The Imperfects

by Amy Meyerson

  “Let me just grab a few things.” He walked into their bedroom in a daze. He had no idea what he was putting into the duffel bag. Eventually it was full and he tossed it over his shoulder. In the living room, Kristi resumed her cross-legged position on the couch. The door was still open, revealing the courtyard below. She didn’t look up at him as he paused before walking out, waiting, hoping she’d engage.

  After he finishes his story, Beck is quiet for so long he wonders if the phone cut off.

  “Beck?”

  “I’m here.” Her tone is colder than he would have expected. Until that moment, he didn’t realize he was waiting for her to tell him he could fix this.

  “You’re always so focused on the what,” Beck finally says. “What you did wrong. What you could have done differently. What you can do now to fix it. What about the why? Why did you do it? Not just lying about getting fired or punching the guy. Why didn’t you think about the future? You knew Kristi was pregnant. Why didn’t that compel you to want to get your life together? It’s the why that matters, not the what.”

  Jake’s not sure he understands the difference.

  “Take our fight.” Jake holds his breath because he has no idea what his sister is going to say. “Sure, I was mad at you because your movie was the impetus for me getting kicked out of law school, but that was my fault. I got kicked out because of my mistakes, not yours. But it was easier to blame you. Plus, I was hurt that you took my experiences without my input or permission and used them for a laugh. Then you just expected us to be excited for you, to support you when you revealed our story to the world. I had to watch like all those other idiots in the theater.”

  “I didn’t consider that. I’m sorry, Beck. I really am.”

  “I know you are. But forgiveness is a process. You can’t force it. And you can’t control what forgiveness will look like when it happens. Kristi will forgive you. From everything you’ve told me about her, she’s not going to banish you from your child’s life. That doesn’t mean she’ll get back together with you, though. That’s her choice. For now, the best thing you can do is be okay in the in-between.”

  He isn’t clear on what she means—in between what?—but what he hears is persistence. He must not give up. On Beck. On Kristi. On Helen, either.

  “Please take me with you, Beck. I’m not running away. This isn’t me avoiding my problems. I want to come. I need to. I need to see Vienna and know where Helen came from.”

  He holds his breath, until finally she says, “Okay.”

  Such a small word—okay—tinged with resignation, like Beck was always going to say that he could come, regardless of whether she wanted him there. Yet Jake decides to hear hope in those four little letters: Okay, we’re done fighting. Okay, you can come to Vienna with us.

  Okay, I forgive you.

  Part Three

  Fifteen

  At the beginning of September, the Miller children meet at JFK to board an overnight flight to Vienna. Jake has already endured one red-eye and dreads another sleepless night. He didn’t tell Kristi he was leaving the country. Until his first plane from LA to New York ascended into the dark sky, it hadn’t occurred to him to let her know he was going away. He’ll be back in a week. She probably won’t notice he’s gone. As the plane leveled and the seat belt sign turned off, it hit him: they really were over.

  While the Millers wait for their flight to board, Beck receives a text from Viktor, telling her he’s found the maker’s mark.

  Lunch tomorrow? he writes.

  Can’t, en route to Vienna. Okay if my mom stops by instead?

  The dots of Viktor’s side of the exchange thrum until eventually he responds, Sure.

  Great! Beck internally apologizes for subjecting Viktor to Deborah.

  The flight attendant announces that they’ll begin boarding in five minutes, and Beck sneaks away to call her mother.

  “Please don’t embarrass me,” Beck cautions after Deborah agrees to meet with Viktor.

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t read his tarot cards?”

  “Mom—”

  “Really, what do you take me for?”

  Ashley finds Beck pacing the walkway near their gate and motions to her that their group is boarding.

  “I’ll send you instructions on what to ask him. And email me the second you’re finished talking to him.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Deborah says, clearly amused.

  As they wait in line to board the plane, Beck emails Deborah a list of questions to ask, topics to avoid including acupuncture and the afterlife. Don’t make me regret this, Beck writes, then erases. She’s not trying to be cruel. Besides, telling Deborah to behave is the surest guarantee that she won’t.

  Ashley and Beck sit in the aisle and window in front of Jake and Christian. After the dinner course, the flight attendants turn off the lights and the passengers around Jake settle in for a few hours of sleep. Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees Kristi and is reminded that she doesn’t know where he is, that it’s really over. A piece of Beck’s dyed black hair falls behind the headrest, and Jake rubs it between his fingers, gently so it won’t wake her. It’s brittle from years of dye, like a horse’s mane. Kristi’s hair is equally black, naturally so, silky and smooth. He took her hair for granted, its softness. It can’t be over. Beck was never going to forgive him, yet here he is, on a plane with her to Vienna. Kristi will forgive him, too. She has to. He’ll do whatever it takes.

  Beck feels her hair fall from Christian’s fingers. At least, she assumes it’s Christian, playing with her hair. It’s surprising that he would reach out so blatantly, given that on each of their four dates he’d flirted intensely without placing a finger on her. At the airport, though, he found all sorts of reasons to make physical contact. A nudge in line as he asked how they were divvying up the rooms. A hand on her back when it was her turn to order at the terminal restaurant, again when he let her step ahead of him onto the plane. An arm squeeze when he’d said he’d try calling Peter Winkler when they arrive in Vienna. “He may be one of those people who doesn’t use email. If you’d emailed me instead of called, we might not be here today,” Christian said with a wink. She still hasn’t decided if she wants anything to happen with him. She’s not ready to open up to someone, not that that’s what Christian is offering, necessarily. He’s too young, for one thing. Too carefree, for another. When he lets go of her hair, she wonders why either of those things matters.

  Ashley jolts awake. She’s surprised she fell asleep so effortlessly, but she’s thousands of feet above Ryan, soon to be thousands of miles away, too. The children hadn’t hesitated when Ashley asked them if they’d like to spend a week with Deborah. It’s funny how the qualities that made Deborah a terrible mother make her an equally special grandmother. Maybe the same was true of Helen.

  Beck tries to sleep beside her. In her sister’s pursed mouth, her clenched eyelids, Ashley can see that sleep evades her. Ashley reaches out and laces her fingers through Beck’s. Beck opens her eyes and smiles at her sister. Ashley doesn’t know what awaits them in Vienna. The redheaded nurse might not be their grandmother. Even if she is, Peter Winkler still hasn’t responded to Beck’s emails. If Beck or Christian is able to reach him once they’re in Austria, his father’s collection of Habsburg keepsakes might not include evidence that the emperor gifted Flora the diamond or any other phantom puzzle pieces that prove the diamond is theirs. Still, they will be in Vienna where Helen grew up, where she lost her family. Ashley understands that’s the real reason for this trip. They will walk the streets Flora and Helen walked and will become more connected to them.

  * * *

  The Millers’ flight lands too early to check into their hotel, too early to visit the archives, too early for anything except sleep. In the cool early-morning hours, they lumber around the Innere Stadt, Vienna’s central district, until they can finally check in at te
n. Once in their hotel room, the Millers lay awake, Beck and Ashley in one queen bed, Jake in the other. Despite the jet lag and time difference, their bodies are too animated for slumber, their minds too plagued by home, now very far away. Jake imagines telling Kristi about his first glimpses of Vienna cast in golden light. All the buildings in Vienna are large and varying shades of white. It makes the whole city feel timeless, even though most of the stores sell designer clothing and modern luxury goods. Still, the cleanliness of the city is romantic. If Kristi forgives him, he will bring her to Vienna and together they will discover his homeland.

  Keenly aware that none of them is sleeping, Jake finally asks, “Do you think we’ll find her?”

  “Yes,” Beck says too confidently. “There has to be a file for Flora in the archives.”

  The room returns to silence. Jake and Ashley commune telepathically, worried about Beck. Troubled by her certainty.

  Like most buildings in Vienna, the Haus-, Hof-und Staatarchiv branch of the Austrian State archives is massive and off-white, impressively regal. Inside, the collection for the Imperial House and Court is equally massive, comprised of centuries of records. In the dark lobby, the Millers stand beside Christian as he and the archivist speak in hushed voices.

  “Flora Auerbach’s her married name, right? Do you know if she was married when she worked at the court? If not, what was her maiden name?” Christian asks the Millers.

  “Her married name was Auerbach. I couldn’t find her marriage license online, so I don’t know when she married, what her maiden name was,” Ashley tells him.

  “How many Floras could there have been in the court in 1918?” Beck poses, noticing a tweak of frustration as Christian returns his attention to the archivist. They continue to speak back and forth, until eventually the archivist waves them along, past a statue of a woman in a voluminous dress, upstairs into the archives. Christian does a little dance routine as he skips up the stairs. Ashley glances over at Beck, who shrugs, feeling herself blush.

  “We’re going to have to look through all the die Kammer files,” Christian says. “Even if she did work at the palace, her file might not be here. Apparently, at the end of the empire, a lot of files that didn’t seem important were thrown away.”

  “The file for the nurse who saved the crown prince and the other royal children wouldn’t have been considered important?” Beck asks.

  Christian shrugs. “It wasn’t a monarchy anymore.”

  “She’ll be here,” Beck insists. Jake and Ashley flash each other a look but say nothing.

  When the archivist brings them the first batch of files, the Millers find so many more positions in the court than they could have imagined: guards and doorkeepers, valets, gun chargers, dresser maids, timekeepers. Instead of being organized by emperor, the employee files are organized alphabetically—papers for Franz Joseph and Sisi’s employees, for Ferdinand’s, beside Karl and Zita’s. Christian has written down a few key words for them: kinderfrau, kinderpflegerin, kindermädchen, kinder-stubenmädchen, the various nurses and nannies that took care of the children. After all, Flora may have been a pet name; it may not have been written in her file. Best to check all the files for Karl’s children’s staff.

  Christian hums as he works, singing softly to himself as he flips through the pages.

  Ashley squeals when she spots kinderfrau in a file, but the nanny, Anna, was caregiver to Franz Joseph’s four children, not Karl’s.

  “This is hopeless,” Beck says.

  “We just started.” Ashley closes the file and reaches for another.

  “Two hours and all we’ve found is one nurse, sixty years too early.”

  “That’s how research goes,” Jake reminds her.

  “Is that your expert opinion?” Of course he is right. Archival research is like panning for gold, but she doesn’t want to hear this from Jake, who has likely never been in an archive before. Beck peers over at Christian, embarrassed that she’s lashed out at her brother in front of him, but he smiles at her, seemingly oblivious to her tone. “I’m just frustrated,” she says to Jake.

  “We all are.” Jake stands. “Let’s take a break. I’m famished.”

  They follow Jake to a nearby pub. Along the walk, Christian continues to nudge Beck, to graze her arm, to do a little hop-step to get her to laugh. Beck nudges him back when he stumbles on an uneven stone, telling him to watch where he’s walking, keenly aware that Ashley is monitoring their interactions.

  The bar Jake selects is dark and smoky, but the back room is nonsmoking, bright with lace tablecloths and red booths. They file into a booth, and Jake orders a bier for everyone, one of the few German words he knows. Beck can hear the soft pop of Christian’s jaw as he chews his Wiener schnitzel. Beck doesn’t eat veal and orders chicken, smothered in paprika sauce.

  She drops her fork to her plate where it clangs against the ceramic. “I can’t believe I listened to Deborah. This is insane. A redheaded nurse?”

  Ashley and Jake eye each other in a way that has become routine. It’s a key moment that could go one of two ways: they can bond over blaming Deborah, or they can fight. This isn’t Deborah’s fault. Beck persuaded her law firm to send her here. Even if Deborah planted the seed, Beck had watered it and allowed it to flourish. Her siblings let Beck’s comment linger as they finish their Wiener schnitzel. Christian continues to eat, unfazed, singing one of his little ditties. Ashley doesn’t know if it’s a real song or one he makes up on the spot.

  After lunch, they start to walk toward the archive, past long buildings that are all the same height, five or six stories. Stone with careful detail. Their uniformity unnerves Beck, despite their beauty; she isn’t sure why.

  “I think we should call it quits for today,” Beck says.

  Christian checks his watch. “The archive’s open for another ninety minutes.”

  When Beck starts to speak, no words come out. How can she explain that, while it was her idea to bring them to Vienna, suddenly the prospect of digging through records feels like a waste of time. There are simply too many files for them to sift through. They could have a year and they still might not locate Flora’s file, if it’s there, if it wasn’t thrown out one hundred years ago, if Flora was even the redheaded nurse. Besides, they are in the city where Helen grew up, where her mother taught her to sew, where her brother took her to cafés to watch the men play chess and debate, where her father brought her to the opera. They should be visiting the opera house, the Danube, the Ferris wheel. They shouldn’t be wasting their few days in Vienna in the archives where the prospects of finding a file on Flora are so slim.

  “Maybe you can finish off the afternoon without us?” Ashley suggests.

  “I can,” Christian says. “But it’ll decrease our chances of finding anything.”

  “What if you hire a couple of the archivists? They’ll be more productive than we are,” Jake adds, looking to Beck for confirmation.

  “I think the firm would pay for that,” Beck agrees.

  Christian shrugs. It isn’t really up to him, and Jake spots relief on his face. Christian waves goodbye as he plods toward Herrengasse.

  “Strange man you’ve found,” Ashley tells her sister. “Oh, my God, you’re blushing.”

  Beck’s cheeks are indeed warm. She likes Christian’s strangeness, the way he’s unimposing, the way he skips instead of walks, the way he’s always singing. She likes that he didn’t get awkward when she snapped at her siblings. She’s finding she likes all sorts of things about him.

  “So.” Ashley weaves her arms through her siblings. “Where are we headed?”

  “I have an idea.” Beck whips out her phone and looks up directions to the Israelitische Kultusgemeinde Wein, where the Goldsteins borrowed a spare office to hold interviews with hundreds of children and their parents to fill the fifty visas.

  The Millers walk toward the river unti
l they reach the building, set back on a cobblestone street that’s chained off from cars. They stare at the gold Hebrew letters above the door, characters they cannot read. In this building, Flora had convinced the Goldsteins to take Helen abroad.

  Ashley digs into her purse for her phone and finds a copy of the black-and-white photograph from My Grandmother and the 49 Children, where the line of families snakes this very building. The windows are different, as are the signs above distinct wooden doors. In the photo, the sign is in German, equally indecipherable to Jake as the Hebrew today. Nazi officers inspect the families’ documentation, their faces hidden in shadow. Helen is not in this photograph, or if she is, Jake can’t locate her.

  “Why do you think the Goldsteins chose her?” Jake asks his sisters. Helen was older than the other forty-nine children. Why, out of hundreds of Viennese Jewish children, did she stand out as a candidate for a good American?

  “Why did they choose any of them?” Beck poses.

  No one responds. They’ve read that the Goldsteins chose families they believed had a greater chance of reuniting, but beyond that it must have been arbitrary. Maybe Mrs. Goldstein liked Helen’s smile or her dress. Maybe she wanted an older girl and saw something nurturing in Helen. All the Millers know is that here, in this building, whatever their reasons, the Goldsteins had selected their grandmother and brought her to America.

  * * *

  The next morning at breakfast, there’s no discussion of the Millers joining Christian at the archives. With a flourish, Christian butters his bread and asks Beck, “Shall I hire two more archivists for the day?”