We embraced one last time before I left the bathroom. Mayim closed the door behind me. I heard the bath shut off, and then the wireless, and then finally, the light seeping beneath the bathroom door was gone too. It felt as if she’d disappeared in an instant, or I’d imagined her.
Adele’s tea was still steaming by the time I returned to the kitchen. A bottle of her heart medication was on the table next to it, full to the brim with little white tablets.
“Ah, there’s your medication,” I said lightly, even as I wiped the tears from my face. “Thank you,” I mouthed. Adele shook her head, as if to say, Don’t mention it. She pointed to the notepad in front of her.
If anything happens, there is a letter for you buried in the jar of sweets.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Adele pressed a finger over her lips, then pointed toward the back door, stubbornness in her eyes. “I’m better now and your children are in that house alone.”
I bent and, for the first time in all those years I had known her, kissed her cheek. She caught me as I moved to straighten, held me close for just a heartbeat, and then I felt her lips against my cheek. Up close, I could see a purple tinge to her lips and her eyelids seemed heavy, as if she were struggling to keep them open. Her breathing scared me most. It was ragged, as if every breath were an effort, not a relief. I was gripped by a sudden, terrible fear.
“Oma,” I whispered. “Why don’t you come home with me?”
“I’m needed here. I’ll be fine,” she whispered dismissively. Then she straightened and, for the benefit of an audience that may or may not have even been listening, added loudly, “Thank you for coming over to help me.”
I had just slipped back beneath the covers of my bed with Georg and Gisela when the roar of an engine sounded. A car door opened, and there was a brief moment of silence before I heard shouting outside my villa.
I sprang out of bed, rushing toward the window to crack it open just a little. The icy air rushed in, and so did the sound of the Gestapo at Adele’s front door.
“Open the door, Mrs. Rheinberg!”
How much could she bear?
“Have you got the wrong house, young man?” Adele called from her bedroom window. She sounded stubborn, irritated…and weak. “This is Adele Rheinberg. Mrs. Adele Rheinberg. I am eighty-six years old. Do you really have business waking up an eighty-six-year-old woman in the middle of the night?”
“You’ll need to let us in, Mrs. Rheinberg!”
There was a long pause.
“No,” Adele called back, almost thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think I will.”
Cursing, I ran down the stairs, pulled on a coat, and stepped outside my front door. I made it to the hedge before Dietger came running toward me.
“Sofie, go back inside,” he hissed, pointing to my door. “This isn’t about you.”
“What’s happening with Adele?” I demanded. “She’s an old woman, Dietger! They have no business with her. Please go find out what’s wrong.”
“We need to let this play out, Sofie.” He sighed, shaking his head as he glanced toward her house. He dropped his voice, then admitted, “I don’t even know why they’re here. I didn’t call them.”
“This is your last warning, Mrs. Rheinberg,” someone shouted.
If Adele answered this time, I couldn’t hear her. I took a step past Dietger, out onto the sidewalk, just in time to see Adele’s front door open. It wasn’t her on the other side, but the woman from the studio apartment on the ground floor, looking bewildered and disheveled as the large contingent of Gestapo filed past her. My panic clawed at my throat and left me flushing hot. I took a step toward her house.
“Sofie,” Dietger said. He was much closer than I’d realized, and his voice was low. “Go home. Please. Let them handle this.”
“But she’s a little old lady,” I said, and only then did I realize that I was sobbing, and my feet were so cold they were burning. I looked down and realized I was barefoot, standing in the light dusting of snow. I sobbed again and looked at Dietger—the closest thing I could find to a friendly face on that dark street. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Perhaps she’s suspected of disloyalty to the Reich?” Even he sounded unconvinced. I took another step toward the house. This time, Dietger’s hand caught my elbow. He gripped it firmly.
“Sofie, please,” he said flatly. Then he dropped his voice. “I have to report any suspicious activity and even a hint of suspicious activity from you. Putting yourself right in the middle of a Gestapo operation is the very definition of suspicious activity.” He tugged me toward my own house. “Go back inside, Sofie. Go inside. Please. You can’t help her.”