by Marc Levy
“What do you mean, ‘end of story’?”
“If all you’re going to do is make fun of me, then I’m done.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you!”
“Then what was that idiotic giggling I just heard?”
“It wasn’t meant to make fun of you at all. I just never could have imagined you as a young, hopeless romantic.”
“Pull into the next rest stop. I’d rather walk the rest of the way,” Anthony pouted, crossing his arms in stubborn protest.
“You thought I was driving fast before? See what happens if you don’t finish your story.”
Anthony scoffed, but gave in. “For your mother, having admirers waiting after the show was nothing new. There was a guard in place to escort the dancers to the bus that would take them back to the hotel. So, like I said, after the last show, I waited for her, standing right in their path. The guard made the mistake of shoving me aside—a bit too roughly—which set me off. And . . . I punched him.”
This was too much. Julia burst out laughing once more.
“Fine! If that’s how it’s going to be, you’re not getting another word.”
“Come on, Daddy! I’m sorry, I am,” she said breathlessly. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Anthony turned and looked at his daughter carefully.
“That time, I wasn’t hearing things. You just called me Daddy.”
“So what if I did?” said Julia, drying her eyes. “Please. Go on.”
“I’m warning you, Julia, if you so much as crack a smile, you get left with a cliffhanger, and that’s that.”
“I solemnly swear,” she said, lifting her right hand.
“First, the punch. Then your mother interceded. She told the bus driver to wait, and took me aside. She asked why I had shown up every night, sitting at the same table for every performance. At that point, she had yet to notice the old-fashioned white rose on my lapel, so I offered it to her. It hit her all at once and left her speechless: I was the one who had been sending the same flowers every night. So, I took advantage of the pause. And asked her a question.”
“What was it?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
Julia turned to her father in shock. Anthony told her to concentrate on the road.
“Your mother broke into the same sort of cackling giggle you did just now when you were making fun of me. As soon as she realized I was serious, she turned and told the driver he could leave without her. Then she looked at me and said I could start by taking her out to dinner. We walked to a brasserie on the Champs-Élysées. I can’t tell you how proud I was to be by her side, walking down the most beautiful avenue in the world. You should have seen the way everyone’s eyes were glued to her. We talked the whole dinner through, but at the end of the meal, I found myself in a tight spot . . . and I feared that our romance had come to a screeching halt.”
“So you started out by proposing to her. How could things possibly get worse?”
“I didn’t have the money to pay for dinner. I was positively mortified. I checked my pockets inside and out, as discreetly as possible, but I didn’t have a cent. All my service pay had gone to those Lido tickets and the old-fashioned roses.”
“What did you do?”
“I ordered what must have been my seventh espresso. The brasserie was closing, and your mother left to go powder her nose. I called over the waiter, with the plan of telling him the truth, offering to give him my watch and passport as security so long as he didn’t make a scene, promising up and down that I’d pay the bill as soon as humanly possible, end of the week at the latest. Before I could begin, he simply showed me a tray with a piece of paper where the bill should be. It was a note from your mother.”
“What did it say?”
Anthony opened his wallet and took out a scrap of paper, well worn and yellowed with age, which he unfolded and read in a subdued voice.
“ʻI’ve never been good at goodbyes, and I gather you’re not either. Thank you for a wonderful evening. Old-fashioned roses are my favorite. We’ll be performing in Manchester at the end of February, and I’d love to look out into the audience and see you looking back at me. If you make it, I’ll let you treat me to dinner then.ʼ”
“See?” Anthony showed the precious note to Julia. “Signed with your mother’s name.”
“That’s impressive!” Julia said with a whistle. “But why would she—”
“Well, your mother always was adept at connecting the dots.”
“How so?”
“Watching a poor fool gulp down seven espressos at two in the morning, at a total loss for words, with the restaurant practically shutting off the lights around us? She put two and two together.”
“Did you make it to Manchester?”
“Well, first I had to buckle down and work to save up to get there. I had three jobs, back-to-back shifts. At five in the morning, I unloaded trucks at the market. From there, I scurried over to a café in the neighborhood and waited tables. Come noon, I took off my apron and put on a clerk’s uniform, worked the rest of the day at a grocery store. I lost ten pounds, but I saved enough to go to England and buy a ticket to the show your mother was performing in, and, most of all, to take her out to a proper meal afterward. Against all odds, I managed to get a seat in the front row again. As soon as the curtains rose, her eyes locked onto mine with a warm smile.
“After the show, we met in an old pub. I was beyond exhausted, really bled dry. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I even dozed off at one point. Of course, your mother noticed. We hardly talked at all that evening. We exchanged silences, not conversation. When I asked the waiter to bring the check, your mother looked at me and simply said, ‘Yes.’ Mind you, I hadn’t asked a question, so you can imagine the look on my face. But then she repeated herself, ‘Yes,’ with a voice that rang so clear, I can still hear it in my ears today. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you,’ she said.
“The troupe was supposed to stay in Manchester for two months, but your mother simply sa'id au revoir to her friends, and we hopped on a boat back stateside. Got married the moment we dropped anchor. There was just the priest and two witnesses we’d grabbed in the waiting room. No one from either of our families was in attendance. My father never forgave me for marrying a dancer.”
Anthony folded the cherished scrap of paper with the utmost care and put it back in its place. “Look, here! My pacemaker letter. I can’t believe it. Imbecile! I had simply slipped it in my wallet instead of my passport.”
Julia nodded absently. “Going to Berlin was just a way of guaranteeing we’d spend more time together. Am I right?”
“Frankly, I thought you’d have asked me sooner.”
“The rental car, the lost pacemaker certificate. All by design, all part of the plan.”
“Let’s say it was. Not such a terrible thing, now is it?”
A sign up ahead announced that they were entering Germany. Julia’s face had gone fully somber. She readjusted the rearview mirror, no longer watching her father.
“What’s wrong? You’ve gotten awfully quiet,” said Anthony.
“The day before you busted into our room in Berlin and knocked Thomas out, we had decided to get married. But it never happened. Because my father couldn’t accept me marrying someone who didn’t come from his world.”
Anthony turned back to the window.
15.
They hadn’t spoken a word since they entered Germany. From time to time, Julia would turn up the volume on the radio, only to have Anthony turn it down just as quickly. A pine forest appeared on the horizon. At the forest’s edge, a wall of concrete blocks cut off access to a road that was once a traffic diversion. Julia could make out the gloomy, hulking forms of the former Marienborn border inspection buildings, long since converted into a memorial.
“How exactly did you and your friends get across the border?” asked Anthony, gazing at the abandoned watchtowers rolling past on their right.
“By the seat of our pants. One of the
guys I was traveling with was the son of a diplomat, and we said we were going to visit his father and mine, who were both posted in West Berlin.”
Anthony laughed.
“Particularly ironic, isn’t it? You run away from your real father to visit an imaginary one in Berlin.”
He rested his hands on his knees.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you that letter sooner,” he continued.
“Do you really mean that?”
“I don’t really know. I do feel better having said it, though. How about a break soon?”
“What for?”
“It would be wise for you to get some rest. And I’d like to stretch my legs.”
A sign ahead indicated the next rest area was ten miles away. Julia said she would stop there.
“Why did you and Mom move to Montreal?”
“We didn’t have much money, especially me . . . Your mother had some savings to begin with, but we burned through that pretty quickly. Life in New York kept getting more and more difficult. And we were . . . happy in Montreal. We really were. I think those were our best years.”
“It makes you proud, doesn’t it?” asked Julia, her voice bittersweet.
“What does?”
“Coming from nothing and making it so big.”
“And you? Don’t you get that same feeling? You did something quite daring. It must fill you with a sense of satisfaction to see a child playing with a stuffed animal that came straight from your imagination. It must make you feel proud when you see a poster outside a movie theater for a film with a story that you came up with.”
“I’m just grateful to be happy. That’s enough for me.”
Julia turned into the rest area and pulled up to the curb at the edge of a broad lawn. Anthony opened his door and ruffled his daughter’s hair before leaping out of the car.
“You drive me crazy, Julia!” he said as he walked away.
She turned off the car and rested her head on the steering wheel.
“What on earth am I doing here?”
Anthony crossed the playground, going straight past the sign that read “For Children Only,” and entered the gas station. A few moments later, he came out with a bag of snacks and drinks, opened the back door, and put his purchases on the seat.
“Go get some air. I bought everything you’ll need to recharge. I can keep an eye on the car.”
Julia left without a word. She walked around the swing set, avoiding the sandbox, and entered the service station. When she returned, she found Anthony stretched out at the bottom of the playground slide, eyes to the sky.
“Are you okay?” she asked her father warily.
“Do you reckon I’m up there somewhere?”
Thrown off by the question, Julia sat down on the grass by his side. Her eyes also wandered skyward.
“I don’t know. I searched for Thomas up there in the clouds for years. I was sure I’d even seen him a couple of times. Yet he’s still alive.”
“Your mother didn’t believe in God. But I do. Do you think your old man made it up to heaven?”
“I’m sorry, I cannot answer that question. I just can’t.”
“You can’t believe in God?”
“I’m saying, I can’t even begin to think about that, when I’m sitting here talking to you, even though you’re . . .”
“Dead. It’s just a word, nothing to be afraid of, like I’ve been telling you. Finding the right words is important. For example, if you had told me earlier, ‘Daddy, you’re a bastard and an idiot who has never understood a single thing about me. You’re a self-centered father, and all you’ve ever wanted is to shape me in your own image. You hurt me and told me that it was for my own good, when it was for your own good,’ maybe I would have heard you. Maybe we wouldn’t have lost all those years, and we could have been friends. Admit it. It would have been nice to be friends.”
Julia remained silent.
“See, that’s what I meant about choosing the right words. Instead of having been a good father, or bad, I daresay I would’ve preferred to call myself your friend.”
“We should get back on the road,” Julia said, trying to hide the slight tremble in her voice.
“Just a little while longer. I think my energy reserve isn’t quite as robust as the manufacturers forecasted. If I keep on this way, our time together might not be as long as we planned.”
“Take as long as you need. Berlin isn’t that far. After twenty years, what’s a few more hours?”
“Eighteen years, Julia.”
“Close enough.”
“Two years, two whole years of life? Not even close. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Father and daughter lay motionless, hands behind their heads, with her stretched out on the grass and his legs hanging off the slide, both of them scanning the sky.
An hour went by. Julia had dozed off, and Anthony had turned to watch her sleep. Peaceful dreams, or so it seemed. From time to time she frowned, tickled by the wind dancing across her face. Anthony cautiously pushed back a lock of her hair.
When Julia finally opened her eyes, the sky was already tinged with shadows of dusk, and she found herself alone. She sat up and caught sight of her father’s silhouette in the front passenger seat of their car. She slipped her shoes back on, though she couldn’t remember taking them off, and walked back across the parking lot.
“Did I sleep long?” she asked, as she started the car.
“Two hours, maybe a little longer. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“What were you doing?”
“I was waiting.”
Julia drove out of the rest area and back onto the highway. Potsdam was only fifty miles away.
“It’ll be dark by the time we get to Berlin,” she said. “I have no idea how to find Thomas. I don’t even know if he still lives there. So, you basically dragged me all the way here on a whim. What makes you think we can find him at all?”
“Well, anything is possible. Between the skyrocketing cost of real estate, putting food on the table for the triplets, and his in-laws moving in, they certainly could have relocated to a cozy little house in the country.”
Julia glared at her father, who once again motioned for her to watch the road.
“It’s fascinating how fear can thrive within the mind,” he continued.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, just thinking out loud. By the way, not that it’s any of my business, but don’t you think you should check in and let Adam know you’re still alive? If not for him, then for me. I never want to hear Gloria Gaynor again. She was caterwauling in your purse the entire time you were asleep.”
With that, Anthony broke into a frenzied rendition of “I Will Survive.” Julia swallowed back her laughter at first, but the louder he sang, the more uncontrollable her giggling became. By the time they were rolling through the outskirts of Berlin, the two of them were roaring with laughter.
Anthony gave Julia directions to the Brandenburger Hof Hotel. Upon their arrival, a bellboy welcomed them as they stepped out of the car. “Good evening, Mr. Walsh,” said the doorman, giving the revolving door a shove to get it spinning. Anthony crossed the lobby to the front desk, where the concierge also greeted him by name. At this time of year, the hotel was fully booked, but even without a reservation, the concierge assured Anthony that two of their very best rooms would be at his disposal. The concierge added, with his sincere regrets, that the two rooms would not be on the same floor. Anthony thanked him and said it wasn’t important. Handing off their keys to the bellboy, the concierge asked Anthony if he wanted to make a reservation at the hotel restaurant that evening.
“How does that strike you, dear?” asked Anthony, turning toward Julia. “Alternatively, I do know a great place just a few minutes from here. Do you still like Chinese food as much as you used to?”
Julia said nothing. Anthony shrugged and asked the concierge to reserve a table for two on the terrace at China Gar
den.
After freshening up, Julia and her father walked to the restaurant together.
“Something bothering you, dear? Are you in a bad mood?”
“I just can’t believe how much everything here has changed,” Julia responded distractedly.
“Did you speak to your fiancé?”
“Yes, I called him from my room.”
“And what did he have to say?”
“He said he missed me. He said he still doesn’t understand why I left like I did, or what I’m chasing. He said he came for me in Montreal—he only missed us by an hour.”
“That’s a shame. Just imagine the look on his face if he had seen us together.”
“Yeah, well . . . he made me promise that I was alone. Four times.”
“And . . . ?”
“And I lied. Four times!”
Anthony opened the restaurant door for his daughter.
“Ha! Careful you don’t start enjoying it,” he said with a chuckle.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”
“What’s funny is that we’re in Berlin to track down your long-lost love, and you feel guilty about lying to your fiancé that you were in Montreal with your father. I for one think that’s ballsy.”
Anthony took advantage of the time they spent at dinner to come up with a plan. First thing in the morning, they would pay a visit to the press syndicate offices to find out if a certain Thomas Meyer was still in possession of a press pass.
On the way back from dinner, Julia led her father along the gates lining the Tiergarten.
“I used to take naps under that tree,” she said, pointing out a huge linden tree in the distance. “Crazy. Feels like it was just yesterday.”
Anthony flashed a mischievous look at Julia and crouched, latching together ten fingers and offering his daughter a boost over the fence.
“What are you doing?”
“Making you a stepladder. Hurry up. Nobody’s watching. Don’t think, just take the leap.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. She stepped up and hoisted herself right over the fence.
“What about you?” she asked, rising to her feet on the other side and dusting herself off.
“I think I’ll just head through that open gate right there,” he said, pointing to an entrance a bit farther on. “The park doesn’t close until midnight. I may be a bit too old for that sort of thing.”