He pushes his chair away from the table. The legs scratch against the ceramic tile floors loud enough that everyone around us turns to see what the commotion might be.
“It might be cold outside. I’m not sure your sweater will keep you warm.”
I press my hands against the metal rim of the wheels and push away from him, waiting to hear his footsteps following me. A moment doesn’t pass before I hear him walking. We make our way outside and down the first path before he makes a peep.
“I already know where you’re taking me, and I don’t want to go there because that place is special to us.” His brief statement hits me harder than I was expecting and my heart swells inside my chest.
“So, y-you’re o-over me?” I ask, not able to turn around and look him in the eyes.
He spins my chair around and kneels in front of me. “Why would you assume such a thing?”
Though it’s easier to stare at the pleats in my uniform, I lift my gaze and feel a tug in my chest as I find the desolation in his. “I f-f-fear you migh’ be.”
He takes my hand from my lap and places it over his chest. “No, no,” he says, clenching his eyes and shaking his head. “I overheard some chatter about the capacity of the orphanage. There’s talk that some of us might be moved to other locations, and one is in the United States. We can hope they’ll be moving the younger children who have a better chance at adoption, but who knows what the logic might be. After the letter, then hearing this news, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to withstand any more changes or loss.”
I want to ask him why he thinks one of us will have to go, and not the other, but maybe there’s more he isn’t telling me.
“W-w-we’ll run away,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I wasn’t serious when the idea popped into my head, but after hearing it out loud, I’m questioning why we wouldn’t. There’s nothing here for us except a bed, food, and classes I don’t want to take.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “The thought has gone through my mind more times than I’d like to admit, but we don’t have funds to keep us afloat. I’m not sure who will give me a job with only one arm, and I can’t take you anywhere without knowing how I could care for you.”
So, this is our future—the truth we’ve been denying. We can’t be together because we can’t support each other. We’re just two of the same, and it doesn’t work in this case.
“I’ w-w-won’ happen,” I say, taking his hand again. “We’re one, y-y-you and me.”
Elek’s chin trembles and his eyes fill with tears, but a smile teases his lips. “Let’s go to the pond. Do you have your sketchbook?”
“Mmhm,” I mutter.
“Good. Today, you can draw me on a lily pad.”
Before I can argue, he spins me around and has us in motion toward the opening in the woods that leads to the beautiful spot I wish we could call our own, if Monet hadn’t already left his mark there, of course.
A smile forms on my face as we arrive. It’s a small piece of heaven on earth and the surroundings are enough to make the hairs on my arms stand. The leaves are turning colors—mostly into shades of gold and cherry-red. They’re falling from the trees right onto the pond. The crisp air and pines make me think of winters by the fire when I was younger. We both take in a lungful of air as if it’s the first time we’ve done so in a week.
“This place can heal the most broken person. I know it,” he says. I wonder if I’m the most broken person he knows. If so, I don’t want to be the one to tell him that even a beautiful place like this can’t perform the magic he’s speaking about. It heals parts of my heart, though.
I reach for the wooden rail on the bridge and clamp down the brake on my chair. Elek reaches over to help, keeping me balanced as I pull myself upright. “You just want to kiss me,” he says. I twist around, carefully, leaning my back against the rails and extend my arms around Elek’s neck. He nuzzles his head into my shoulder while wrapping his arm around me. “I can’t ever say goodbye to you.”
I touch my hands to his cheeks, urging him to look up. When he does, I lean in and brush my lips against his, telling him in every way aside from words that I won’t let there be a goodbye. His hand grapples with the back of my dress, holding me to him a little tighter. He touches his nose to mine, then his forehead. “I need you always. I want you to be mine to keep,” he whispers.
“I-I-I am,” I say without a moment’s hesitation.
His breath shudders, and it confirms that he knows something I don’t. And it’s burning a hole straight through the center of my already broken heart.
Two Years Earlier
Auschwitz, Poland, October 1944
My mind feels like a puddle filled with fresh drops of rain. The disconnection between my mind and body is devastating, and I’m not sure how to handle the emotions exploding in me. I’m hungry. This much I know, but my mouth is numb from my throat to my teeth. I’m not sure how I could eat. I’m not sure anyone cares.
A woman circles around this room more often than anyone else. She’s not official medical personnel, as she’s wearing a prisoner uniform and has a number inked on her forearm like me. Her palm rests on my head every so often, likely checking for a fever. “We’ve lowered the level of sedatives you’re ingesting. Everything around you might clear a bit more now,” she says.
Each time I opened my eyes before now, it felt like I’d been fighting against small weights on my eyelids, and I couldn’t hold my focus for long. A groan forms in my throat, but without a way to release it, I’m not sure it’s loud enough for this woman to hear.
“I know,” she says, brushing her knuckles down the side of my cheek. “If I could remove these awful stitches from your lips, I would. But—the doctor’s orders…” Her words trail off, and the heat of fury ignites my nerves. Stitches along my lips. He has sewn my mouth shut.
Another groan, one louder than the last, scrapes against my throat. “He said it was necessary to keep you from biting your tongue after the procedure.” I must look as perplexed as I feel since she continues, “I believe he was trying to correct your stutter, but—” My eyes grow wide, knowing I can’t express myself in any other way. My head aches from the strain of my facial muscles. “He hasn’t mentioned the outcome of the surgery yet. He said your body will need to recover first, but it may take some time.”
I don’t know if this man is a true doctor or someone pretending to be one, but I vividly remember the sharp pain along my scalp before everything around me became fuzzy. I attempt to reach for my head, wondering if I’ll find more clues about what he did to me, but I struggle against a restraint, reminding me of why I couldn’t escape before he lifted a scalpel to me. I fight against the straps keeping me still, noticing how much energy it takes to move.
“I know you want to get up, and I want to help you, but I’m following orders,” the woman says, despair darkening her dark golden eyes. She lifts the thin white sheet draped over me and touches her hand to mine. I squeeze her fingers, recognizing her face. She’s the woman who helped Arina when she was suffering from a high fever. I don’t know who she is or why she keeps appearing when we need help, but I feel like she might be a guardian angel even if she can’t assist me now. “I’m so sorry.” Tears form in her eyes. “I would trade places with you if I could. You’re only a young woman and—” She pauses as the words hitch in her throat. I wish I could ask her if I’m going to die. I would like her to find Arina. She would know exactly what I’m thinking without needing to hear words. She would ask the right questions on my behalf and tell me the truth, because that’s what I need right now. The truth. Arina must be worried and blaming herself for everything. I wish I could know if she’s capable of thinking—if she’s even alive.