by Kelly Rimmer
“Alice,” Mom says flatly, and the screen shifts to her very pissed-off face. “What the Hell is going on?”
I know Mom can’t hear Zofia. Emilia’s impassioned declarations are loud; Zofia’s voice is soft and close to my ear.
I’m going to have to tell her. I’m going to have to tell her.
“Mom,” I say unevenly. “Please, just give me a moment.”
“But she’s so upset—”
Emilia lets loose with a string of frustrated Polish, and Agnieszka says urgently, “Ah—perhaps your mother could put the camera back onto your grandmother?”
“Mom! Please,” I beg, and I can’t help it—I start to cry. “This is important,” I choke, through my tears. “Please, Mom. Please.”
Mom gives a growl, then the lens refocuses on Babcia’s face.
“One more minute, then if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I’m ending this,” I hear Mom warn.
Emilia is momentarily silent now, giving her friend a chance to process what she’s heard. Babcia’s grief and heartbreak are written all over her face, but as I stare at her, those emotions shift just a little, until finally, she looks something like relieved. Emilia speaks again, and this time, her words fall more slowly—finally, Zofia can keep up.
“She asked Alina if she was okay...” Babcia nods, then waves her right hand, indicating for Emilia to continue. “She’s telling your grandmother that after the occupation ended, Tomasz was honored as Righteous Among the Nations—that’s the medal we saw on his gravestone.”
Babcia is smiling sadly now, nodding—her pride is evident. That’s all important and beautiful, but I can’t even focus on her just yet.
“But Emilia definitely said it was Saul who left Poland with Alina, not Tomasz. Is she absolutely sure?” I whisper to Zofia, then a sob bursts from my lips. “Because...the thing is...that means, I will have to tell my mom...”
Emilia looks at me, and she puts her hand on my arm again. She whispers some words to Zofia, who tells me carefully, “Yes, Emilia is quite sure that Tomasz was executed. Mateusz paid a guard to retrieve his body so they could bury him before they left for the city. It was Emilia’s idea to take him to the hill—she says she used to catch him with Alina there kissing all of the time, and she knew that was the place where Tomasz was happiest. They marked the grave with rocks, and she returned in the seventies with the headstone once she had the money to do so.”
“But why did she never reply to the letters?” I blurt to Agnieszka. “My babcia tried so hard to reach her. She wrote for years and years. Why didn’t Emilia respond?”
There’s a moment of quiet conversation, then Emilia turns to the camera, and her gaze is stricken.
“We think your babcia sent the letters to the house in Trzebinia,” Agnieszka tells me softly. “But even once the war ended, the communists had possession of the house so Mama never did move back there. We didn’t even get the clinic back until the seventies after I qualified. So Mama never received the letters, but she wants you to know that she tried so hard to find your babcia. Tomasz had told her that Alina would be waiting in England somewhere, likely using the name Hanna. So once she was old enough to travel, that’s where my mama went...”
“She was looking in the wrong country,” I whisper.
“Besides,” Zofia remarks sadly. “Even though she knew to look for Hanna, she could never have known to look for Mrs. Slaski.”
* * *
I leave everyone else in the living room and walk into one of Emilia’s bedrooms. I text Mom to call me when Babcia is settled, and after ten or fifteen minutes, the FaceTime comes to my phone. Mom takes the news of her parentage with the dry-eyed stoicism I’d expect from her, despite the fact that I’m sobbing as I explain.
“I’m worried about you,” she says, peering into the camera. “Christ, look at you. You’re a mess, Alice.”
I laugh weakly and wipe at my eyes.
“It’s been a very long day,” I say, then I ask, “Is Babcia okay?”
“She’s exhausted. I’ve left her to nap, but she looks so happy. I don’t know how else to explain the change in her except to say that your grandmother seems at peace. That’s a pretty remarkable thing to gift an old woman. I hope you’re proud of yourself and I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive—I guess you could see she needed you to take this trip even when I couldn’t.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I murmur, and I’m grateful for the concession—but I know my mother, and I know it’s at least in part a deflection. “But...you do seem to be taking this pretty well, Mom.”
Mom sighs, then tilts her face to stare up at the roof for a moment. Then she drops her gaze back to the iPad and she says to me, “Dad was dad, Alice, and he was a great man. Whether he was really Saul or Tomasz...I was his daughter and I never doubted that for a second of his life. I don’t know why they never told me, and maybe later, once it sinks in, I’ll be upset or angry but...for now...? I’m just sad for Babcia, that she was never able to tell us about what happened back there...that she waited her whole life for closure.” Her voice breaks, and she pauses carefully before she adds, “Will you give Emilia a message for me?”
“Of course.”
“Please tell her that her brother gave his life for the best man I ever knew,” my mother says abruptly. “Tell her that my father loved my mother, and he loved me, and he helped hundreds...thousands of children in his career, and he was the best dad and friend and husband and...”
She stops abruptly, then clears her throat again, before she says calmly, “Just tell her that Saul Weiss, if that’s who I knew as my dad, did not waste a second of the life he was given. Neither did Mama. Make sure that Emilia knows that the sacrifice her brother made was not wasted.”
“I will, Mom,” I whisper unevenly. Mom’s eyes are filling with tears, and I can tell she’s not going to be able to blink them away this time.
I’m not surprised when she says gruffly, “Babcia needs...I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
* * *
I’m on the way back to the hotel, drained but exhilarated—and I think Zofia feels the same, because she’s fallen very quiet over there in the driver’s seat. It’s just after 11:00 p.m. Krakow time, and my phone sounds from my handbag. I realize that I still haven’t called Wade or the kids, and I flush as I bend to search for it. The message on the screen is not one I’m expecting.
Mommy. I’m about to FaceTime you. Please please please answer but mute your phone, because I don’t want the boys to know we’re watching them.
I frown as I quickly reply.
What’s going on? Is everything okay? You won’t be able to see me because it’s very late here and I’m in a car.
She doesn’t reply—instead, the video call comes in, and I answer it immediately. Callie’s face fills the screen and she holds her hands up to her lips, so I mute the call. Then she’s walking through the house, and she holds the phone into the doorway of the dining room.
Wade and Edison are sitting at the dining room table. I squint at the screen, but it takes me only a moment or two to realize that they’re playing chess. I hear Eddie’s AAC, but I can see that it’s Wade who’s using the screen.
Your turn.
There’s a pause, then Wade and Eddie both laugh. Eddie’s laugh is tinged with mischief and pride, and Wade’s sounds surprised.
“You got me, buddy,” Wade says, then he glances down at the iPad and the AAC says, Good work.
Eddie takes the iPad, and then he laughs with delight and he claps with sheer excitement as the AAC announces, Eddie pawn eat Dad pawn.
The angle is all wrong—and Callie’s iPad is too far away for me to be sure—but when Wade looks up at Eddie, I think I can see a glimmer of something new in his gaze. I can’t tell if it’s affection or love or pride, but the specifics don’t even matter.
Wade
is using the AAC, and Eddie and Wade are playing chess.
It’s been a big day—one of the most emotional of my life. But this...this is almost too much. I hold it all together while Callie walks back to her room, and then I unmute the call.
“How long has that been going on?” I ask her. My voice is husky from all of the crying back at Emilia’s house, and I brace myself, hoping to dodge the question if Callie notices and asks why. She’s too busy chuckling at her father, though, and she grins at me as she says, “Well, a few days ago Dad started trying to teach Eddie the rules so they could play together, but he insisted on talking as he did it, so that was obviously a miserable failure,” Callie says, then she rolls her eyes. “But then this morning, Eddie found the instructions book in the box from the chess set, and he sat and read the whole thing, then he got the AAC and he asked Daddy to play. Dad finally seemed to realize if they were going to play together, he’d need to communicate on Eddie’s terms, not his own. They’ve been sitting there ever since. Dad won the first game easily but I have a feeling he’s going to let Eddie win this one. I just thought you’d like to see...you know, since it’s a miracle and all that Dad finally listened to us.”
“Sometimes,” I choke, “Daddy has to see things for himself. I guess...maybe I should have thought of that a few years ago.”
“Oh please, Mommy,” Callie laughs. “You do enough around here. You shouldn’t have to think for Daddy, as well. How’s the holiday?”
“It’s not a hol—” I start to correct her, then I pause. “You know, Pascale, today, I stood at the top of a mountain and I could see into two different countries at once. And I uncovered a secret from your Babcia’s past that’s so amazing—I can’t wait to tell you all about it when I get home. One day, we’re going to come here to Europe together, and I’m going to make you try sauerkraut.”
“What’s that?”
“Fermented cabbage.”
“Ew! Mom! Way to make a gross food even grosser!”
Zofia and I share a grin.
“It sounds like things are okay there without me,” I say to Callie. Her gaze softens.
“Mommy, we miss you. A lot. But...I can’t wait to hear all about your trip. And we’re doing okay today. Two more sleeps, right?”
“Two more sleeps,” I murmur, then I yawn. Loudly. Callie laughs. “Honey bear, I’m at my hotel now so I need to go, but please tell Daddy I’ll call him in five minutes?”
“Sure thing, Mom. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too, honey bear,” I say, then she hangs up the call. Zofia parks the car, then she turns to me.
“Glad you didn’t go home this morning?” she says, and I laugh softly.
“That’s maybe the understatement of the decade.”
* * *
“Hi, Alice.” Wade is wary when he answers my call. He stares into the camera as if it’s about to bite him.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, and his eyebrows knit.
“I know, you texted me—”
“No, Wade. I’m really sorry.” A sob breaks, and now he looks quite terrified. “Eddie needs you every bit as much as he needs me. You’ve done things with him this week I couldn’t have done—and that can only open up his world. I’m sorry.”
“Ally, I’m sorry too,” Wade whispers, then I see the flush creep under his skin. “There were things I didn’t understand at all. I get it a bit better now.”
“I figured out Babcia’s big mystery,” I blurt, through my tears. And then, sobbing uncontrollably now, I try to bring him up to speed with the day.
“Alice,” he says, when I finally stop with the weepy babbling. “I am so damned proud of you.”
Just for a second, all of the chaos inside me eases, and my mind is completely still. I have a great love just like Babcia’s great love—and this man is it. It’s not clean and simple, because our lives are not clean and simple—and it’s harder day-to-day to keep that love in our focus, because we have so much else to manage. But right now—just for a moment—the static of managing our kids and his career and the dynamics of our home life has completely cleared, and my love for Wade surges until it’s all I can think about.
Right now, I know one thing for sure: if this separation between us was open-ended, I’d be focused on getting back to him until the very moment of our reunion.
No matter what that reunion looked like.
Babcia fire Tomasz.
I close my eyes, because I finally understand.
“Wade?”
“Yes, honey?” he whispers.
Babcia fire Tomasz. Finally, I get it. “Fire” doesn’t represent passion—it doesn’t even represent love. It represents literal fire.
“Babcia wants me to bring her ashes home. She wants me to lay her to rest with Tomasz.”
Wade’s gaze softens.
“Well, my love...then that is what we will do.”
* * *
I’m unbelievably excited to see my family, and for the whole flight home, I’m picturing them waiting at the arrivals gate. I imagine running to them and embracing the kids, and everyone is smiling and excited to have me home. I know I’m kidding myself, because with Eddie’s disability, an arrivals gate is a challenging place to navigate. The endless sounds and scents and the surging crowd make for a perfect storm of sensory overload, which, combined with the emotional impact of my return, is almost guaranteed to result in a meltdown.
Reality hits when the plane touches down and I turn my phone on—but it’s the very best kind of reality.
Honey. I’m not sure how Eddie would go in the busy arrivals lounge, so I’ve found a place to park and we’ll wait for you at the car. I hope you aren’t too disappointed.
“Disappointed” is not the word I’d use to describe my feelings as I read that text message. “Proud” and “incredulous” are probably closer to the truth—because Wade has understood and predicted Eddie’s reaction, and he’s found his own workaround, without a shred of intervention from me.
And I get my moment of overjoyed reunion, because I see the car just as Callie sees me. She’s standing by her door, but the minute we make eye contact, she runs at me and starts a stream of high-pitched, excited chatter. This means I get a moment or two alone with her before I even see Eddie, who’s still strapped into his seat in the car. Wade is sitting in the front seat. They’re both looking at their mobile devices with the same glazed happiness on their faces—Eddie watching train videos, Wade reading what looks suspiciously like a mommy blog. I laugh weakly as I approach the car.
“Hello, you two. Are you even a little bit excited to see me?”
Eddie looks up, and he squeals with delight, then he bursts into tears—completely overwhelmed in an instant. I rush to throw open his door and cradle him against me.
“It’s okay, baby, Mommy’s home,” I murmur against his hair. I breathe in the scent of my son—my beautiful, complicated son—the kid who makes aspects of my life so difficult, but who also is a kind of sunshine and joy I’d never expected. And those difficulties and struggles and that sunshine and joy? I have always wanted to share them with my husband—and maybe, just maybe we’re getting at least closer to that.
“Eddie, I love you Eddie,” Eddie is echoing against my chest, and what else can I do, but to echo it right back.
* * *
We go straight to the hospital. Eddie is apparently proud to show his father that he knows how to navigate the way to Babcia’s room, so he insists on walking right at the front, holding Wade’s hand the whole way. Callie and I walk in the back, as I quietly explain to her what I discovered on my trip.
Then we’re at the room, and Babcia and Mom and Dad are all there. Babcia is resting peacefully, Mom is sitting stiffly by her bed, Dad stands behind Mom, his hand on her shoulder.
“Hi, loves,” Dad says, and there are hugs all round,
until his gaze narrows in on me and he grips my shoulders and he says with mock seriousness, “Tell me you’ve got that vodka, child.”
“I have the vodka,” I laugh softly.
“Babcia’s been sleeping on and off all day,” Mom tells us stiffly. “Yesterday took a lot out of her...she can barely keep her eyes open today.”
Eddie climbs up onto the bed regardless, and squeezes in beside her. Even in her sleep, Babcia winds her arm around his shoulders. They lie like that for a while, as the rest of us discuss the trip, Dad’s “spontaneous” return, Mom’s work schedule, Wade’s plastics program and Callie’s schooling. When Babcia wakes a little while later, she kisses the top of Eddie’s head, reaches for Callie’s hand, nods toward Wade, and then her eyes finally land on me.
I walk toward her, and she thanks me a thousand times a second as she stares at me through her tears. Then she’s searching around the place with her gaze, until it lands on Mom’s iPad, so I shift the kids out of the way so we can “talk.”
Thank you. Thank you, Alice.
Babcia happy. Babcia proud.
Alice home now. Alice sleep.
Thank you. Thank you, Alice.
We kiss her cheek and say our farewells, then turn toward the door. As I’m about to leave, the iPad sounds.
Babcia fire Tomasz.
I turn, and Babcia is looking at me with a desperate hope in her eyes. I return to the bed and take the tablet, and my hands are shaking as I type my reply into Google Translate.
Yes. I promise you Babcia. I will take your ashes back and lay them to rest with Tomasz.
When I convert the words to Polish, Babcia’s tears spill over, and she fumbles for my hand again.
My grandmother is a ninety-five-year-old woman with a brain injury, trapped in a hospital bed, unlikely to ever leave. But as I look at her in this moment, I don’t see the elderly hospital patient—I see a beautiful young woman, madly in love with her fiancé, desperate only to find herself home with him once more.