Chapter 31
Current Day
Amelia is wide awake and staring at me. I would have thought my stories would have put her to sleep, but here she is after all this time, apparently fascinated by what I have to say.
"I had no idea you were searching for me. I truly thought you were dead, Charlie. I knew what they did to insubordinate Jews, never mind a traitor of their own kind. I didn’t know how to digest the fact that I might never know if you survived, but I recall telling you about a dream I had—a dream of moving to New York City. You told me I would get there someday, and I figured that if fate wanted us to be together, we would find each other again."
I chuckle and take Amelia’s hand. "It seems fate took a bit of a detour."
"Fate just works on its own time, Charlie." Amelia tries to press herself up along the elevated portion of the bed, but by the winces pinching along her face, I can see she’s trying her best to hide the pain.
"I—I had some weak moments, some I’m not proud of, you know? Someone once told me that when time passes, the pain lessens, but that was not the case for me, Amelia."
"I know what you mean," she says. "That’s why I have a journal. I needed to remember every detail about you, Charlie. We didn’t spend a lifetime together, but the times we shared were worth a lifetime to me."
"You don’t think I was foolish for thinking I saw you all over Manhattan?" I ask her. Everyone thought I had lost my mind back then. In fact, I was sure I lost my mind too.
"I did the same thing, Charlie, and I didn’t have any reason to believe you were in New York City."
I had no idea she was looking for me. How could I have known? The same reason she didn’t know I was looking for her. "Were you happy in New York?" I ask. "It must have been quite a dream come true after living in such horror."
Amelia smiles at first, and her cheeks brighten to a light shade of pink. Her gaze floats to the ceiling as she closes her eyes. "I was more than just happy, Charlie. I was alive. One thing I have never done since the day I last saw you was to take any day for granted. It was the least I could do for you."
A knock on the door interrupts our conversation. "Grams, you’re still awake? Dr. Beck said you would be exhausted after your surgery," Emma says, walking in. She takes a seat on the other side of Amelia.
"How can I sleep when my life is just getting exciting, Emma?" she responds.
"Grams, he will still be here in the morning," she says. I can see Emma has taken on the role of parenting the grandparent. I have come to terms with the fact that at some point in life, the young have to be the responsible ones. Emma leans over Amelia and pulls the blankets up to her chest, and then gently places them down.
"I suppose," Amelia says, rolling her eyes around as if Emma is ruining her fun. "Charlie, how about a bedtime story? Do you have another letter to read?"
I stare down at my briefcase full of letters, knowing that if I read them in order, the next few letters are more dreary than I wish to remember. "They aren’t exactly bedtime reading material," I tell her.
"Then tell me what happened next, Charlie. Surely, it wasn’t me who you saw in the jazz lounge that night, right?"
Emma looks intrigued, and while I’m not sure I want her to hear this side of the story, maybe it’s best she knows the truth, rather than just the part where I went missing for seventy-four years. "Do you mind if I listen too?" she asks.
"Only if you promise not to judge me based on the behavior of my twenty-something-year-old-self."
"We have all lived and learned, Charlie," Emma says.
"Oh, not my darling granddaughter," Amelia croons. "You’re supposed to be perfect." Amelia grabs Emma’s chin and shakes her head. I can imagine Amelia has been doing that very same thing to Emma since she was a little girl. The thought makes me smile for a moment. Then I remember what part of the story Amelia is waiting to hear.
I pull a brown envelope out of my briefcase—it was different from all the other yellowed-envelopes. When I removed the letter and unfolded the paper, the memories come rushing back.
My Dear Amelia,
The woman wasn’t you. Her name was Amelia, but it wasn’t you.
I am being punished, deservingly so.
Tonight, marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next. I don’t know of many ways to make my heart feel better, and I’m suffering greatly. The pain is immeasurable, Amelia. I searched for your name in the phone directory, but there was no one by your name. I have spotted every young woman with dark hair, praying it was you. None of those women have been you. I fear the worst. Did you become ill on your way to America? I know it was common. Were you not allowed through customs? I know that was also common.
Whatever the case may be, Amelia, I don’t feel like you are nearby anymore. I don’t feel like you are anywhere here.
You were my purpose to survive.
Now, I feel as though I have no purpose.
