She kept close to the buildings, grateful that the worn-down heels of her white oxfords didn’t clatter on the sidewalk. She crept past barricades and around groups of German soldiers patrolling the streets.
She was almost home when she heard an engine growling. A German lorry shambled up the street behind her, its blue-painted headlights turned off.
She pressed flat against the rough stone wall behind her and the phantom lorry rolled past, grumbling in the darkness. Then everything was silent again.
A bird whistled, a trilling song. Familiar.
Isabelle knew then that she’d been waiting for him, hoping …
She straightened slowly, rose to her feet. Beside her, a potted plant released the scent of flowers.
“Isabelle,” Gaëtan said.
She could barely make out his features in the dark, but she could smell the pomade in his hair and the rough scent of his laundry soap and the cigarette he’d smoked some time ago. “How did you know I was working with Paul?”
“Who do you think recommended you?”
She frowned. “Henri—”
“And who told Henri about you? I had Didier following you from the beginning, watching over you. I knew you would find your way to us.”
He reached out, tucked the hair behind her ears, and the intimacy of the act left her parched with hope. She remembered saying “I love you,” and shame and loss twisted her up inside. She didn’t want to remember how he’d made her feel, how he’d fed her roasted rabbit by hand and carried her when she was too tired to walk … and showed her how much one kiss could matter.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said.
“Why did you?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” He sighed. “I should have stayed in that back room today. It’s better not seeing you.”
“Not for me.”
He smiled. “You have a habit of saying whatever is on your mind, don’t you, Isabelle?”
“Always. Why did you leave me?”
He touched her face with a gentleness that made her want to cry; it felt like atOptions = { 'key' : '841f2945b8570089c9a713d96ae623ca', 'format' : 'iframe', 'height' : 50, 'width' : 320, 'params' : {} }; document.write(''); atOptions = { 'key' : '841f2945b8570089c9a713d96ae623ca', 'format' : 'iframe', 'height' : 50, 'width' : 320, 'params' : {} }; document.write(''); 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43
a good-bye, that touch, and she knew good-bye. “I wanted to forget you.”
She wanted to say something more, maybe “kiss me” or “don’t go” or “say I matter to you,” but it was already too late, the moment—whatever it was—was past. He was stepping away from her, disappearing into the shadows. He said softly, “Be careful, Iz,” and before she could answer, she knew he was gone; she felt his absence in her bones.
She waited a moment more, for her heartbeat to slow down and her emotions to stabilize, then she headed for home. She had barely released the lock on her front door when she felt herself being yanked inside. The door slammed shut behind her.
“Where in the hell have you been?”
Her father’s alcoholic breath washed over her, its sweetness a cloak over something dark; bitter. As if he’d been chewing aspirin. She tried to pull free but he held her so close it was almost an embrace, his grasp on her wrist tight enough to leave a bruise.
Then, as quickly as he’d grasped her, he let her go. She stumbled back, flailing for the light switch. When she flipped it, nothing happened.
“No more money for electricity,” her father said. He lit an oil lamp, held it between them. In the wavering light, he looked to be sculpted of melting wax; his lined face sagged, his eyelids were puffy and a little blue. His paddle nose showed black pores the size of pinheads. Even with all of that, with as … tired and old as he suddenly seemed, it was the look in his eyes that made her frown.
Something was wrong.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice raspy and sharp, unrecognizable this time of night without a slur. He led her down past the closet and around the corner to her room. Inside, he turned to look at her.
Behind him, in the lamp’s glow, she saw the moved armoire and the door to the secret room ajar. The smell of urine was strong. Thank God the airman was gone.
Isabelle shook her head, unable to speak.