Page 8 of The Lost Husband

I sigh because I can’t deny a word.

* * *

Summer refuses to leave and I welcome it to stay for as long as it would like. I unravel the brown paper from a small loaf of dark bread and the small wedge of cheese I picked up from the kosher bakery. Lastly, the fresh pears we picked up at the street vendor around the corner. We hang our legs over the ledge of the canal, watching boats skim through the center of the Jewish district as peacefully as the slight currents ripple. The sun dips to our side, casting a long orange glow along the water.

Noah waits for me to take the first bite of bread before he takes one of his own, and we share peaceful sighs.

“I wasn’t just speaking off-the-cuff earlier when I said I wanted to be the one paying for your classes. I want to take care of you. I want to have a life with you.”

I twist my head away from the sun to look at Noah, the truth written in the luminous green and hazel hues in his eyes. His dark hair soaks in the warmth, glowing almost auburn as it blows in the breeze.

“What do you think our flat will look like?” I ask, unable to hide the smirk.

Noah tilts his head back and closes his eyes as if dreaming up our future. “I think we’ll have lots of sunshine, a large kitchen with enough space for your easel and space right in front of the window. The flat will have to face west so you can capture the perfect lighting in your paintings,” he pauses and a smile grows wider. “Then I’ll ask you what smells so amazing: is it a roast or turpentine?”

I nearly choke on a breath with belly-laugh, imagining the scene of me cooking dinner with a paintbrush in my hand.

I love him so much my chest aches, and I can’t remember why we said it was so important to wait until we both finish our classes. He already has a job, writing weekly trade reports on currency and exchange stability.

“There’s nothing I want more,” I utter.

Noah’s gaze drops to his lap, and he presses his palms against his legs. “I’ve already asked your father for permission, and he knows a good jeweler in the area…”

“What are you talking about?” I laugh, though the sound is all nerves and apprehension. My fatheristhe jeweler in the area.Mama and Papa have been so quiet this week…

I can hardly take in a full breath when Noah leans in toward me to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a dainty gold band.“I’ve been carrying this around for a couple of weeks, waiting for the right moment. Of course, I didn’t expect it to be tonight while you should be in class,” he smiles, “but life happens in unexpected moments—the most perfect moments, ones we could never predict, even with all the numbers in the world.”

I clutch my chest, searching for my lungs that are failing me. “Noah?—”

He smiles, his chin trembling as he pinches his lips. Three knuckles crack, one by one. His nervous tick. “Hold on, I’m not done.” He pauses through a quick breath. “I don’t know how many moments have passed throughout our lives, but I do know there have been too many when I have promised myself that in one of these moments with you, I will ask you—the woman I love more than anything in this entire world… Would you do me the greatest of honor of becoming my wife? There is nothing I want more.”

Surrealism—my favorite art movement; the ability to allow unconscious thoughts to depict a dreamlike scene with an element of surprise. This moment. I soak it in, the love in his eyes, the last of the sun’s rays haloing the arc of freckles on his nose, his parted lips, struggling for air as the fractions of seconds grow longer between then and now.

“Yes.” My answer chirps among choked air. “I want a life together. I want a forever with you.”

My hand trembles when he reaches out with the gold band. He slides it down the length of my finger with ease, then holds it in place. His stare has me in a hold, one that burrows deep into my heart and soul. Tears burn my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. “My love. My everything.”

His hand sweeps along my cheek before his lips claim mine, sealing our fate, love, and devotion in a shared breath. I want to feel this way for all of time.

The lamps flicker above, night asking to settle in and join us. The glitz of lights dazzles along the darkening waters, and music floats through the air, binding us in a promise to stay together like this.

With Noah’s arm around me, he grazes his knuckles gently down my side—a quiet, simple touch he never thinks twice about. It’s the sort of touch that always pulls me in closer, my head finding his shoulder as the rest of the world blurs around us.

FIVE

CURRENT DAY

Auschwitz, Oswiecim, Poland

Outside the gates of Auschwitz, a man jumps into a train car and begins tossing suitcases out, one by one. Most split in half, contents flying everywhere. Mementos, picture frames, books, and clothes pepper the snow. A blue knit baby blanket lands at my feet. Every day, mothers with babies were sent directly to their death here. The cries of those poor babies echoed through the night. I can still hear the sound.

“We can’t stay here. There won’t be another train coming,” Avi says. “Not here, at least.” She stares past me, along the tracks that disappear into a white blanket of snow.

I glance back toward the gate, spotting the same group of detained German guards and the Soviet soldiers shoving them into a truck. It pulls away from the brick gate tower, following the direction of the railroad. “You’re right,” I tell Avi. “We should—uh—” I notice other prisoners following the railroad in the same path as the Soviet truck. “We should follow the others and go that way.” I point toward them. “They must have a better idea of where they’re going than we do.” If I suggested following theSoviet truck, she’d not only think I’m mad, but I’m confident she wouldn’t agree to go that way with how determined she was to get away from them.

“You’re right,” she says, grabbing my arm to tug me along, past those who are still staring at the abandoned train. “We just need to stay away from the Soviets. We can’t trust them.”

“Why? They are here to liberate us, are they not?”