated lamps.

  “I can’t imagine why, but wearing long johns, a turtleneck, a sweatshirt, a micro-down vest, and fingerless gloves makes it hard to maneuver.”

  “You look like an astronaut ready for a spacewalk,” Diana said.

  “Great visual. Thanks. Good thing I wasn’t feeling self-conscious or anything.”

  “What was it you told me? ‘It isn’t about style; it’s about comfort.’ Want to take that back now?”

  “No. I offered to buy you gloves too. Remember that when your little hands fall off later.” Brooke stuck her tongue out at Diana for good measure. The more time they spent together, the more she saw the relaxed, genuine Diana she’d imagined existed underneath all that emotional scar tissue she carried. I so easily could fall in love with you, Diana Lindstrom.

  But Brooke hadn’t planned to fall in love. In fact, she hadn’t planned at all. I need more time. I haven’t figured out if I want to go back to Dana-Farber or even if I want to stay in nursing. How am I supposed to factor dating into that chaos?

  “Did you hear me?”

  She shook her head to clear it. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Where were you just now?”

  “Post-lunch brain fog. It’s a thing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What did I miss?”

  “I said, do you think we should start with the professional stuff or the personal stuff?”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip and weighed the options.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Chew on your lip.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I find it incredibly erotic and I’m trying to focus here.”

  “Reprobate.”

  Diana made a face. “What the heck does that mean?”

  “I assume you have a dictionary app on your phone. I suggest you use it.”

  “As if.”

  “You have a doctorate, for Heaven’s sake.”

  “In neuroscience, not English.”

  “You need to broaden your horizons, Dr. Lindstrom.”

  “And you need to use fewer syllables, Nurse Sheldon.”

  “Your Aunt Nora had an extensive vocabulary. It’s why she was such a whiz at crossword puzzles. Maybe you should strive to be more like her.” Brooke realized her mistake too late. “Diana, I’m sorry. I was joking.”

  “I know you were.” Diana’s face, so open and relaxed moments ago, was closed and unreadable now. She sat down heavily and hunched forward, her hands clasped loosely between her knees. “I miss her, and I’m so conflicted about all of this.”

  Brooke sat in the other chair. “Let’s talk through it.”

  “Some of this stuff is so personal. I feel like a voyeur. That’s not who I am.”

  “That’s not who or what either of us is,” Brooke said softly. “The way I see it, Nora wanted to get these things off her chest. It’s almost as though she wanted to confess… No, confess is too strong a word. She wanted us to know all of her—all of what she’d been and done. How did she put it? ‘Use my life as a cautionary tale. Don’t make the same mistakes I did and live your life with regret.’ Do you remember her saying that?”

  Diana nodded slowly. “I do. She also wrote it in her letter. Still…”

  “We won’t be able to understand what she was trying to share unless and until we know more. That’s why she left all this here for us to find. She could’ve destroyed the trunk and its contents, just like she discarded the clothes in her closet. But she didn’t do that. Instead, she told us right where to find it. I don’t think she was hiding who she was and what she did from us. I just think she didn’t want us to discover all of it until after she was gone.”

  “Why do you suppose she was so adamant that we only explore the contents of the trunk in each other’s presence?”

  Brooke smiled. “Well, for one thing, I think that was one way she could guarantee you and I would have to continue to see each other.”

  “That’s Machiavellian.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “I like the way she thinks.”

  “Honestly, while I appreciate that Nora wanted love for both of us,” Brooke said, “I almost wish she’d stayed out of it. I don’t want to wonder for the rest of my life if you want to date me because it was what Nora desired for you, or because it was what Nora thought you should do.”

  Diana looked genuinely stung. “I’m a big girl. I can make up my own mind. Yes, I loved Aunt Nora, but that doesn’t mean I’d choose to spend the rest of my life with someone because she hand-picked her for me.”

  Brooke raised both eyebrows. Did Diana really say she wanted to spend the rest of her life with her? Surely that wasn’t what she meant.

  “Now I’ve scared the living daylights out of you.” She started to get up.

  “No.” Brooke restrained her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t run. Please?”

  Diana sat back down. Her expression was glum.

  “Listen, I…” If Diana was going to be honest, Brooke needed to be forthright too. “I’ve had three relationships in my life with three really terrific women. I screwed up every one of them because I was so focused on work that I didn’t pay enough attention at home. Right now, I have no idea where I’m going professionally or what I want to do next with my life. How can I possibly enter into a relationship under those circumstances and expect it to succeed?”

  “All right,” Diana said. “True confessions time. I lost a twelve-year relationship because my partner thought I was too boring. She left me because she wanted to have more fun, and I’ve felt like a miserable failure at love ever since.” She took a deep breath in and released it. “So, here’s what I think. I think when you find the right person, you compromise. You work through it together and find ways to help it succeed.”

  “Are you saying you think I might be that person for you?” Brooke asked.

  “I do.” Diana sat up straighter. “I really, really do.”

  She appeared so vulnerable then, so fragile. “I think you might be that for me too,” Brooke answered. The admission surprised her. “And it scares me that I might screw it up again.”

  “I’m afraid too, but I think we could have something incredible together, and I’m willing to take a risk. How about you?”

  This time Brooke took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Could she? Could she risk her heart again? “Me too.”

  Diana sat back. “Okay, then. Let’s see what Nora was up to, shall we?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Diana and Brooke stared at the piles on the attic floor. They’d separated the contents of the trunk into categories. Professional records, reports, and formal letters and correspondence comprised the
first set of materials. Personal letters and the journal formed the other stack. They left the kimono and the fossilized stone in the trunk for the time being.

  “Now what?” Brooke asked.

  “My inclination would be to start with the work-related materials. That would give us context for Aunt Nora’s personal life and interactions, don’t you think?”

  “Agreed. Although I have to say I’m intrigued as hell about her private life.”

  “Me too. But I think one feeds off the other.” Diana lowered herself to the floor and sat cross-legged in front of the professional records, reports, and correspondence. “You remember I told you about Aunt Nora and the Manhattan Project and how she sounded so disappointed in herself about the whole thing?”

  “I do.”

  “I’m hoping that whatever’s in this pile gives us a lot more detail and helps us understand the extent of her role and why she felt so ashamed of it all.”

  “I wonder how much historical background we’ll need to understand what she was doing?” Brooke asked. “I read about World War II in history classes. I know about the Nazis and Hitler and the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, but I’m no expert.”

  Diana searched her memory banks. History never had been her strong suit. “I know that Germany fell and surrendered first, but it wasn’t until we dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki that the Japanese finally waved the white flag.”

  “Right. I know that the Manhattan Project and the making of the atomic bomb were super-secret and compartmentalized. Only a handful of people knew the scope of the whole thing.”

  Diana pulled out her phone and clicked on the Google app.

  “What are you doing?”

  “When in doubt, ask Google. We don’t have years to study everything about World War II, so let’s narrow it down to what’s pertinent to us right now.”

  Diana plugged in, “Women scientists who worked on the atomic bomb,” and scrolled through the results. She selected what seemed like a promising website. “Holy mother…” She uncrossed her legs and shot to her feet. “Look at this.”