He gestured to the couch with the pair of work gloves in his hand. “Want to sit down?”
Audra nodded and reclaimed her seat. She stored the address in her jeans pocket to prevent fiddling with the paper. As Sean settled on the sofa chair, he set the gloves down and briskly smoothed his hair, appearing to realize his tousled state.
She thought of their last encounter, how she’d all but slammed the door in his face. An apology seemed in order. “I’m sorry I—,” she began, just as Sean began to talk. They both stopped short.
“You go,” they said, again in chorus, which caused them to laugh. A crack spread through the tension, loosening the air.
She tried again. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I was rude to you before.”
“It’s okay. It was my fault. I must have seemed like a crazy stalker hunting you down.”
“No. Not at all.” It didn’t seem necessary to point out how they paralleled in this respect. “From what your mom said, about what you’ve been through, I can understand why you wanted to find us.”
Now who was the scary one? It sounded like Audra was interviewing his relatives.
“I only talked to her, by the way, because I went to her home first.” That didn’t sound any better. “The address listed online was under your name, but a guy at the building said it was hers, and he told me about her gallery. I went, since it was close by. Otherwise, I really wouldn’t have bothered her....”
Sean laughed softly, making clear she was rambling.
“And,” she said, “I’m going to quit now.”
“No worries. It makes sense. I used her address for forwarding while I was away, after I sold my condo.”
“Oh, sure. Of course,” Audra said.
Chimes again rang from the clock, snapping her back to her mission. She had come to uncover answers, not for a leisurely chat.
“Sean, the reason I’m here is about my son—Jack. The German phrase you quoted, when you came to see me—”
He shook his head, lowering his gaze. “Look, you were right. If you’re saying we’d never met, I obviously just misheard.”
How many hours had the guy spent evaluating the lunacy of his claim, that a little boy, a stranger, had somehow memorized the foreign engraving on his necklace?
Straightening, Audra rephrased. “I really need to know what that adage means.”
A question knitted his brow.
“Please,” she said. “It’s important.”
Though hesitant, Sean nodded. He pulled out the charm from his shirt, a show of proof to eliminate speculation. “Viel Feind, viel Ehr,” he said, just as he had before. “A friend of mine works with a guy from Hamburg. Told me it’s basically: ‘The greater the risk, the greater the reward.’ ”
Audra realized, right then, she had no idea what she’d expected.
“The literal translation,” he went on, “is a little different. From what I could gather, it means ‘Many enemies, much honor.’ ”
Enemies.
Like Nazis in electric chairs.
“Do you mind if I ask where you got the necklace?”
“It belonged to my late grandma,” he said. “My mom’s mom, Vivian. I found it while going through Aunt Lu’s basement. I was making room for my things to keep here during my tour. I’m pretty sure of that anyway. I have some flashes of it in my head. Other than that, all I know is I was wearing it when I woke up in the hospital in Kabul.”
He gave the charm a wry glance and shrugged. “I must’ve figured if it survived a world war in one piece, it might help me make it too. Now I just wear it, hoping it will spark more memories, I suppose.”
Audra nodded along, though her mind had latched on to two words. “When you say ‘world war,’ I assume you’re talking about . . .”
“World War Two,” he said, placing the necklace back under his shirt. “It may be older though. I’m not sure.”
“So, your grandma was German?”
“Not that I know of . . . but I’m guessing the man who gave it to her must have been.”
“You mean, it wasn’t from your grandfather?”
“Nah. It seemed like a first love kind of thing, years before they got married.”
A name suddenly drummed in Audra’s head. It pounded in her ears like a caller who refused to leave until someone opened the door. “Was the other guy—was he Jakob Hemel?”
Sean studied her as if deciphering where this was headed. “Don’t think so.”
“Are you certain?”
“It was more like . . . Isaiah. Or Isaac, I think . . . but with a k.”
Relief swept through her, colliding with an illogical surge of disappointment—all of which ceased when he added, “The necklace came with a letter from him—that’s how I figured it was wartime. But I haven’t looked at it in a while.”