Page 31

Josef shut the door quickly behind them, his own expression just as fierce as he faced Bauer, faced Corinne. “England has rounded up all German expatriates, especially Jews, and interred them on the Isle of Man. And am I really to trust an ocean filled with U-boats?”

“So then you stay in Free France or other unoccupied territory. Anything would be better than here!”

“He wanted to come back.” This Josef pronounced coolly, evenly, calmly. A glint of challenge in his eye. “Because it’s where we said we’d be.”

Corinne wobbled forward another step. What he ? Who—?

“Vati?” The new voice was high-pitched, reaching her ears a split second before that closed bedroom door burst open and a little boy flew out. “Vati!”

More pieces. Too many pieces.

The boy wasn’t in pajamas. He didn’t look sleep tousled.

And why should that be the first thing she noted, instead of the fact that he darted across the floor, around the chair, straight for Bauer, calling out that word over and over again?

Vati. Vati.

The old German lessons clicked belatedly into place. Vati : Daddy. Papa. The diminutive form of father , usually used only by small children.

As the professor turned, he caught sight of her. She saw the flicker of it in his eyes, too quickly gone for her to determine what else colored the surprise. Anger? Fear?

But she wasn’t his focus. He spun to face the boy. Dropped to his knees. Opened his arms just as the little one barreled into him.

And wept as he held his boy tight.

Corinne sank back down onto the sofa. Christian had a son. A son who lived with a German exile, part Jewish, who claimed the boy was his grandson.

Pieces. Fragments. Snippets. She could see them all, but they made no sense, like lines of poetry taken out of context. Like a language for which she had no lexicon.

Then one more piece, as the little boy rested his head against Christian’s shoulder, revealing his full face to Corinne for the first time.

He had a scar on his lip, no left eye, a malformed ear on that side. And he held on to his father as if he never meant to let go again.

Christian heard the words whispered from the sofa as if through water, through a tunnel, through fog.

“I don’t understand. You know him? Professor Bauer?”

“I am his godfather. His father was my dearest friend.”

“The boy? You said he was your grandson—”

“Chris has been like a son to me. Felix like a grandson.”

“ Chris? He is a Nazi officer—”

“There is much you don’t understand, schatzi .”

“So tell me!”

“It is not my story to tell.”

One part of Christian’s mind said he should get up from the floor. He should answer her questions. He should swear her to secrecy.

That part would have to wait its turn. Right now, all that mattered was that his very heart had been restored, and for the first time in his life he knew how Felix must have felt when Dr. Schwerin repaired his cleft palate, though he’d been too little to put words to it: like something too long missing had been restored.

Something broken had been fixed. Some disorder he’d grown so accustomed to that he didn’t even know it was a disorder had been righted.

It hurt . It hurt in every cell of his being, hurt like feeling returning to a frozen limb. It hurt so beautifully that he clung to this moment as long as he possibly could.

His baby’s arms were around him again. Felix was safe, and he was here, and even though he shouldn’t have been, he was , and Christian was too. And at this moment, he was going to accept that as a gift from God. Later, he could think about the consequences. Later, he could argue with Josef.

He had no capacity for words right now anyway, couldn’t work anything but “Felix, Felix, Felix” through the sobs. He shook all over. Trembled so much that he had to sink from his knees to a seat on the floor, gathering his boy close.

Felix wrapped around him, just like he’d always done. “It’s all right, Vati ,” he said into Christian’s ear. “I missed you. I’m all right.”

Christian rested a hand on his son’s head, burying his fingers in the blond curls.

There, the indentation that they all said shouldn’t be there, was a malformation, but which had always seemed purpose-built for his thumb to rest against, letting him cradle him so perfectly.

“Felix,” he murmured again. “I missed you like air.”

“Are we going home? You said you’d come when it was safe, that—”

“No.” He kissed his head, his cheek, the nub that should have been an ear but was instead the sweetest little curl. “It’s still not safe, m?uschen . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Little fingers rested on his cheek in that way he’d been doing since he was just a baby, then stroked down over the scruff of his jaw. “Don’t leave me again, Vati .” Tears clogged Felix’s voice too.

It made Christian’s throat close off again. He couldn’t answer—what answer could he possibly give? So he held him tighter, tucking his head under Christian’s chin, and squeezed his eyes shut.

They had now. This moment. This hour. That was all they were ever promised, that’s what Mutter had told them when Dr. Schwerin explained the birth defects and said he didn’t know if the child would live. “We never know who will live, or for how long,” she’d said. “But he’s alive now. So love him.”

It’s how he’d viewed every moment of Felix’s life. There was only now, so he would love him. Only now, so he would protect him in whatever way he could. Only now, and he wouldn’t let anyone steal it from them.

Even when it meant sending him away, devastated in the certainty that he’d never see him again, but trusting that his boy could still live , even without him.

And then now. This moment. Even if it was only this moment, he would treasure it forever.

“Chris.” Josef’s voice was soft, gentle, and the pain in Christian’s backside and bent knees said he’d given him ample time to just sit with his son.

Not enough. It was never enough. But he sniffed, and he stood, lifting Felix as he did so, just as he’d done so many times before. He sat with him in the chair at right angles to the sofa Josef and Corinne occupied.

She stared at him like she’d never seen him before.

Fair enough.

Josef sighed and motioned to her. “You had better explain yourself before she invents a story of her own.”

His eyes slid shut, giving him a whiff of the shampoo from Felix’s hair.

He didn’t even know where to begin. With her questions, he supposed.

The ones she’d asked through the water and the tunnel and the fog.

“I am not...I didn’t want to join the Party.

I only did because I thought...” He glanced down at Felix, who still gripped Christian’s collar in one hand, the thumb of his other in his mouth.

It should have made him frown—he’d broken him of that habit a year ago. But then his whole world had been uprooted, so who could begrudge him his comfort? The sight gave Christian a strange comfort too.

He was still the child he’d been. Still his little boy. Not all grown up. Not so long separated that he didn’t even remember him. He’d still called out his name the very moment he heard his voice.

But how could he say in Felix’s hearing that he’d joined the Nazis to try to save his life? That he’d thought it was his only hope of getting the medical help he would need?

How wrong he’d been.

Corinne’s golden brows drew together. “Why in the world did they entrust you with this role if you’re not a dedicated member of the Party?” Her German was flawless, her accent no different than his own. Only when she replied in it did he realize that he hadn’t shifted back from his mother tongue.

As for her question, a snort slipped out.

“I have no idea. They shouldn’t have. When they called me in to the Ministry, I thought I was being arrested—there were several times in my classes that I spoke what I really thought instead of what they wanted me to say.

I know very well it had been reported. And yet, instead.

..” He could only shrug. “The only thing that makes sense is that an old friend of mine helped arrange it—he was a police officer before, which means Gestapo now. He works in the filing room, so perhaps he made changes to my files. I can only guess about that. But since I’m here, I’m trying to do what good I can. ”

Her breath blew out, her gaze shifting to Felix.

He knew the usual looks his son got: pity, disgust, curiosity. He knew the usual questions: What’s wrong with him? Was he in an accident? Was he born that way?

Corinne only asked, “How could you stand to be away from him? How long has it been?”

He brushed Felix’s curls back again, just to watch them spring forward once more. “Ten months now. I...had no choice. It wasn’t safe in Germany.”

She was clearly about to ask why, but that explanation would have to wait. So he offered instead, “His mother died when he was just a baby. Cancer. It’s been just the two of us all these years, hasn’t it, m?uschen ?”

Felix nodded against him, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

“Ilse would be so proud though,” Josef said. “So proud of how her boys have thrived together.”

Christian’s smile was barely a lift of the corners of his lips.

Ilse had been so scared to die—not for her own sake, but because she hadn’t wanted to leave their “little mouse” behind, hadn’t trusted anyone to protect him like she would.

Even Christian. The last words she’d spoken had been, “Promise me. Promise me you’ll take care of him. Promise me. ”

He’d sobbed then like he had moments ago—not just at the loss of his wife, not at the tatters of a life she’d leave him with, but because she hadn’t trusted that he’d do it without that promise.

What had he ever done to make her doubt him?

He’d loved Felix every minute. Loved her every minute, even when they realized a month before the birth that she was sick.