The Pieces We Keep(24)

“No ... not yet.” She hoped he didn’t perceive the delay as proof of her father’s disapproval-though it was a stance Isaak had rightly predicted, much to Vivian’s shame. “I just thought, from what you said, it would be better to wait. For now.”

“It is.” He nodded staunchly, to her relief. “So what news did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me, exactly. I overheard him on the phone. It was difficult to catch all of it, and I could only hear his side.”

“And?”

“From what I gathered,” she said, “Britain is entering into a Mutual Assistance Treaty.”

“Another alliance? With whom?”

She quieted her voice, despite their being alone. “Poland.”

“My God.”

In a game of global chess, he understood what it meant, as did she. If Hitler invaded Poland, the United Kingdom would declare war.

Isaak gazed across the room, lost in his thoughts. “I should go back,” he said finally, as if to himself.

It took her a moment to comprehend. He was referring to Munich.

“No. Isaak, you can’t do that.” On the screen in her mind, she saw the newsreels of British Spitfires, their airmen grinning while loading bombs and ammunition, all of which could soon be headed for Germany.

“What I can’t do,” he said, “is stay here and do nothing.”

“Yes, I understand that. You want to be there to help your family. But don’t you see? If you go back, you’ll be the enemy.”

He squared his shoulders and stared at her. “The enemy. Just as my family is, you mean.”

“What? No, of course not. I wasn’t saying ...”

Isaak shook his head, stepping away. He raked both hands through his hair.

No silence could have been louder.

Vivian defied the tension that guarded him by moving to his side. She placed a hand on his arm. A muscle flinched beneath his sleeve, yet he didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. And she was. Not just for her choice of words, but for the burden he had to carry.

He slid his gaze downward to land on her grip. His fingers followed and layered her hand. “It’s nothing you’ve done, darling. You’re the only thing good in this god-awful mess.”

Moisture clouded her vision. She felt her heart rising, expanding. “I love you,” she whispered. It was only the second time she had dared to say it loud enough for him to hear, and suddenly regretted ever refraining.

He turned to her with a wisp of a smile. As he cupped her cheek, she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. Teardrops streaked her face. Then his mouth was on hers, and everything but the warmth of his kiss and feel of his hold faded from existence.

At last, he drew his head back. In a matter of seconds, his attention again went adrift.

She debated a suggestion. The solution seemed so obvious it bordered on insulting. “Is there any way ... for your family to leave Germany? Perhaps it will be easier if they go now.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I wish it were that simple.”

She sensed it best not to push.

“I’d better go,” he said.

The very mention of leaving reminded her of the discussion with her father, his estimation that they would return to the States “rather soon.” She ought to tell Isaak. But how could she right now? Such an issue was trivial in comparison. Besides, no plans were etched in stone.

And so, she merely nodded.

“I’ll contact you soon,” he said. “Thank you, darling, for telling me.”

“If I hear anything else, you’ll be the first to know.”

A partial smile stretched his lips. Then quick as a wink, he was gone.





11


The scene, in another lifetime, could have been a snapshot of war.

It was Memorial Day at Portland’s Rose Festival. Bunting of red, white, and blue draped Waterfront Park. Stick flags fluttered in the hands of passing children. Patriotic performances drew listeners to the far outdoor stage as uniformed servicemen threaded through the esplanade. Below them on the Willamette, massive naval ships would soon congregate. Annual Fleet Week would fill the streets with sailors, who these days, to Audra, looked no older than twelve.

But for now, she noted the contrast of elderly veterans being escorted in their wheelchairs. What generational shock they must feel amid the high-tech carnival games and reggae tunes from the band. The Skankin’ Yankees were light-years away from the classic styling of the Andrews Sisters.

“Can we do stuff yet?” Jack impatiently scuffed the dirt.

“Hold on a few more minutes,” Audra said. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

He heaved a breath, clearly in doubt. It was actually refreshing to see him excited about any event.