The Pieces We Keep(146)

“Judith, the man you’ve heard about, Jakob Hemel . . .”

“Isaak,” Judith said, as if trying to reconcile the names.

Audra nodded before finishing: “He’s still alive.”

Judith sucked in a breath. Clenching her hands, she turned her face to the shelves above her table. “How do you know?” she said.

“The person who helped me with research called today. Taylor—that’s her name—she said she tried to locate Daniel Gerard, the FBI agent involved with the trial. She found out he died several years ago. But when he first learned he had Alzheimer’s, he’d asked his daughter to transcribe stories from his life. That’s how Taylor knew about Jakob’s help with the case, and even about his transfer to Europe.”

“Back to Germany,” Judith said, “wasn’t it?” She continued to stare straight ahead.

“Yes,” Audra said. “Before he landed, he was given a new identity for his protection. And later he moved to Switzerland to be with his relatives. That’s why it was harder to trace him.”

After a moment, Judith asked, “How old is he now?” Her guarded tone was understandable. A man of his generation could very well be incapacitated, or at minimum incoherent.

“He’s ninety-four—but from what Taylor gathered, he’s one of those George Burns types. Still youthful and lively, like your aunt, Luanne. Apparently he takes walks through town in the evenings, knows just about everyone in Lucerne.” When Judith didn’t respond, Audra added, “And he loves to paint.”

Judith suddenly angled back to her. “He’s an artist?”

Audra nodded, watching the woman recognize the potential source of her own traits.

“Does he ... have a family?”

“His wife passed away some years ago, but he has two daughters and a son.”

“You’re telling me I have siblings,” Judith said, voice tightening.

“Nephews and nieces too.” Audra smiled to emphasize the positive nature of the news. “Taylor had sent out some e-mails to track down information, and his oldest daughter, Ursula, is the one who responded.”

Judith covered her mouth with her slender fingers, her eyes moistening.

Perhaps this would only magnify her resentment from not knowing all of these years. Audra hoped that wasn’t so, but still she felt confident in having come here. It wouldn’t have been right to withhold any more secrets.

“I’m sorry to upset you. I just thought you should know.” When tears slid down Judith’s face, meeting the shield of her hand, Audra decided it was best to leave; the woman needed time alone with so much to absorb. Yet before Audra could excuse herself, Judith lowered her fingers to reveal a wisp of a smile.

Audra exhaled in relief.

“For so long,” Judith said, “I’ve been searching for who I am. It seemed like part of me was missing . . .” Her sentence faded away, but Audra didn’t need the rest.

“I know the feeling,” she replied, and Judith nodded.

Just then, a knock turned them toward the partially open door.

“Pardon me for the intrusion,” the manager said meekly, “but a customer needs my help. I wasn’t expecting him until later. Would it be all right if I sent Jack in here?”

Audra went to answer, but Judith responded first. “Of course. Bring him in.” She brushed away her tears as Jack entered the studio. “Jack,” she said with growing brightness. “What a treat to see you again.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“You know what?” Judith said. “I have an idea. How would you like to help me with a new art piece?”

The offer seemed either an excuse to more closely study Jack, in light of Luanne’s theories, or a form of payment for the ways he’d inadvertently changed Judith’s life. No matter the case, Audra wasn’t about to intervene. Not after his eyes lit up at the shelves of shiny, colorful supplies.

“Guess you’d better pull up a seat,” Audra said to him.

He hopped onto a stool. As he picked out a paintbrush from a jar full of choices, Judith grabbed the paints. She squirted a rainbow of colors on a wooden palette and set up an easel with a small blank canvas. “Why don’t you start with painting anything you’d like? Then we can add on other materials from there.”

It occurred to Audra right then that Judith could be seeking further insight from Jack’s pictures. The boy had already endured so much testing and observing, Audra was tempted to end the activity.

But the truth was she, too, longed to see the images now in his head. And so she watched.

He painted the stick figure of a boy. He painted a girl in the same fashion. Once again, the two were holding hands.