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Sofie

Huntsville,Alabama

1950

It was Friday morning and Gisela had been dawdling since she got out of bed. Now we were at the school gate and she didn’t want to get out of the car.

“What’s wrong now?” I asked her, looking at the schoolyard, where a handful of other tardy children were walking into their buildings.

“I just want to go home,” she said miserably.

“We can talk about this tonight,” I said firmly. “You need to get to class.”

She sighed impatiently and slipped out of the car, pausing just long enough to slam the door behind her.

“Mama?” Felix said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I need to go to the potty.”

“I told you to go before we left.”

“I forgot,” he said, his voice small.

I sighed impatiently. I usually did the grocery shop on Friday mornings, but instead, I turned the car toward home.

The whole way home, Felix asked about the television—until I came to suspect that there was no urgency for the potty at all. By the time we reached the house, I was well and truly irritable—especially when he made a quick show of using the potty, then ran down the hall toward the living room.

“Felix Rhodes,” I said sharply, “you are not watching that television—”

But farther along the hall, past my son at the other end of the house, I saw a blur of movement as someone disappeared into the laundry room.

Someone was in my house.

Should I chase them? Run to the phone? Get Felix out of the house?

The back door slammed. I finally unfroze and ran to the laundry room—making it to the door just in time to catch the barest glimpse of movement as someone disappeared over the low back fence, into the yard of the house behind us.

I quickly dialed Jürgen at work and told him what had happened, my heart still in my throat. Remembering the hostility we’d experienced from Detective Johnson, I didn’t bother calling the police.

When Jürgen got home, he went right to the neighbors behind us to ask if they’d seen anyone, but there was no one home, and the intruder was long gone. He then set about making me a cup of tea.

“Andyou think it was Calvin’s brother-in-law?” he asked as he set the tea in front of me. I raised the cup to my lips to find it was far too milky and sweet for my taste. It reminded me of Adele’s tea. That both helped and hurt.

“I didn’t see his face,” I said. My hands were still shaking. “I’m just assuming.”

“And did he take anything else or just...?”

“Just the photos,” I said, my voice breaking. At first, I couldn’t find anything missing. For a moment or two, I almost convinced myself I’d imagined the person in our house. Then I realized the photos were gone from beside our bed. “I need them back.”

Jürgen gave me an anguished look and sat opposite me to take my hands.

“I know, my love,” he soothed, then paused. “Should we call the police?”

“Is there any point?”