“There’s so much I need to say, want to say—so much I can’t comprehend,” Papa says. “Stefan knew about Danner?”
“Yes, but not until Herr Berger confronted Dietrich.”
“And he did nothing to help pull Danner out of that godforsaken prison camp?” Papa stands up, pinning his hands to his hips while pacing the living room. “He’s as bad as his brother. You’re the one who continued to help Danner. The only one?”
I lower my chin, dropping my gaze because saying anything more won’t calm him down.
“I need to get him out of there. I’ll deal with Dietrich,” Papa shouts.
“Andreas, that man is—he’s not right in the head,” Mama snaps back at Papa.
“He’s part of the SS with his role beneath Heinrich Himmler. I’m not sure anything you say will make a difference.”
“I won’t sit here and make assumptions while Danner rots to death,” Papa says with a grunt, his veins pulsating along his temples.
His words squeeze at my chest, adding to the insurmountable amount of pain I’m trying to cope with. But if he has a chance at saving Danner—the risks, I don’t know what’s right or safe. “Maybe I should just continue delivering papers to Dachau for Dietrich and leaving the food for Danner as I’ve been doing. I don’t want to make this worse. That’s my fear,” I say, mumbling my words.
“I’m just going to speak with him,” Papa says, huffing from his nostrils like an angry bull. “The two of you stay here until I return. We’ll pack some bags and come stay here with you if that’s what’s needed for Danner. We’ll help take care of him.”
“Andreas, you should take a moment to think this all through,” Mama says.
“I already have. That boy has already lost his father, and I’m sure he isn’t even aware of it yet. I saw his name on a list recently. He’s dead. I don’t know about his mother and David, but so help me God, I won’t sit back and let something happen to him, too.”
“Herr Alesky is dead?” I whisper. My body turns to ice, knowing it’s something more Danner will have to move on with—if he moves on. “This isn’t fair.” Endless tears streak down my face, the saltiness burning my raw cheeks.
“Just stay here. I’ll be back shortly,” Papa says, his voice calmer, his breaths more even. He leans over the coffee table andpresses a kiss against my head, then gives Mama a kiss, too. “I love you both. Stay here.”
FORTY-FIVE
EMILIE
JUNE 1944
Munich, Germany
Hours have passed since Papa stormed out of the house and burnt the rubber of his tires against the gravel while leaving the street. Mama is quieter than she’s ever been, and I believe she might be in shock. Nothing shocks me anymore. The world is falling apart. No one has been untouched. We’re all affected. I’ve been telling myself that losses are inevitable. I didn’t tell myself they might be preventable—that one day I should have tried to stop Otto’s death. My grief has become anger, and I can’t control much of what I’m feeling. All I know is, I’ll keep helping and saving those I love. But I don’t know who I am now. I’m a hollow person, filled with nothing but turmoil.
“Mama, stop dusting. There’s no more dust,” I tell her, watching as she makes her way around the living room for the fourth time in the last hour.
“I need to keep busy,” she argues.
“Papa will be okay.”
“It’s not just your father, sweetheart,” she says, turning toward me with the feather duster held out by her side. “You—this is all too much. You’re twenty-four, and a widow. You’ve seen nothing but brutal hatred for the last ten years of your life, and it’s only grown worse by the day. I—I as your mother,” she says, “I know what you’ve wanted throughout your life, and I’ve had no choice but to sit back and watch all of those things fall out of your reach.”
“It’s life, right?” I ask. “We live, learn, and die.”
“No, my darling. There’s so much more.”
A car door slams and the doorknob jiggles before Papa storms inside. He turns the corner into the living room, pinches the top of his hat and tosses it to the ground.
“What is it?” I ask.
Papa’s face is beet red, his neck, verging on purple. “I caught Stefan just as he was getting into his car, ready to leave for wherever the hell he and Marion are going. They’re getting as far away from here as possible, so they won’t be found associated with Dietrich.”
I stand up from the sofa after sitting for far too long, but my lungs feel constricted, and I need to be able to breathe. “What do you mean…associated with him?”
Papa paces in small circles, his hands clutching his hips, his chest rising and falling too fast. “Dietrich and his wife have been arrested by the Gestapo.”
