43. Emilie

FORTY-THREE

Dachau, Germany

Millions are already dead in Europe. A funeral is no such thing today, not even a service. My parents and Otto’s are downstairs, mourning, grieving, sitting silently and staring at a wall. I’m still staring at a wall with a bronze-emblazoned frame embracing the Monet painting I’ve always loved. If I loved it so much, why would I have hung it in a room we hardly used?

Otto thought it looked like it belonged in his grandmother’s house. He called it outdated. I call it a visual escape. I wish I was sitting in a field of flowers, water lapping over lily pads, frogs chirping, birds singing, but instead I’m here, wondering what I should have done differently—not just now, but a decade ago. If I’d made different choices, how would life look now?

I’ll forever be known as the widow of a man who took his life. People will speculate and judge me; assume I wasn’t enough—think the worst of me. As they should.Gerty is beside me, combing her fingers through my hair, hair that has gone unwashed for days. She’s been here two days, arriving the day after Otto passed. She hasn’t left my side since. We’ve been sleeping in my guest room, so I don’t have to be in the same spot I watched Otto die. She’s been reading me mindless magazine articles and telling me stories about her son who’s growing up so fast.

“Your stomach is growling so loudly, it’s beginning to make me think there’s a monster living inside of you,” she says. “Please, will you eat something?”

There’s a monster living inside of me. That’s why Otto didn’t want to share a life with me anymore.

“I’m not hungry,” I tell her.

“Do you remember that time you had influenza and you were in bed for over a week, refusing to drink even a sip of water?” Gerty says, swinging her feet off the side of the bed.

“No,” I say. I do remember, but I don’t want to think about it.

“Well, I do. It took your mama and me an hour to trick you into having three spoonfuls of soup. You’re as stubborn as they get. Still are, I guess,” she says, forcing a small smile. “But I love you, so I won’t give up. And I’ll force-feed you if I must. I’ll sit on you and?—”

“I know. I know. That’s why I had those three bites earlier. I didn’t want you to sit on me,” I reply.

“I’ll be right back. I’m getting more. Don’t run away.”

I’ve only moved to use the bathroom so far. The thought of running or walking farther than across the hall is not something I’m considering. Gerty’s bare feet clap against the steps as she makes her way downstairs and I turn my stare toward the window, the sunlight casting a faint glow against the corner, and a slice of the blue sky I can see above the tree line.

Why, Otto? Why did you do this?

How many last breaths have been taken in this town since I arrived here? Ones not by choice? And yet, Otto made the decision to take his last breath here, and from what only I know is guilt. My words, my recollections and retellings are just that—a story people can choose to believe or not believe.

“I’ve brought pastries,” I hear from downstairs. Dietrich’s voice echoes up the stairwell, making me snarl. Maybe if I start locking the door…I can keep him away. Our working arrangement is only tolerable because I never have to see him. “Where is Emilie?”

I can’t bear the thought of looking at his face. He wasn’t here when Otto passed away, but he assured me there was nothing to concern myself over. He might have been right about whatever virus or illness Otto was fighting, but he wasn’t right that there was nothing to worry about.

His heavy footsteps march up the stairs and he takes the corner into the guest room, a brown bag of pastries in his hand. “You must be hungry, dear.”

“I’m not hungry,” I tell him.

Dietrich pulls up a chair, facing me from the other side of the empty bed, whispering my words to himself.

“Emilie,” he says with a sigh. “If you had a secret—one that could destroy your life if shared, what would you do to protect it?” I’m not sure what he’s alluding to, but I can only assume it has something to do with our secret about me authoring his papers in exchange for keeping Danner alive. “I don’t need you to answer because I already know. You don’t tell anyone your secret. You’ve been a trustworthy woman, and trustworthy women are hard to come by these days.”

“What is your point?” I mutter.

“Your point?” he repeats. “Nothing. In fact, I’m quite grateful for the clandestine relationship we’ve kept regarding—you know what…”

“Then why are you here?”

He mouths my words before answering. “Well, I thought it would only be right to let you know that I plan to hold up my end of our agreement still. However, your parents have made it clear that they would like to take you back home with them.”

They haven’t said a word to me about this plan. They didn’t ask. “No, I’m not leaving. I have to—I’m just…not ready to leave—my life with Otto behind. I can’t…I’ll just keep delivering your papers,” I say.

I’ve already destroyed one life, and Danner is still depending on me, despite everything else that’s happened.

He taps the toes of his polished shoes on the ground, staring at them for a long moment.“Keep delivering papers…,” he says with a sigh. “No. To be honest, I’m not sure how much more work I’ll have for you.”

“Why?” I ask breathlessly, knowing my bargaining chip is growing weaker by the minute and I’m practically begging this awful man to allow me to keep doing his dirty work.

“Why? It’s nothing you need brood over right now. For the moment, we’ll continue on, business as usual.”