“You have a daughter?”
I nod. “Annie. She’s twelve.”
Jacob reaches for my hand and looks into my eyes. “And your mother or father? The child Rose had? Was the child a boy or a girl?”
It hits me for the first time how tragic it is that my mother died before meeting Jacob, probably without even knowing that he existed. It breaks my heart to realize that Jacob, in turn, will never see the child he lost everything to save.
“A girl,” I say softly. “Josephine.”
The child of Jacob, who had to be saved in order to carry on. I think back to the sign at the church off I-95, and I shudder. The truth was there all along.
“Josephine,” Jacob repeats slowly.
“She died two years ago,” I add after a moment. “Of breast cancer. I’m so sorry.”
Jacob makes a sound like a wounded animal and hunches forward a little, as if something invisible has punched him in the gut. “Oh dear,” he murmurs after a moment, straightening up again. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
My eyes fill. “I am so sorry for yours,” I say. “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am.” The seventy years lost. The fact that he never got to meet his child. The fact that until this moment, he hadn’t even known she’d lived.
Gavin pulls up then and hops out of the car. We exchange looks as we help Jacob into the backseat. I climb in beside Gavin, and after checking his mirrors, he pulls quickly away from the curb.
“We’re going to get you back to the Cape as soon as possible, sir,” Gavin says, glancing in the rearview at Jacob, who looks up to meet his eye.
“Thank you, young man,” Jacob says. “And who are you, exactly?”
I laugh then, a release of tension, as I realize I haven’t even introduced Gavin. I do so quickly, explaining how he was the one who set all of this in motion in the first place and helped me find Jacob today.
“Thank you, Gavin, for everything,” Jacob says after I finish explaining. “You are Hope’s husband?”
Gavin and I exchange awkward looks, and I can feel myself blushing. “Um, no sir,” I say. “Just a good friend.” I glance back at Gavin, but he’s staring straight ahead, focusing on the road.
We ride in silence until we’ve made our way up the West Side Highway, through the north side of Harlem on I-95, and across the bridge to the mainland.
“Can I ask you something, Mr. Levy?” I ask, turning around.
“Please, call me Jacob,” he says. “Or, of course, you may also call me Grandfather. But it is likely too soon for that.”
I swallow hard. I ache for the man I spent a lifetime calling Grandpa. I wish I’d known the truth while he was still alive. I wish I could have thanked him for whatever it was he did to save my grandmother and my mother. I wish I’d understood earlier how much he had probably lost in the process.
“Jacob,” I say after a pause. “What happened in France? During the war? My grandmother has never spoken of any of this; we didn’t know until just a few weeks ago that she was even Jewish.”
Jacob looks startled. “How is this possible? What did you believe?”
“When she came over from France,” I tell him, “she came under the name Rose Durand. For my entire life, she’s gone to Catholic church.”
“Mon Dieu,” Jacob murmurs.
“I never knew about what happened to her in the Holocaust,” I continue. “About her family. About you. She kept it all a secret, until a few weeks ago, when she gave me a list of names and asked me to go to Paris.”
I tell him briefly about my visit to Paris, about finding Alain, about bringing him back with me. His eyes light up.
“Alain is here?” he asks. “In the United States?”
I nod. “He’s probably with my grandmother right now.” It occurs to me that I need to call him and Annie, that I need to tell them we’ve found Jacob. But for now, I’m desperate to hear his story. “Please, can you tell us what happened? There’s so much I don’t know.”
Jacob nods, but instead of speaking, he turns to look out the window. He’s silent for a long moment, and I stay twisted around in my seat, staring at him. Gavin glances over at me.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod and smile, then I return my attention to the backseat. “Jacob?” I say softly.
He seems to snap out of a trance. “Yes, I am sorry. I am just overwhelmed.” He clears his throat. “What do you wish to know, dear Hope?”