All That Shines and Whispers

by Jennifer Craven

  She scanned the room. From her spot on the floor, she noticed a layer of dust coating the surface of the end table where Erich had now picked apart the handle of the basket, leaving a little pile of debris.

  “Well, I guess I’ll make myself useful,” she said aloud to no one.

  Still in her nightgown, Lara tied her hair back with a ribbon and got to work cleaning the apartment—starting first with dusting. Next, she scrubbed the floors with a shoddy sponge she found under the kitchen sink. The stove had splashes of crusted food, and Lara gagged as she scraped the surface new.

  Each rag came up filthy, leaving her more and more appalled by the state in which Rubin lived. With no sound in the house aside from the babble of a baby, she filled the void with her favorite songs—many of which had been taught to her by Marlene. Her delicate voice echoed through the cramped space, melodic as an angel’s.

  In the end, she was satisfied. The apartment received a much-needed facelift, and she imagined how pleased Rubin would be when he returned. If keeping a clean house was any measure of a wife’s ability, she was determined to exceed expectations.

  As the afternoon dragged on, Lara found ways to keep herself busy. She was determined to make a good impression in her role as a homemaker, and she thought back to her own family’s culture as a cue of what she should and should not do. Marlene was the epitome of quality wife material: beautiful, kind, supportive. Could she live up to that standard? There were so many assumptions and expectations, it was enough to throw her brain into overdrive. The constant thinking—what else was there to do?—made her tired.

  “C’mon little one,” Lara said to Erich. “I’ll lay down with you for your nap.” She worried he wouldn’t fall asleep alone on the big bed, but her body also craved reprieve, and so the nap served a dual purpose.

  Erich fell asleep in a flash, leaving Lara to daydream. With pleasant thoughts of Rubin, she drifted off beside her son, her arm draped over his little body.

  But those dreams quickly turned dark.

  She saw her mother and father returning home from their anniversary dinner to find her and Erich gone. Their faces contorted in agony and their legs buckled as they realized what she’d done. Her mother wept. Gerald, consumed with grief, fled in his car, driving it off a bridge into the ice-cold water below.

  Lara woke in a sweat, her breath rapid. It was just a dream, she repeated. But deep down she knew the pain was true. The thought of her parents living with such despair broke her heart. How could she have done such a thing? To the people who loved her most?

  She felt sick and conflicted. She’d made a choice, for the sake of herself and her son, and, as her father once told her, she needed to live with it.

  In the end—after excruciating mental gymnastics—Lara convinced herself that her parents would move on. The other children would fill in the hole left by her and Erich’s absence.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Careful not to wake Erich, Lara rolled off the bed and looked around the room for a distraction from her disturbing thoughts. Her knapsack sat on the floor in the corner, still full of the few items she’d brought from Switzerland. It only had room for a few pieces—a dress, the nightshirt she wore currently, undergarments, and Erich’s essentials. She hoped Rubin would be able to get them some new clothes soon.

  With nothing else to do and the waiting threatening to drive her mad, Lara figured now was as good a time as any to unpack. She’d wanted to ask Rubin where she should put her things—it was his apartment, after all, and she didn’t want to come off as presumptuous—but she decided since there wasn’t much, she’d just find room, and hoped he wouldn’t mind.

  Lara knelt at the foot of the bed, her feet pressed together underneath her. She took each garment from the bag, gave it a shake and folded it just so on her lap. When she was done, a neat pile of only nine items stood barely a foot tall.

  Moving to the little walnut dresser, she pulled open the top drawer and found it empty.

  He must have left this one empty for me, she thought.

  Lara opened the next drawer just to check.

  Empty.

  Then the next, and finally the fourth.

  All empty.

  Not a single item filled the drawers. What? Why have a dresser if you don’t put anything in it? She swiveled to look around the small room. A closet! That must be where Rubin kept his clothes. In three short steps, she stood in front of the hinged door. With a shaking hand—why was she nervous?—she reached out and folded the door open to the side.

  Her heart dropped. The closet was empty. A single metal bar attached to either side of the wall stood bare. The sight struck her as odd—a clothes rack with no clothes, like a flagpole with no flag. What’s the point?

  The room began to spin as terror set in. Lara felt herself becoming lightheaded. She sat on the bed and put an unsteady hand over her mouth.

  What was going on? If this was Rubin’s home, where were all his clothes?

  The uneasiness she’d felt the night before returned, only this time it grew from a paltry worry to an overwhelming fear. It didn’t make sense; there was no other hidden closet that held Rubin’s belongings. As she tried to regain her composure and clear her mind to think straight, she heard a door shut.

  “Lara?” Rubin’s voice rang through the small apartment.

  Startled, she jumped off the bed, shaking her hands to stop the tingling. A mirror stood propped against the wall atop the dresser. She examined her reflection, noticing the color had drained from her face. She pinched her cheeks and smoothed her hair behind her ears and pressed the front of her dress flat. Did she look frightened? Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Erich was still, thankfully, sound asleep on the bed. She walked to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind her.

  “Oh, there you are. Hi,” Rubin said, removing his hat and flinging his coat over the back of the dining chair.

  “Hi.”

  “I hope you got my note this morning. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry I couldn’t stay, I had to go to work.”

  “That’s okay. We managed.” She stood several feet from him, unwilling to the close the distance. Could he sense something was off?

  “Where’s Erich?”

  “Asleep,” she said quietly. “He takes a nap in the afternoon.”

  “Oh yes, I was going to ask you about his schedule. It’s all so new to me. I feel like I have so much to learn.” He smiled and pulled out the chair to sit. He motioned toward the other chair. Lara tentatively sat across from him.

  “So,” he continued, “Tell me what I need to know.”

  “About what?”

  “About Erich. Like, when does he nap?”

  “Nap? Usually every day after lunchtime, unless he’s very tired, and then sometimes he takes two naps, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.”

  “I see. Okay, good to know.”

  “And you said he’ll eat pretty much whatever?”

  “Yes, as long as it’s cut small enough.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Speaking of food,” she said. “There wasn’t much to eat here today. I would have gone out for groceries but your note said to stay inside.”

  “Right. Sorry about that. I thought it was best if you didn’t venture out quite yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you think people might be looking for you? I mean, your parents could have put out notices about your disappearance.”

  “Oh, I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Probably better to stay indoors. Just trust me, Lara.” He looked at her sideways, his tone authoritative, as though his being one year older made him that much more wise and worldly.

  See? He’s just protecting you. It made her think of all the times he promised he’d take care of her. Now he was. But that still didn’t explain the sick feeling in her stomach.

  “Okay, sure. I understand,” she said quietly.

  He stood and strode toward the sink, filling a
glass of water.

  “There was still a little food that you brought from home, right?”

  “Yes, we were fine. I made some eggs. And there were a few apples left. I guess I was just expecting to be able to go to the market. I would have loved to have made a nice dinner for you.”

  “Well, I brought some things home we can eat.” He placed a brown paper bag on the table and pulled out two chicken thighs and a basket of string beans.

  Again, hardly enough for the three of them.

  “Looks delicious. Thank you,” she managed.

  Sensing a shift in her demeanor, Rubin stepped toward her with outstretched arms. Lara stood still, stiff as a board, as Rubin wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight to his chest. She breathed in the smell of him—the same smell that once made her knees go weak. If smug had a scent, it would be Rubin.

  “I missed you,” he said. “I thought of nothing all day but getting home to you.”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Rubin,” she began nervously, “where are all your clothes?”

  “My clothes? What do you mean?”

  “Yes. I went to put my things in the dresser and closet, but they’re both empty.”

  His face went blank, a deer in headlights. A cool frost covered his eyes. Damnit! His mouth creased, and she was sure she sensed anger in his expression.

  But the look was fleeting. As quickly as it came, it disappeared, and he was as warm again as she always knew him to be.

  “Oh, I should have told you!” he laughed, as if his dismissal should banish any worry she might feel. “I sent it all out for cleaning before you came. You see, I wanted everything to be just perfect for your arrival, including my clothing. I admit, I’m not the best at keeping a clean house and tidy clothes. I’m sorry about that, Lara. I wanted to impress you, but the clothes got delayed. But don’t worry, it should all be delivered back here tomorrow.”

  She opened her mouth to question his explanation, but before she could get a word out, he quickly leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Caught off guard, her eyes opened wide and her neck stiffened. His eyes were closed, his hands running down the sides of her face to her collarbone. He trailed the line of her bodice. When his fingers reached the mounds of her breasts, her body took over, and she gave in to the pleasure. Her body softened in his arms. They kissed passionately, as memories of their love floated through her mind.

  I must be going crazy, she told herself. There’s nothing to worry about. He loves me. I need to trust him.

  That evening, they ate by candlelight, at Lara’s suggestion—an idea she’d had to try to restart the rocky outset of their reunion. Rubin continued to ask more questions about Erich—his likes and dislikes, as well as the ins and outs of caring for a baby. Lara answered his inquiries with a renewed sense of energy and hope. Her heart swelled; Rubin genuinely cared about their son and wanted to be the best father possible.

  It was so new for all of them. She felt foolish for expecting a seamless transition. With a deep sigh of relief, she promised herself she’d relax and let the kinks naturally shake out.

  Across the table, Rubin and Erich took turns making goofy faces. The boy belly laughed so hard he could barely catch his breath. Lara’s shoulders bounced with happiness.

  Soon, another day was gone. Dusk settled as the sun dipped below the lofty structures of the city.

  Crawling into bed later, Lara buried the doubt that had plagued her during the day. She gave Erich a gentle peck on the head and closed her eyes, resounding to wake up with a fresh sense of peace.

  Eighteen

  The screech of an owl startled Lara awake. The sound, high-pitched and shriek-like, was so powerful, she would have bet money the bird was actually not outside, but flying around in her room. Laying on her side facing the window, Lara blinked her eyes several times to strain through the darkness. No darting shadows, no flapping wings. The owl was definitely outside (but of course it was). She sealed her eyes again, desperate to return to the pleasant dream from which she was so rudely jolted.

  Another screech—a loud, barking call of warning known only to flying nighttime predators. Her eyes flashed open again. Lara wondered if the sound was disturbing Erich. She rolled in place, turning away from the window to face Erich and Rubin.

  Nothing but the flat plane of mattress extended to the other side of the bed.

  Lara stretched her arm out along the surface of the sheet, searching for the little boy’s body. The darkness, devious and sly, must be playing tricks on her eyes. She reached long. The bed was cool to the touch—unlike her side, which radiated heat from her body.

  Jerking upright, she whipped back the covers, as if the two were hiding underneath.

  But this was no illusion, the blackness had not fooled her. Erich was gone. And so was Rubin.

  Lara ran to the living room and flipped on the light, scanning the space with wild eyes. What did she expect? That Rubin and Erich would be in the kitchen making a sandwich in the middle of the night? She wanted to believe there was a reasonable explanation, but her gut told her otherwise. A cold sweat prickled the surface of Lara’s skin, and her heart picked up speed, like a song’s tempo reaching crescendo. Shallow, quick breaths made her lightheaded. As she stumbled to the table, her consciousness dangled on the edge of fainting.

  “Rubin!” she cried out. “Erich!”

  Frantic, Lara swept through the apartment, opening the small hallway closet door, checking inside the shower. They weren’t there. Coming back to the living room, she looked to the clock. It was half past three in the morning. There was simply no explanation for their absence at this hour.

  With a thought, she dashed back to the bedroom and yanked open the top dresser drawer where she had placed Erich’s few belongings the day before—a handful of clothes, diapers, a book and his beloved stuffed toy. The drawer was cleared out.

  Terror seized her. She stood frozen, her eyes transfixed on the empty drawer hanging open. Not only was he gone, but his things were gone too.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

  How could she not have heard them leave? What kind of mother doesn’t realize her child is being taken right from under her nose? Rubin must have been purposefully quiet. The realization made her sick to her stomach.

  Lara felt like she was floating above herself, watching from high up as a terrible nightmare unfolded. It couldn’t be real. It must be a dream. Wake up! her brain screamed. She dug her nails into the skin on her forearm, leaving little crescents and a stinging sensation that traveled up her arm and down to her fingers. A pinprick of blood formed a bead near her wrist.

  She was very much awake.

  Lara backed slowly out of the room. Nausea churned, and she raced to the bathroom where she wretched last night’s dinner into the toilet. Balled on the floor, shaking and confused, a voice in her head finally shook Lara to her senses.

  Get help.

  But where? Who? She hadn’t left the apartment since they’d arrived two days prior, and wasn’t even sure what part of Salzburg she was in. It was the middle of the night. How could she find help now?

  Hopelessness kept her anchored to the clammy tile. Then Erich’s innocent face flashed in front of her eyes and her maternal instinct kicked in.

  With a surge of focus and energy, Lara sprinted to the door and darted into the hall. It was dimly lit—two bare bulbs suspended from the ceiling emanated a sickly orange. Lara remembered the look of the corridor from when she’d first arrived. She guessed there were at least eight doors she could try.

  It was the middle of the night, but she had no other option. Rushing to the first door on the left, Lara pounded on it with her fist. No one came. She moved onto the next impatiently, giving little time for anyone inside to wake, let alone answer her banging. Again, nothing.

  At the third door, she added a choral of pleading cries.

  “Help!” she yelled. “Please, someone help me!”
<
br />   Her hands hammered the wood. Subconsciously, it occurred to Lara that her father would be appalled at her lack of manners. But this was no time to be polite. She pounded harder. With every second that passed, desperation grew until tears flowed from her eyes, drenching the neck of her nightgown.

  “I need help! My baby has been kidnapped!”

  Mid-knock, the door flew open. Lara faltered forward, nearly falling into a middle-aged man in blue striped pajamas. His hairline was receding, and a few strands—which were meant to comb over the thinning top—flopped out to the side comically. He squinted into the dingy hallway.

  “Oh!” Lara exclaimed. “Thank you! Please, I need help. My son has been kidnapped.” She talked wildly with her hands.

  “What?” the man asked, looking bewildered, having been woken from a deep sleep.

  “They’re gone! I woke up and they’re gone. He took him!” She rambled incoherently between sobs, and the man struggled to follow.

  “Took him from where?”

  “The apartment down the hall. Two doors down.” Her chest heaved as she spoke.

  A woman—Lara presumed was the man’s wife—emerged in the doorway, her tawny hair pinned in soft rollers around her head. She looked panicked at the appearance of a surprise visitor at this hour.

  “What is going on?” she asked, holding a frying pan and raising it up, ready to swing.

  “It’s fine, Ottie. Put the pan down, for God’s sake.”

  Lara repeated herself again, making no more sense than the first time.

  “I’m confused,” the man said. “What were you doing in that apartment?”

  “It’s my boyfriend’s place. His name is Rubin. He’s my son’s father. And I think he kidnapped him!”

  “Number 15?”

  “Yes!”

  “Sweetheart, you must be mistaken. Are you sure it’s 15?” the woman said. “That apartment has been empty for months. No one lives there.”

  Lara stared at them in horror.

  “But that can’t be true.” She took a step back. “Rubin told me he got the apartment last year. He said he knew the neighbors.”