“When the anti-Jewish laws began being imposed, and as things became worse for us, Jacob began to become more vocal about his opposition to the Nazis, and my parents were concerned,” Alain continues. “My father, you see, wanted to believe that we would be immune, because we were wealthy. He wanted to believe that people were blowing everything out of proportion, that the Nazis did not truly intend us harm. Jacob, on the other hand, understood exactly what was happening. He was part of an underground movement. He believed the Nazis were coming to erase us all from the face of the earth. He was right, of course.
“I look back now, and I wonder why my parents could not see things more clearly,” Alain says. “I think they didn’t want to believe that our country could turn its back on us. They wanted to believe the best. And when Jacob spoke the truth, they would not hear it. My father was outraged and accused him of bringing lies and propaganda into our home.
“Rose and I were the only ones who believed him.” Alain’s voice is hollow, almost a whisper. “And that is what saved us both.”
We walk in silence for a little while more. Our footfalls echo off the stone walls around us.
“Where’s Jacob now?” I ask finally.
Alain stops in his tracks and looks at me. He shakes his head. “I do not know,” he says. “I do not know if he is still alive.”
My heart drops in my chest.
“The last time we spoke was 1952, when Jacob set off for America,” Alain says.
I stare at him. “He moved to America?”
Alain nods. “Yes. I don’t know where in America. But of course that was nearly sixty years ago. He would be eighty-seven now. It’s very possible he is not alive anymore. Remember, he spent two years in Auschwitz, Hope. That takes a toll.”
I don’t trust myself to speak until we arrive back at Alain’s building. I can’t fully wrap my mind around the idea that my grandmother and the apparent love of her life have been living in the same country for sixty years and never knew the other had survived. But if Jacob had found her during the war, my mother might never have been born, and of course I wouldn’t have been either. So had things worked out the way they were supposed to? Or was my very existence a slap in the face of true love?
“I have to try to find him,” I say as Alain punches his code into the keypad to the right. He holds the door open for me.
“Yes,” he agrees simply.
I follow him up to his apartment. I feel like I’m in a fog.
“Shall we call Rose again now?” he asks once he’s locked the door behind us.
I nod again. “But remember, she has good days and bad ones,” I remind him. “It’s very possible that she won’t understand who you are. She’s different than she used to be.”
He smiles. “We’re all different than we used to be,” he says. “I understand.”
I check my watch. It’s nearly ten, so it would be nearly four on the Cape, late enough in the day that Mamie is probably sundowning; it’s common for dementia patients to be less lucid as the day wears on. “You sure you don’t mind if I call from your phone?” I ask. “It’s expensive.”
Alain laughs. “If the cost were a million euros, I would still say yes.”
I smile, pick up the receiver, and punch in 001, then Mamie’s number. I listen to the line ring six times before I hang up. “That’s strange,” I say. I check my watch again. Mamie doesn’t participate in the social activities at her home—she says bingo is for children—so there’s no reason she shouldn’t be in her room. “Maybe I dialed wrong.”
I try again, and this time, I let it ring eight times before I hang up. Alain is frowning at me, and although there’s a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, I force a smile. “She’s not answering, but maybe my daughter took her out for a walk or something.”
Alain nods, but he looks concerned.
“Do you mind if I try her?” I ask. “My daughter?”
“Of course,” Alain says. “Please.”
I dial 001 and then Annie’s cell number. She picks up after half a ring. “Mom?” she asks, and I can tell from her voice that something’s wrong.
“What is it, honey?” I ask.
“It’s Mamie,” she says. Her voice is trembling. “She . . . she had a stroke.”
My heart stops, and I look up at Alain, stunned. I know he can read everything on my face.
“Is she . . . ?” I ask. I don’t complete the sentence.