The Pieces We Keep(23)

He spoke this to no one in particular, though Vivian was the only other person in the store. Customer visits had slowed to a crawl since the startling news broke the day before. The announcement had come mere hours after Vivian’s talk with her father, which clarified the tension in the den. Her father had known, or at least suspected, what was headed their way.

A non-aggression pact had indeed been signed, but between the Nazis and Soviets. All this time, even through the Anschluss, when Germany annexed Austria, the English had managed to turn a cheek. But now, a hand had been raised to strike the Queen herself. Hitler’s march toward domination could no longer be dismissed, at least not by Vivian.

While in the basement that morning, seeking bleach for a coffee stain, she had caught her father’s muffled voice. The heating duct projected his phone call from the study. She had balanced her weight between stacked crates and an Oxydol box to bring her ear close to the vent. The words she was able to discern nearly made her tumble.

How she wished today’s hours would quicken. Nearly a full workday remained before her date at the theater, where she could divulge her news to Isaak.

At the store counter, she checked her watch, again. A plunk alerted her that she had dropped her pencil, again. She swiped it from the floor and resumed transcribing receipts into the tall brown ledger. She erased one line, and another, corrected more entries. For her efforts, the basic equations might well have been algorithms that challenged the likes of Einstein.

“Take the day off,” Mr. Harrington said.

“Sir?”

“You heard me, love.”

He had never released her prior to closing. Though kindhearted, he was a businessman who lived by the clock. She didn’t know how to respond.

“Go and enjoy,” he said solemnly. As if, like her father, he already knew.





A campus-wide search posed more challenges than Vivian expected. The staff roster was so large and students so scarce, on account of the summer holiday, she could not find anyone familiar with Isaak. Twice she phoned his dorm, but no one answered.

Admittedly, more than a message delivery propelled her. It was also a longing to see his room. To touch the down of his pillow, to learn in detail how he lived. If only women weren’t forbidden from the building. He had often bemoaned this rule in the heat of their kissing, damning his inability to bring her there. For Vivian, it had been a relief, lessening the temptation to compromise her morals. Now she cursed those blasted morals, in light of her family’s pending departure-a development of which Isaak wasn’t aware.

In the university library, Vivian expanded her hunt to include Professor Klein. Since Isaak assisted the man with research, the two might work in the same vicinity.

“He teaches European history,” she explained, inquiring at the counter.

The librarian suggested a jaunt over to the History Department, where Vivian might have more success. She hoped so. If not, she would have no choice but to pine away the hours until the scheduled time of her original date.

After finding the correct building, she wandered the halls, to no avail. She was on the verge on giving up when she peeked through the pane of a door. Two men stood in a large vacant classroom. Even from a distance she knew those golden curls.

Quickly she smoothed her own hair, pinned up at the sides, forgetting for a moment the reason she had come. She grasped the doorknob, discovered it locked. She knocked on the dense window.

The men took no notice. Arms crossed, parked before an enormous blackboard, they appeared intent on their conversation. Isaak was wearing cuffed trousers with the burgundy sweater-vest she loved, and the other gentleman wore a bow tie with his suit. Was that Professor Klein? His chiseled features and ink-black hair, as thick as his eyebrows, came as a surprise. She had envisioned the history professor to be well into his sixties, with a beard like Mr. Harrington’s and spectacles low on his nose.

Vivian hated to interrupt but trusted Isaak would be grateful. She gave the door a pound, hearty enough to summon their gazes. She raised her hand in a small wave.

Neither man moved.

Was the window too narrow for clarity from their view?

But then recognition set into Isaak’s face, a merging of delight and bewilderment. He spoke briefly to the man, then slipped into the hall.

“What are you doing here?” Isaak asked, shutting the door behind him. “However did you find me?”

“I have news from my father,” she blurted.

The lines of Isaak’s mouth lowered. He looked around, acknowledging the context, the urgency. “Come,” he said, and guided her into another empty classroom.

He closed the door, leaving the fluorescent bulbs off. The mid-morning sky provided ample light through the windows. “You told him about me? And my family?”