A loud engine sound shook the walls. Jack and Grace were watching a cartoon in Audra’s bedroom. Days ago, the TV in the living room had fallen into a coma, as if a plague were spreading among the appliances.
“Jack, will you turn that down?” Audra called out.
Grace yelled back, “We’re looking for the remote! Oh—there it is! We found it!”
The volume dropped to a human decibel level.
“Wow,” Tess said. “Back in our day, we actually had to stand up and walk three whole feet to adjust the television.”
Audra typically would have laughed, but her bundled thoughts smothered the sound. At the core of those thoughts was pure, unspeakable worry.
She finished packing the sandwiches and grapes before realizing that Tess had gone silent, a rare occurrence unless an issue was troubling her. Maybe she had an opinion she was afraid to voice. Maybe, upon review, Russ had predicted an unfavorable outcome.
“Tess, please tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing.” She smiled. “My mind just veered off.”
“No, really. I want to know.”
Tess fiddled with the handle of her mug and said, “Honestly? I was thinking of Tiger Woods.”
Audra blinked. “You were ... thinking about golf?”
“I just remembered a story about him. Apparently when he was a baby, his parents used to turn on the Golf Channel and he’d instantly stop crying. He could watch the sport for hours. So, it got me wondering if Tiger’s fascination was left over from a past life. Like those kid prodigies who were on Oprah. Their feet couldn’t even reach the piano pedals, but there they were, playing insanely advanced pieces from Bach and Beethoven.”
Oprah. The defining show of Audra’s life.
While she appreciated the input, few judges would be that broad-minded. “On the other hand, maybe their parents made them practice every waking minute since the day they were born.” She wiped the counter with a paper towel as Tess mulled the argument.
“Yeah. Probably. All I’m saying is, now that I think about it, I can see lots of evidence from kids who might have held on to things from a past life.”
Evidence implied proof. Proof suggested fact.
This wasn’t fact, only debatable interpretation.
“As I told your husband, I’m not saying I actually believe in any of this. What I care about is getting to the bottom of what’s causing Jack’s issues.”
Tess offered a smile. “Sure. I understand.” She went to add something, but then sipped her drink instead.
Audra wadded the paper into a ball, again unsettled. “What is it?”
Tess sighed as though to downplay the point. “I just wish you had told me earlier. I could have helped out if I’d known, with Hector and your job ...”
“What do you mean?” Audra said. “You’ve been great. Tess, you’re the one who set me up with the interview in Boston.” Examples even relating to the case sprang to mind. “You also hooked me up with Russ. And when I told you about Jack’s drawings and nightmares, you were a huge help.”
“If you say so.”
There was more than regret adding an edge to Tess’s voice; it was a question of trust. She didn’t think Audra trusted her enough to confide in her. But that wasn’t the case.
“Okay, fine. You really want to know why I waited?”
“Yes,” Tess said. “I do.”
“Because you’re a superwoman.”
Tess gazed back at her, surprised.
“Somehow you find a way to manage the clinic and your clients, run your kids to lessons and games, plus volunteer for every school activity that exists—and all without breaking a sweat. I have no doubt, at your husband’s work events you’d even be voted The Perfect Hostess. So please understand, that’s the reason I wasn’t super eager to tell you how much I’m screwing up when I only have a fraction of that list.”
There. Audra had finally said it.
Yet it was a decision she wished she could reverse as a slow grin overtook Tess’s face. This wasn’t the kind of support Audra was hoping for.
“Sweetie, not everything is how it appears.” Tess folded her arms and lowered her chin. “For your information, Grace’s gymnastics coach hates me for no apparent reason, but since Grace loves her, we stick around. Last week, at the equestrian center, I stepped in a fresh pile of grade-A horse poop. In open-toed shoes. Cleaning them off caused us to run late for gymnastics class, which made the coach an even bigger fan of mine. Shall I continue?”
The appropriate answer would be no. But Audra found herself nodding.
“Let’s see,” Tess said. “Oh, yeah. I hate those stuffy legal dinners, almost as much as attending PTA meetings. Trust me, you don’t know misery until you’ve sat through two hours—seriously, two hours—of women arguing over the shape and color of confetti we should sprinkle at a fifth-grade graduation picnic.”
Audra fought off a grin.
“Feel any better?”
Audra couldn’t deny that she did. “Why on earth haven’t you ever said any of this before?”
“I don’t know. I suppose, with everything you’ve been through, I felt like my problems were nothing to whine about.”
Ironically, even selfishly, Audra had found that hearing other people’s hardships could be somewhat therapeutic. “In the future, please don’t hold back.”
Tess lifted her mug, as if to seal the pledge with an invisible clink. “Deal,” she said, and gulped down the rest. “Now, what do you say we all go to the park? That way we can show off our awful parenting skills in public.”
Audra laughed. “Perfect.”
Rounding up the kids took the same effort as herding a litter of cats. Audra and Tess alternated orders like two sergeants sharing a post.
Put your shoes on. Go to the bathroom; try to go anyway. Yes, I’ve got bread for the ducks. Did you wash your hands? No, you can’t go without socks. Because I don It want to hear complaints about a blister. I thought I told you to wash your hands.
A century later, they were all heading toward the door. Grace, her light hair in double braids, trotted over the threshold. Jack had retrieved his scooter from the laundry room. He was walking it out, wearing shorts and a long-sleeved Timbers shirt. It had been over a year since Audra had encouraged him to ride. He insisted he could steer just fine with his cast. Though with reservations, she agreed.
“Jack, wait,” Audra said. “You forgot your helmet.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, anxious to go.
Tess piped in, “But your brain won’t be if it rams the pavement.”
“Exactly my point.” Audra smiled. “You guys go on out. I’ll grab it for him.”
Tess ushered them onward, hugging a grocery bag of their picnic food, as Audra went to Jack’s room. The place looked like a hurricane had hit. Pajamas and toys were strewn on the floor. The covers on his bed were half off and twisted. Her request that he tidy before company arrived had clearly gone unheeded.
Oddly enough, she didn’t mind all that much. It was nice to see him act like a typical boy.
The inside of the closet wasn’t much better. It took serious scrounging to locate the helmet, streaked in blue and yellow, amid his old cleats and shin guards.
Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to see if he wanted to play soccer again—at some point. Once his arm healed.
They would try the scooter first.
She closed the closet and her sandal landed on something sticky. Dabs of glue were adhering paper scraps to the carpet. “Jack,” she grumbled.
She cleaned up the pieces, evidently from a school project, and threw them away before they could dry. After washing her hands, she hurried outside with the helmet. She was locking the door when she heard somebody speaking to Tess.
Audra followed the concrete walkway around a heap of overgrown bushes and discovered a guy crouched down beside Jack.
“Oh, there she is!” Tess said. “Audra, we just r
an into your friend.”
The man stood up with a smile that halted her steps.
Sean Malloy.
“Hey,” he said. He wore faded jeans and a black cotton shirt, just snug enough to highlight the broadness of his chest and shoulders. His face was clean-shaven, but his hair, while not disheveled like before, still had a relaxed, finger-brushed style.
“What’re you doing here?” That hadn’t come out right. “I mean, I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“I was just running errands in the area.” He slid his hands into his front pockets. “Sorry. Guess I’ve been making a habit of showing up unannounced.”
“No, it’s okay. I did too. Or—have, anyway. Made a habit.” That wasn’t right either; a habit required more than her single house call. “If I were to visit you again. At your aunt’s house, that is. Without warning.”
Too bad Jack’s helmet was too small to crawl into. She pictured her tongue as knotted as a leash.
“Actually,” Tess said, saving her, “we were all out here, trying to adjust the scooter. And—” She turned. “It’s ‘Sean,’ right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Well, Sean was kind enough to help us raise the handlebar. Apparently he and Jack had already met.” Tess gave her a discreet look that not only acknowledged Sean’s identity as “the soldier” but also demanded to know why his physical description had been omitted.
“Mom, can we go?” Jack posed a sneaker-clad foot on the scooter, ready to push.
Grace was swinging the bag of bread heels around like a lasso. “Yeah, I wanna feed the baby ducks.”
Tess widened her eyes at Audra, nudging an invite for the unplanned guest.
Clumsily, Audra asked him, “Would you want to? Join us?”
Sean perked at first but shook his head. “I’d hate to intrude.” He picked up a manila envelope on the ground beside him. “Why don’t I leave my number so we can talk . . . about things, when it’s a better time?”
He seemed to choose his words carefully, with no offer to leave the packet. Over the past several days, perhaps he’d unearthed information best delivered in person.
“Shoot, you know what?” Tess interjected. “I just remembered, I need to swing by the dry cleaner before they close.”
At only one in the afternoon, the excuse couldn’t have been more transparent.
“Are you sure?” Audra asked, an auto reply.
“Yeah. Cooper’s got a game later, so we actually need to be back for that too. You all go to the park though. Grace and I will join next time.”
“But Mom,” her daughter protested. Her bread bag now hung limply at her side.
“Sorry, Gracie. If you hurry and get in the car, I’ll swing through Dairy Queen on the way home.”
That one did the trick. Duck feeding was nice, but sundaes were a gold mine. With the power and speed of an F-4 tornado, they handed off the food bags and jetted away, leaving the group behind like a pile of debris.
38
“Well, look who’s here,” Luanne announced, alerting Vivian of their unexpected company.
In the hallway, Gene strode over to where they stood, just outside the switchboard room.
“Gene,” Vivian said. “What a surprise.”
“Are you joining us for lunch?” Luanne asked.
“Sorry, Lu. Another day.” He turned to Vivian. “Could we go somewhere and talk?” With his officer’s hat in his hand, there was no shielding the grimness in his eyes. “I won’t keep you long.”
“Yes, of course,” Vivian said, and told herself not to read into his words.
“I’ll save you a seat,” Luanne said to her, then bid good-bye to her brother and continued toward the civilian mess hall. Her expression gave away nothing.
Gene gestured for Vivian to go first. She led him outside, focusing on her steps, navigating the minefield that had formed around her. The torture of waiting for the blast could not be worse than enduring its aftermath.
Two doors down, with a tally of fewer words, Gene guided her to the backside of a building. A handful of enlisted men were indulging in a smoke break. One of the privates glanced over. At the recognition of Gene’s rank and towering build, he pitched his cigarette and snapped to attention. The others followed, a few of them striking salutes, bodies straight as rods.
“You boys clear out,” Gene growled. It was a voice Vivian didn’t recognize.
“Yes, sirs” overlapped as the guys scampered away like mice. Smoke lingered in their wake.
Gene hitched his hands on his hips. His gaze settled on Vivian. “I need to talk to you,” he said, “about the friends you’re trying to help.”
She nodded, not missing the way his tone dropped on the word friends.
“Are you sure ...” He paused, started again. “Are you sure the names you gave me were right?”
At the unforeseen question, she stared for a moment, reshaping her focus. “I believe so.” The list of names. From Isaak. She had copied them directly. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain they were.”
“The reason I ask is, I did some checking. Turns out, these people were already in the files.”
She would have taken this for a promising update, a prerequisite to a swift solution, if not for his demeanor.
“Sweetheart, your friends probably seemed like real nice folks. But they’re not the sort you ought to worry about.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
He appeared to be weighing how much to confide. “Vivian,” he said, “they’re all Nazis.”
She shook her head, correcting him. “No. I told you-”
“They’re officially registered as members of the Party. Not just that. They’re devout, active members. One of the daughters, the older girl-Gertrud-she was even in the Lebensborn program. That’s when they send them to a special maternity house. It’s for birthing pure, Aryan babies.”
“Gene, no. That can’t be right.”
All of this was absurd. There had to be an explanation.
She raked her mind for possibilities. Quickly she realized: “It’s the names. The names I gave you, they must be the same as another family’s.” For all she knew, the surname of Hemel could be the German equivalent of Jones.
“It’s them, Vivi.”
“It can’t be. There’s just a mix-up.”
“No. There isn’t.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded. He should at least consider it. Only God Himself could possess such certainty.
“Because all five of the names matched. Two I could see as a coincidence. On an off-chance, maybe three. But not all five.”
To this she had no answer.
“Also, you were right about the man in the family, about him running a paper. One of the issues he’d printed came in from Europe with a batch of intelligence, some propaganda. It’s probably what first put them on the radar. I brought a picture for you. It’s all I could manage.” From a shirt pocket he unfolded a photo slightly larger than his hand. He presented it as one would evidence in a trial. “See for yourself.”
She rushed to accept, propelled by the scantest hope that all of this was in error. Due to the size of the image, most of the newsprint was too small to read, but the headlines appeared to be in German. Confirming this was a pair of symbols that flanked the title of the publication; they were solid black swastikas.
Instinctively she moved her thumb from the marks. With how easily they seared her thoughts they should have been in red: blaring and molten.
“Back in the files,” he continued, “there were some translations of the articles. Mostly praising Hitler, exaggerating German victories. But some pretty hateful stuff too, condemning Jews and whatnot. One of the worst pieces I saw was actually written by the publisher’s own nephew.”
Her throat quivered at the mention, at the idea of who that might be. There were only nieces on Isaak’s list. It took everything in Vivian to keep her voice steady. “Who is the nephew?”
“Hi
s name was Jakob. Jakob Hemel.”
A tiny part of her relaxed. “I hadn’t heard of him,” she admitted as Gene tucked the photo into his pocket.
“His mother’s one of the people you know, from your list.” He provided this as if merely to jog her memory. “Anyway, his father served as a pilot for Germany in the Great War. As it so happens, you and his son might have passed each other on the street.”
She shook her head, not following.
“In London. He went to the university there-paid for, incidentally, by a Nazi war profiteer. This nephew, Jakob, majored in journalism. Probably so his anti-Semitic articles would actually sound intelligent.” Gene laughed at this without humor. “And the best part? The creep was born in America, if you can believe it.”
The university.
Journalism.
An American.
In her mind, the pieces intertwined like the wires of a switchboard. They sparked and buzzed on the verge of an overload. Through the din, a single word emerged.
Lies.
The lies she was told. The lies she believed. Those for which she had given every part of herself.
Even now, by hiding her knowledge of Isaak in New York-or whoever the man really was-she was committing treason against her own country. She was jeopardizing her future and that of her parents too. Not to mention the scandal and suspicions that could befall Gene and Luanne.
And what of the conspiracy, the alleged espionage? If there were indeed other agents, they might have already arrived. Maybe it had always been a solo mission. Either way, there must have been reasons for involving her, a true purpose to moving Isaak’s family. Assuming that was ever the goal.
“Point is,” Gene went on, “you’d be wise to forget all about these people. Clearly they’re nothing but trouble.”
Vivian looked up at him and he paused. His expression softened. Tenderly he squeezed her hand. “Sorry, Vivi. Probably said too much.” He had switched from informational to personal. “I know it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”
“No. Please,” she said. “Don’t be sorry. You did the right thing.” Which was much more than she could say for herself. If anyone should apologize, it was she, for believing there was ever a choice to be made between the two men.
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