CHAPTER TWELVE
Emma
My hands are shaking,and I feel emotionally drained while closing the diary. I’m completely speechless as I stare blankly into the dark parking lot until an ambulance speeds by and pulls up to the emergency doors. The flashing lights force my eyes to focus and I’m brought back to reality, remembering I’m notalone.
Jackson's hand tenderly lifts mine from my lap and weaves his warm fingers betweenmine.
“Are you okay?” heasks.
“I don’t know.” Truthfully, I’m baffled. “I feelblindsided.”
“You never knew any ofthat?”
“None ofit.”
“It explains why your grandmother was telling me how to properly set up a pacemaker,” he says with a hint oflaughter.
“What do you mean?” Iask.
“She must have gone on to be a doctor or nurse, Iassume.”
“No, she didn’t. She worked with the International Services at the Red Cross from the time she emigrated here until my grandfather died ten yearsago.”
“Wow,” he says. “She seemed to know a lot of medicalinformation.”
“Something else I’ve neverknown.”
“She didn’t talk about your great-grandfather?” Jacksonasks.
I place the tip of my thumb between my teeth and shake my head.I thought I knew her.“It’s probably not something she wanted to remember,” Jackson says. “People who experience trauma block out memories without even tryingsometimes.”
“It’s been sitting right under her bed all this time,though.”
“I think you’re still going to have a chance to talk to her about this,” he says, squeezing my hand as a small smile lights up hisface.
“Yeah, I sure hope so.” My reply comes out through a longsigh.
“Is it weird that I want to hear more? No one ever talks about that part of history, and I’m completely intrigued,” he addsin.
“I don’t think it's weird at all. I'm flattered that you are interested, and it’s nice to have someone to share this with,” I tell him. “It’s a lot to process andcomprehend.”
Jackson glances at the time on the dashboard, and I follow his gaze.How is it three o’clock?“You must be a slow reader,” hejokes.
“Each word felt like a mouthful.” It’s like I have to stop and absorb every fact to remind myself I’m reading a truestory.
“I’m not sure either of us is going to get much sleep tonight, but I suppose it’sokay.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling bad for keeping him up. He needs his rest to do hisjob.
“I think Charlie was a good guy,” he says. “I know he's supposed to be the bad guy, but I really don’t think he was. We always think of all the Nazis as evil, but it sounds like there were young, German men who were forced to serve in the war against theirdesire.”
“I guess we'll find out.” I don't know why my heart is racing and my hands feel clammy. Maybe it’s because of Jackson, or it’s because I just finished reading the most terrifying and sad account of something that happened to somebody I love. Either way, I’m too physically and emotionally drained to analyze my feelings any more tonight. “Well, I should let you get some sleep,” I tellJackson.
“I should try to get at least a couple of hours, I guess.” I drop the diary back into my bag and open my door. As I step out, Jackson has already made his way from his seat, outside and around to the other side of his car where I am. “Where’s your car?” heasks.
I point toward the end of the row. “Just downthere.”
“I’ll walk you there. This parking lot can be a little sketchy atnight.”
