“But I think…” Audrey shakes her head. “He had so many upheavals, so young. And his memories of Ilse were complicated.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, the earliest memories he had were of her, but also of Friedrich, a man who left the house every day in a Nazi uniform. A man whom he called Papa, who played with him, hugged him, just as a father would. I explained it all. Who Friedrich was, who Ilse was. What we had all tried to do, and how we failed. Friedrich’s double life, and mine. Ilse’s, too, in a sense. And I gave him Ruth’s necklace, as Ilse had asked me to. But to tell the truth, I’ve never been convinced he believed me. Not entirely.”
Kate nods. He would have assumed Ilse and Friedrich were Nazis. She can only imagine what those memories of Friedrich must have done to her dad once he learned of the Holocaust more broadly.
“I hoped the photos in Ilse’s necklace would help, over time,” Audrey says. “I would be surprised if he ever spoke of that bit to anyone. Possibly not even your mother. And the Barbers only ever told him that he was adopted from Berlin at the end of the war, when he had no family left.”
“Did they know more than that?” Kate asks.
Something akin to shame colours Audrey’s face. “They only knew what I had told the orphanage in London. For obvious reasons, I kept it simple.” She takes a deep breath. “He did ask for the address of the Abramses, said he needed to go learn more. I never forgot that house. I saw it in my dreams, for God’s sake. I assumed they had all died, but he said he needed to know for certain. Though I’m not sure he was ready for what he found.”
A chill runs down Kate’s spine. This is her family history. “What did he find?”
Audrey hesitates. “The Abramses were all murdered at Mauthausen. He wrote to me, just once, to tell me what he had learned. It was mostly… informative in tone.” She sighs. “I think his feelings about me were very complicated. I don’t know how much closure I was ever able to bring, or whether it would have been better for him if he’d never sought me out. It is so difficult to know what knowledge will do to us. I think a part of him wished I hadn’t found him in the house that day.”
Kate’s nose begins to swell, and she rolls her shoulders inward against the pain in her chest. She fingers the necklace in her hands and starts to sob. The Abramses, and the Kaplans, too, in a way—these were her ancestors. And if not for Audrey, Kate wouldn’t be alive at all.
Her father was a sole survivor, as she is now. A twisted connection she now shares with him, a paradox that folds in on itself. But she’ll never be able to tell him that she understands him now, finally. Never have a chance to ask him how to live with it. Her stomach feels as though it’s rotting. It was horrendous enough to be responsible for her parents’ deaths, but now, knowing that her dad had escaped such odds, that he was lucky to have even made it to childhood to begin with, just makes it all feel that much more senseless. But all she can do now is honour her family. See it all as a gift, like Ian does.
Just live.
“Why did he never tell me any of this?”
“Oh, Kate,” Audrey says. “Come here.”
Kate kneels at Audrey’s chair as the old woman’s arms enclose her. Sophie licks her arm, and Ozzie scoots closer too. They all hold one another for a long time. The animals stare up at their mistresses with wide eyes, knowing something has happened but unsure of what it means. Kate isn’t entirely sure what it means yet either. But a dam of some sort has broken, she knows that much.
When she pulls away, she snatches a tissue from the coffee table and notices the lamplight reflecting off the glossy tan surface of the baby grand piano. “Why did you bring the piano back?” she asks. “Isn’t it just a constant reminder of all the loss? Of Ilse, and the Kaplans? Your gift?”
“Yes,” Audrey says. “That’s why I wanted it. And why I never had the water ring removed. Forgive me for asking, but if you could erase those scars, would you?”
Kate pauses. There was a time, months ago, when she would have said yes unequivocally. But she knows better now. The scars and the memories they hold are a part of her. Even if she’d tried, they wouldn’t ever actually be erased. She would still see them beneath the surface. She’s about to respond when a thought occurs to her. “Did my dad play your piano when he was here? He was a player. Not professionally or anything, but he was good. I think… I think it was therapy for him, in a way. He’d play a lot more when his depression was winning.”
Audrey smiles sadly. “Yes, he did. I even showed him ‘Ilse’s Theme,’ taught him how to play it. Again. He…” Her voice cracks. “He remembered it from when she was dying.”
A realization hits Kate with a hard jolt to the chest. “Does Ian know it?”
Audrey nods. “The composition is in the piano bench. I wrote it out and asked him to learn it so I could hear it again, somewhere other than my own dusty mind.”
“He played it the first day I met him, when you were at the doctor. There was something about it, like I knew it…” A warmth spreads in Kate’s chest, despite the heartache the day has brought.
“Well,” Audrey says quietly. “I’m glad your father played it. It helps keep Ilse’s memory alive.”
“Could I…” Kate hesitates. “Would it be okay if I had a look at the letter my dad sent?”
“I’ll swap you. Your dad’s letter for a few minutes with that necklace.”
Kate helps her up from her chair.
“Just give me a moment,” Audrey says.
Kate sits back in her chair again and watches the gold and orange flames dance and crackle in the fireplace. Somehow everything has changed, and all too late for her to do much about it besides mourn. It’s an odd conflict when happiness and sadness coexist in your heart. It’s tight yet expansive, warm but painful.
“Took me a minute,” Audrey says, returning from the office. “Here.”
Kate takes the letter, a leap in her chest, and passes the locket back to Audrey. The two women sit in silence, examining their shared treasures as though they were indeed rare gems. Reading through her dad’s letter, fresh tears drip down Kate’s face. It’s strange, she thinks, when we reach adulthood and realize that our parents are just flawed humans like we are; when the veneer wears away, and we find a person who’s just doing the best they can with what they have to work with, the trauma they’re lugging with them each day.
She glances over at Audrey, who looks up from the locket with glassy eyes. “What is it?” Kate asks, then sees that Audrey has removed the tiny photos of Kate’s grandparents. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Look,” Audrey says, handing her the necklace.
There are two portraits inside, sepia-toned and aged, and Kate’s breath catches.
“That’s her, then. Ilse.”
“And her brother Ephraim.”
Kate takes in the dark-haired young woman with large eyes, arched brows, and a small mouth beneath a straight nose and high cheekbones. She’s friendly looking, despite the neutral expression she’s adopted for the photo. She looks pretty much how Kate had pictured her, but it’s striking and emotional to finally see the face of the woman who captured Audrey’s heart, altering the course of her life, and who nursed Kate’s father back to life and loved him as though he were her own.
“These were in my necklace the whole time,” she whispers. Her father’s family secret had lain against her own skin for years, and she hadn’t any idea.
“Just behind your own photos.”
“How did you know to look?”
Audrey gives a little shrug. “I wondered what else your father would have done with them.”
