Otto cups his hands around my shoulders and cranes his neck to lower his gaze to mine. “I would never think of you as—you’re my wife, and I love you dearly. I didn’t realize you were fed up with our lifestyle, and I’m sorry for not noticing it sooner.”
I shove the tip of my thumbnail between my teeth, an old habit I had left behind long ago. I’m not sure how else to convince myself this is all much worse than I’m making it out to be. However, the questions keep percolating in my head and I can’t stop them from spilling out. “Whose idea was this? I would think you would have at least spoken to me first if it had been yours, no?”
“My father insisted we boost morale within the research team since we don’t work side-by-side most days. The work has been tedious and he said casual socializing would be great for all of us.”
His father. Of course. I should have known. His father has been controlling our lives since the day we got engaged and I was too oblivious to notice it before. Otto’s cheeks burn red, and he drops his hands from my shoulders, pressing them against his hips. He peers up at the ceiling in thought—a thought I would like to hear out loud. After a long moment, he takes my hand and leads us around the coffee table to the sofa and gestures for me to sit down. I do, and he sits beside me, retaking my hand in his.
“At what point will decisions be made between the two of us rather than you and your father?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet and somewhat calm.
“You’re right. I was wrong to agree to a dinner without speaking to you first. I won’t let that happen again. I can assure you.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“Emi,” he says with a sigh. “I thought we were settling down and finding our way in the new life we’re living together. I’ve kept telling myself that you will eventually find happiness here, but I can see how much you despise being stuck at home all day. It was never my intention to make you unhappy, I hope you know that.”
He’s said this all before. “Understanding what is making me unhappy won’t fix the problem.”
“I know, darling. I have considered finding a way to get you back down to the city to take those classes, but I’m terrified of sending you there alone, knowing an air raid could strike at any time, a street fight could break out, a riot, an act of resistance. The risks are great and to not know if you’re okay all day would leave me feeling sick, constantly. This might sound selfish, but I’m comfortable knowing you’re safe in this house while I’m at work. I just didn’t think that was the foundation of being a terrible husband to you.”
“I would rather be home with my parents. It’s the truth, and I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it, but you must understand what kind of life you’re creating for me. I’m alone from early in the morning until late at night, worrying about you too, despite your desperate attempts to ease my concerns about you working in a camp.”
Otto lets his head fall back against the top edge of the sofa as he lets out a long sigh. “Will you give me a day to think of options?”
It’s the first time he’s offered to consider finding a resolution to the way I feel. “Do you mean it?” I ask, a flicker of hope warming my insides.
“Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t. In the meantime, I’ll clean up tonight. I realize I’ve been a bit of a slob lately.”
“I didn’t make dinner either,” I add.
“That’s okay. I’ll find something to make for dinner tonight. You can stay right here with your feet up. I want you to. Then, tomorrow, I’ll come home early, go to the grocery store, then prepare for our company.” I’m not sure he understands how much work that will all entail. It wouldn’t be fair of me to watch him do all the work, but to have help is a start—it’s something.
“I’ll do whatever I can to make tomorrow night successful. If you’re truly going to try to find a resolution to what’s making us both unhappy, I’ll do my part until we can make changes.”
“You mean it?” he asks, twisting his body to face me.
I stare at him from the corner of my eye. “Yes, but you need to clean up after yourself and stop expecting me to take care of everything aside from your job.”
“Emi,” he says, endearingly, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger so I’m looking at him. “I love you dearly. I’ve only been trying to do what I promised your parents I would—take care of you. I didn’t mean for you to become upset. I’ll do whatever I can to fix this.”
I bob my head, just enough for him to feel the movement against his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me about the dinner party a week ago?”
“Because…” he hesitates, “because there was something I needed to work out with my father—a disagreement of sorts. But I think we’ve come to an understanding now.”
“An understanding about what? What was the issue?” I ask.
Otto lowers his head. “I can’t get into it right now. I hope you understand.”
But how could I?
FOURTEEN
EMILIE
JULY 1942
Dachau, Germany
Otto has put Charlie & His Orchestra on the gramophone for background dinner music. We’ve never played this record. In fact, I’m not sure when we acquired it because it’s not something I would have bought.He’s made good on his promise to help prepare the house and food for our guests arriving shortly so I certainly don’t want to stir up any tension, but this music is known for its controversial, pro-war innuendos.
