Page 104 of The Lost Husband

“You predicted correctly this time,” Avi says, tossing her arms around Elias’s neck. “Thank God you were right.” Tears streak down Avi’s face, spilling over a smile bigger than one I knew she was capable of.

Noah takes my arm and pulls my back to his chest, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “There’s a lot to leave behind,” he whispers. “A lot to still recover, and some parts we’ll bring forward with us.”

“I don’t know where to start,” I tell him.

“With me. Together.”

“What now?” Avi asks, excitement firing through her. Suddenly the youthfulness of both Avi and Elias glows in their eyes.

“Well,” Elias says, straightening his shoulders, ready to get to work. “There will be displaced-person camps, registration, and documentation.”

“I don’t care about papers,” Avi says.

“Neither do I, but it’s necessary,” Elias follows.

“Neither of them has anywhere to go home to,” I say.

“Then we go together,” Noah asserts. “You two can come back to Amsterdam with us.” He squeezes his arms aroundme a little tighter. “Even if there’s nothing left. We’ll build something.”

Avi and Elias share a silent look as if they’ve already discussed their future in private. “Staying here would mean waiting for the Soviets to return. That’s not an option for me. Leaving Poland is the only choice for hope of true freedom,” Avi says. “Plus, Amsterdam sounds nice. And the sooner the better.”

“Amsterdam does sound nice,” Elias seconds her. “And I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to any of you.”

“No more goodbyes. We’ve had enough,” Avi says.

* * *

There’s no saying how far we’ll have to walk before we find a displaced-person camp or a shelter with opportunities for transportation, but all we can do is keep moving with hope that Poland can withstand Soviet occupation peacefully.

Avi and Elias are already bundling things together, shoving blankets into canvas bags, sorting through the remaining cans of food we have. Elias makes his way out into the corridor to place a bag down. “We should do something with this,” he says out loud to himself.

Noah slips away from me, heading toward Elias. I follow, finding him staring at the German uniform Elias tossed out here a couple months ago.

“I’ll get it,” Noah says.

“I can leave it somewhere. You don’t need to—” Elias says.

“No. It’s all right,” Noah replies as he lifts it into his arm. “This cost Christoph his life. Something I’ll never forget, but something I never want to see again.”

He turns and takes my hand then leads us to the stairs, and out of the building. Noah drops the uniform into the pit we’ve been using for a fire and pulls a tin of matches out of hispocket. He strikes the match, popping a flame against the wind. It flickers and trembles for a moment before he drops it over the uniform. “He sacrificed his life for us,” Noah says, his words catching in his throat.

The flame catches, singeing the fabric, layer by layer until it turns to black ash. Smoke rises, and that smell—death. I pray it’s the last time that scent follows us.

Noah loops his arm around my waist, his fingers brushing the side of my stomach.

“Now, we live for her,” Noah says. “For our Eve. And Christoph.”

“No,” I whisper with a quiver in my lips. “We live…because of them.”

EPILOGUE

SPRING 1948

Amsterdam, Netherlands

Whether awake or asleep, I hold on to the view of red, yellow, and orange tulips sprawled before me. The pale-yellow quilt beneath our legs. Noah and Luna laughing as her stacks of blocks collapse. And me, a sketch pad balanced in my lap. It isn’t the scene in front of me I want to capture. It’s the one I’m a part of.

Luna’s little hand claps over my arm, causing a jagged line across my paper before climbing into my lap and pushing the sketchbook away.