“Everyone corresponded by letter.”
“Loveletters.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Edward’s voice remained level, unmoved.
I couldn’t believe it. Hedging, I’d expected, but a flat-out denial?
Noah’s voice rose. “You did. While you were engaged to Grandma, you wrote Ruth letters. What’s this bull you preach about supporting the family and the people you love when—”
“I havealwayssupported this family,” Edward cut in, a hard edge coming into his voice.
“Why didn’t you marry Ruth? Why did you marry Grandma?”
Edward picked up a paper, peering over it at his grandson. “Enough, Noah.”
“Would you have kept having an affair with Ruth after you got married if she hadn’t ended things?”
“I said, enough.” Edward’s voice hardened. “You should take your friend home.”
Grandfather and grandson stared at each other.
This was horrible. I wanted to leave—I hated confrontation with authority figures—but what was likelihood of seeing Edward Barbanel again? A second chance might not be on the table. I cleared my throat. “Do you know about her family?”
Both Barbanels turned my way with identical astounded expressions, like they’d forgotten I existed. Edward recovered first. “She didn’t know much about her family.”
“Did she mention anything? Where in Germany they were from? What her parents did? If they had any relatives who survived?”
His face softened. “She never talked about them. I don’t know if she remembered much. But no, I didn’t get the impression she had any relatives left—at least, none she knew about.”
I swallowed, a crushing weight on my chest. I’d wanted a different answer. How terrible, to not remember your family. I pushed out my last question. “What about the necklace?”
All previous kindness evaporated, replaced with wintry dislike. “Excuse me?” Edward Barbanel said.
“She wrote about a necklace. She wanted it back. In your letters”—I couldn’t believe I’d read his private letters—“I don’t think she got it back?”
His face didn’t move so much as solidify, muscles tightening beneath his composed expression, the change all the more unsettling for its minuteness. “I think we’re done.”
“Okay,” I whispered, taking a step back. When Noah didn’t move, I pulled at his arm, but he stayed stiff as a statue.
Fine. Heat laced up through my body. I couldn’t handle any more confrontation today. Turning on my heel, I headed out the door and down the hallway, my vision tunneling. I brushed past Shira where she waited, and out the door and down the front steps of Golden Doors.
“Abigail, wait.”
I kept going. Research I liked, but actual fights made me want to make like a turtle and never reemerge.
“Abigail.” Noah caught my arm and pulled me to a halt in the middle of the sandy drive. The warm July night pulsed around us, moon bright, cicadas loud, hyacinths overwhelming. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Away.” I shoved my hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“Reading his letters. Making everything messy. I don’t want your family to be mad at each other, or at you, Noah, swear to god. I just wanted to know about my grandmother’s past.”
“I know. Abby, calm down, Iknow.” He took both my hands. “You were right, I should have waited. Blunt offenses never work in my family. ButIwas mad, so I went. I did this, not you. You didn’t make anything happen.”
“I hate fighting.”
He smiled wryly. “You fight with me.”
