Isabella.
Audra rolled down the window and offered a smile. “Hey there.”
“Is Snowball gone?” Isabella’s voice sounded so small it could have fit in a ring box. Trails of dried tears marked her face.
“I’m afraid so, honey.”
The girl nodded. Then instead of walking away, she gazed into Audra’s eyes and said, “Is she in heaven now?”
Audra had been asked the same question dozens of times. It had been easier to answer before she knew the truth.
She gathered herself, ready to provide a simple yes. Yet when she opened her mouth, the memory of her own nightmare came rushing back, of another little girl, an apparition in the clinic, confronting Audra about her dog—and the consequence of her lie.
Only when Isabella’s face went hard did Audra realized she’d voiced her thought.
There is no heaven.
Audra tried to amend her words. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that.” Which was true; she hadn’t intended to hurt her.
But already Isabella was rushing away.
“Isabella!” Audra called out as the girl went into the house.
A pound of shame landed on Audra’s shoulders, pressing her to the seat. She should go inside, repair the damage. Or would she merely make it worse? At this point, any contrary statement would be discounted as deception. Even children knew that once you’ve exposed the Wizard of Oz for an ordinary man, a return to the myth was an impossible feat.
“I’m sorry,” Audra whispered. The tears came then, not out of grief but longing, for a time when she, too, believed in magic. What she wouldn’t give to have all her problems solved with three clicks of her heels.
Tess announced her entry with a swift set of knocks. She closed the door behind her and shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets. She didn’t take a seat.
Audra swiveled in her desk chair to confront the fallout head-on. “I take it you’ve heard.”
“And so has Hector. The girl’s parents called him directly.”
“Lovely.”
“Audra, he thinks you need a break. A chance to ... get your thoughts together.”
Here they went again.
“I told you, Tess. I’m fine.” The last thing Audra needed was too much time to dwell—especially now, with Isabella’s expression ingrained in her mind. The latest addition to her collection of mistakes. “Believe me, I feel horrible about what happened. I’ll gladly call and apologize to the family—”
“Sweetie. This isn’t a suggestion.”
Audra stared. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying ...” Tess took a breath, a grave look in her eyes. “You’ve been put on leave.”
16
The announcement was timely, inevitable really, yet Vivian startled at the words.
“You two ought to get onboard now,” her father said over the din. His black fedora and trench coat matched nearly every man in Euston Station.
Her mother, shockingly, didn’t sprint for the train. Adjusting her white gloves, she conferred over travel details one final time. The netting from her hat reached the narrow tip of her nose.
Vivian checked her watch and begged the minutes to slow.
The cars were bloating with passengers, most of them young children. From open windows they hollered farewells in a clash of thrills and tears. Evacuation tags hung over their travel wear. On the platform, any mother not weeping strained for a portrayal of strength, waiting to break down in private.
On another day, Vivian’s heart would sink from the scene. But in this moment her greatest care lay with Isaak, the anticipation of his arrival. She would not dare cross the ocean without him.
It had been seven days since they lay in that cellar, their limbs interwoven like the roots of a banyan tree. A sheen of sweat had glistened their bodies in the lantern’s soft light. Breath still heavy, he’d rested his head on her chest. She had stroked his hair and stared at the ceiling, where shadows moved in a watery sway. To her relief, there had been no pain from the joining of their bodies, as rumored from other girls, only initial discomfort fully rewarded by the intensity of Isaak’s pleasure. In her arms he’d drifted off for some time, but Vivian had never been more alert. She had given of herself in every way possible, and that vulnerable act left her equally comforted and unsettled.
The next day, she had phoned Isaak from her father’s office with specifics of her travels. She withheld objections over Isaak’s plans to visit Munich. She understood; he couldn’t very well use a telegram to summon his mother across enemy borders. It was an invite to be delivered discreetly and in person. Through the black market he would arrange documents for his mother, his other relatives if possible. And if they don’t wish to go? Vivian had dared ask, to which he replied without pause: Then I’ll meet you at the station alone.