As she grew older, the desire to flee her reality grew. Sometimes in airports or train stations or any other transient place where she’d never see the people again, Reba professed to be someone else entirely, and what frightened her most was that for those moments, she believed her own deceptions.
Once, on the train from Richmond to Washington, D.C., she struck up a conversation with the businessman beside her, introducing herself as an Olympic speed skater meeting her teammates in the capital. The businessman paid for her lunch—his pleasure to dine with an athlete of such caliber. When they parted, a sudden wave of guilt made Reba sick to her stomach. She threw up the New York strip steak in the restroom and prayed to God she wasn’t certifiable—multiple personality, psychotic, or manic like her daddy.
Moving west was her solution, a clean slate. She could be anybody she wanted. She could be herself. But then, she wasn’t quite sure who that was. Her first encounter with Riki had been out of character, another attempt to act the part: the brazen reporter who jumped in bed after a handful of dates and said she believed in love at first sight. In truth, she only wanted to believe. She’d hoped declaring love aloud might be the all-inclusive cure to her heartache. When it wasn’t, she began to wonder if love was enough.
This was why she didn’t wear the engagement ring. If she married Riki, she had two choices: become the lies forever or expose her true self and risk losing him. She wished he could simply know her without her having to explain her past. Before she could marry anybody, she had to decipher where the truth ended and her lies began.
Headlights spun round the kitchen and a minute later, the front door opened.
“Reba?” Riki called.
“I’m in here.”
He came in and turned on the light. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
The brightness burned Reba’s corneas. “I wasn’t in the dark. The stove light’s on.”
“Practically the dark.” He pulled change and gum wrappers from his pocket and dumped them in the empty fruit bowl on the table. “Don’t turn into a vampire on me.” He kissed the top of her head, took off his border patrol jacket, and sat.
“Long day?” She knew the answer by the hollows beneath his eyes.
“We picked up a family living out of their four-door in a Walmart parking lot. Pretty sad. Processing them back to Mexico tomorrow. The youngest is an infant. He’d been sitting in dirty diapers for God knows how long.” He scratched his cheek. “It gets under your skin. The father’s just trying to give his family a better place—better life.”
The daily barrage of illegal immigration stories had long ago callused Reba’s compassion. While usually Riki was on the US side, lately he seemed to be championing the Mexican nationals more and more. She couldn’t keep up with whom he wanted her to empathize, so she slouched on the higher fence of principle.
“Don’t make yourself the bad guy,” she said. “Like you always tell me, there are rules we have to follow. Otherwise, there are consequences.” She swallowed a milk-mushy crumb that came loose from her molar. “You get dinner?” she asked, a change of subject. “I stopped off at Rudy’s after my interview and have some leftovers if you’re hungry.”
“How’d that go?”
“Rudy’s?” She didn’t want to talk about the interview. “You know I love their smoked turkey.” She got up and went to the refrigerator.
“No, the profile you’re writing, Miss Sun City.”
“It was fine. I have to go back though. You sure you don’t want some?” She pulled the paper take-out bag from the shelf.
“I ate. You have to go back? Why? She blew you off in person, too?”
Reba shrugged. “I’ll get what I want for the story. But right now, what I really want is …” She grabbed his hand and slid it around her waist. “To stop talking. I’ve been talk-talk-talking all day.” She knew how to change the subject for good.
He got up and pulled her close. “Whatever you say, boss.”
She breathed easy and led him upstairs. This was one thing that was always real, and she prayed Riki felt the whole truth in it.
Chapter Five
NAZI WEIHNACHTEN PARTY
19 GERNACKERSTRASSE
GARMISCH, GERMANY
DECEMBER 24, 1944
It had begun to snow. Thousands of iridescent spindles careened blindly down to earth. Elsie leaned back and let the spongy flakes pile on her face. The chill cleared her mind, and though she shivered, she remained in the alley’s silence, watching the world transform into a fairy-tale masquerade. The dirty streets were powdered white. The dark trees, trimmed neatly in crystal. Parked cars were already being transfigured to mounds of sugar. She loved new snow. It changed everything.
The wind swept under her dress, numbed her legs, and shot goose bumps up her back. She hugged her arms to her breast. Josef’s ring on her hand was ice cold. She pulled it off and rubbed the metal warm between her palms. It was a beautiful ring from a good man, but she felt little for a moment so big. She turned it round and round, rubies and diamonds, red and white. Why couldn’t it simply be another Christmas present? Like the dress and champagne.
She began to put it back on her finger when she noticed something, a scratch? No, too precise and even. She turned the ring toward the window light. Worn to near nothing, an inscription: Ani ledodi ve Dodi Li. Hebrew.
A wave of heat flushed through her body, and her chest tightened under a varnish of flash-frozen sweat. She knew the Gestapo confiscated all Jewish valuables, but she never considered what became of them. Like their owners, they simply vanished.
The snow picked up. The flakes were no longer light but beaded with icy hearts that pricked the skin. The wind stung her eyes. She blinked away the tears so she could clearly see the ring. It was someone else’s wedding band, and she wondered if that unknown finger missed its weight.
Elsie steadied herself against a blanket-covered crate under the balcony and breathed the frosty air until her heart slowed its pounding.
“What are you doing out here?” Kremer pushed through the back entrance doors.
Elsie slid the ring on. “The heat inside—I guess I’m not very good with champagne. I’m fine now.” She reached for the doorknob, but he stopped her.
“Look at you—you’re shaking. How long have you been out here?” He rubbed her arm with rough fingers.
“I should go in,” said Elsie.
“You need somebody to warm you up.” Before she could pull away, Kremer yanked her into his coat. His breath reeked of red wine and sausage.
“Major Kremer, please.” Elsie tried to free her arms, but her limbs were heavy and cold.
“You smell like a baker’s daughter.” He leaned in. “Do you taste like a baker’s daughter?” He kissed her neck.
“Let go! Stop!” she yelled.
Kremer put a hand over her mouth. “Hush!” he commanded. “If you make another noise,” he growled into her ear, then unbuttoned the holster of his gun. “Officers have been commended for shooting female spies in the act of seduction.” Holding her tight with one hand, he quickly pushed her skirt up and slipped his other up her thigh.
“Disgusting pig! How dare you!” She kicked hard and pulled away. “I am not a spy!” She spit in his face.
He slapped her, spinning her around. “Such a pretty fräulein and with so much spirit.” He thrust her forward against the crate, pinning both her arms overhead. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He fumbled with his belt buckle.