Had Ansel succeeded in converting Metta over to the party’s way of thinking? Would Ansel be able to turn her so completely against us? The question was too terrible to ponder, so I set about tidying the house with the energy of a restless hummingbird.
Metta and Ansel were set to arrive at noon for lunch, though given the nature of Ansel’s position, they warned us that his plans could never be more than tentative. I was torn as to the outcome I desired. I wanted to have some time alone with Metta to see how she was doing but also wanted to see how she and Ansel had settled in together. Seeing their reactions to each other might be more telling than her words.
At noon precisely, both Metta and Ansel were on the front stoop. Metta greeted me with a bottle of French wine, a basket of cheeses and fruit, and a long hug. She seemed stronger than she had the last time we embraced, and I considered that a positive for her relationship. She was being well cared for, at least in the physical sense.
Ansel greeted us with formal handshakes, as he had done at every prior meeting. He wore the same serious expression as always, but there was a palpable air of exhaustion that extended from the dark rings under his eyes down to the tips of his weary toes stuffed into polished uniform boots.
The conversation never went beyond mundane matters like the weather as we shared the pork chops and fried potatoes that Mama and I had made. Harald kept to his bed, but we left the door open so he could listen in on the conversation if he chose to.
“You don’t seem to be suffering with the new round of rationing,” Ansel said with satisfaction. He’d taken notice of our comfortable food stores and our clothing, which was still in good repair.
“Oh, it was just the two of us until Harald came home,” Mama said. “Two resourceful women can run a comfortable household on precious little if they’ve a mind to. I certainly wouldn’t object to an extra fifty grams of sugar now and again, but sacrifices must be made.”
“Well said,” Ansel said approvingly. “And I’ll see what I can do about getting you a bit of extra sugar and flour. We must be careful with our supplies, of course, but you are doing the Reich a great service by caring for Harald at home.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. I glanced over at Metta, whose expression betrayed nothing. Was this a gesture she had expected? One he had made to others? “Speaking of Harald, why don’t we take our coffee in with him? I know it’s a bit unusual, but I’m sure he’d love to see you both.”
Ansel would have preferred to take his coffee at the table, it was clear, but he gave an impassive nod. I’d moved three chairs from the sitting room into the bedroom, leaving barely enough space to maneuver, but it at least gave Harald a chance to be part of the visit.
“You look like you’re being well looked after, Leutnant. This is good news,” Ansel said, shaking Harald’s proffered hand.
“I have the two best nurses in all Germany,” Harald boasted.
“Naturally your wife and mother-in-law are the most attentive caretakers possible,” he said. “I hope this means you’ll be ready to return to duty soon.”
“We shall see what the doctors say next Thursday. They seemed to think it would be weeks,” Harald cautioned.
“For active service, that is quite right, Leutnant. But I have been inquiring after other opportunities that would be better suited to your skills. My superiors agree that your talents would be put to better use as an educational adviser. It would keep you out of harm’s way, but you would still be of service to your country and the Führer. Does that seem agreeable to you?”
“That seems like a good use for your talents,” I interjected despite my better judgment. Anything that would keep him away from the front lines. Anything to keep him kilometers from artillery fire.
Harald shot me a warning glance. Such an appointment would put him directly in the path of some of the biggest names in the party. His every move would be scrutinized for as long as he held the post. It might have seemed safer on the surface, but in truth it was no less dangerous than the vast territories to the east that tried to repel us back to Berlin. But to refuse Ansel’s offer would be tantamount to suicide.
“I would consider it an honor, Obersturmbannführer, when the doctors think I am equal to the work.”
“I knew you were a sensible man, Leutnant. I am pleased to be proven right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WAVES
BETH
May 12, 2007
San Diego, California
An hour or two after dawn, I lowered the hatchback on my Prius, beach bag and umbrella in tow, and padded off toward Scripps Beach. I’d wrestled with what to do with my weekend for hours the night before and kept circling back to the lure of the beach. It had been so long since I’d lain out on the sand or swum in the ocean, I actually had to stop at a big-box store for a proper beach towel and flip-flops. I still had a two-piece suit and a sarong from the cruise Greg had taken me on a couple of years back, but I’d not worn them since. It was cliché . . . the New Yorker who never went to the theater, the Denverite who didn’t ski, and me, the San Diegan who never went to the beach.
The sand rubbed between the soles of my feet and my newly purchased purple flip-flops that clashed horribly with my red suit and blue towel. Just as well—if everything looked coordinated, it would be obvious that I never went to the beach. It was enough that the crowds hadn’t amassed yet. Only a handful of the most dedicated beachgoers had begun to converge.
I laid out my towel and pitched my umbrella, then fumbled for the paperback I’d bought as an afterthought at the checkout aisle. I’d agonized between a popular zombie novel and a Tudor historical with the omnipresent lavish-dress cover, bypassing altogether the romances with Regency-era belles draped in the arms of open-shirted men. I selected the historical, trusting that the political intrigue would overshadow any flowerier aspects of the story line.
For fifteen minutes, the book lay unheeded by my side as I absorbed the sun and listened only to the gentle rumbling roar of the waves. I let go, for a precious few moments, of all that had held my mind and body captive for the past months . . . Dad’s health, Mom’s passing, the search for the mysterious German woman, work, and all the mundane details of daily life. There was nothing but the gentle breeze lapping over my skin like silk and the occasional cawing of some far-off gulls. It had been too long since I had let myself simply be.
I opened my eyes, now toying with the notion of taking up meditation and yoga on a regular basis and wondering if a more Californian idea had ever been thought. I reached for the book and decided to see if it could captivate my attention.
“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you,” a voice said from my right. James had perched in the sand a couple of feet from me, and I hadn’t even perceived his presence. Instead of trunks and flip-flops, which were the unofficial uniform of men on the beach, he was in a blue wet suit that accentuated his strong chest.
“I was,” I said, grateful that he hadn’t startled me out of my trance.
“It’s nice to see you out of the library,” he said. “I got the impression you weren’t much of a beach person.”
“I used to be,” I said, thinking of all the summers in Hawaii and the countless beach trips closer to home. “I fell out of the habit.”