It’s a small place with old but in top shape furniture, many pillows, framed photographs, a couple of cats, and a tiny kitchen that smells like food and coffee.
“Did you eat?” she tosses at me while heading to the kitchen.
“Excuse me?”
She glances at me over her shoulder.
“Did you eat?”
“Uh. No. But I’m good. Thank you.”
“That’s not what I asked,” she mumbles, showing me to the kitchen table.
She takes two clean mugs from the cupboard and fills them with coffee before bringing them to the table. From the oven she retrieves a cake and cuts a few slices.
It smells delicious. She puts the plate on the table.
“Polish Babka Cake. It’s good. I’m Polish, you know…”
“I noticed the accent.”
“Yes. So…”
She gestures at me to try her cake. I take a bite. It’s moist and flavorful.
“It’s good.”
She observes me quietly, trying to figure out if I’m truthful or not.
Satisfied with my answer, she tastes it too.
We both drink coffee.
It’s quiet in her house, the only sound coming from an old clock on the wall.
Her cats are curled up on the sofa.
They sleep, ignoring us.
“Why now?” she asks, running a napkin over her lips. “What made you come to me now?”
She talks as if she lives alone, and judging by the lack of signs pointing to the presence of an adult male in the house, I’m inclined to think that I’m right.
“I found a bunch of pictures in our house. They were stacked in some boxes that hadn’t been opened in a while, and when I asked my father about the man, he told me his name. He also said he was his friend and had lost his life tragically. I wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to talk about it. I figured the best way to find more information was to talk to someone in his family. That’s how I ended up with your address.”
The morsel of trust she’s shown me before is now replaced by suspicion.
“Why is it so important to know about Andrew?”
I suck in a scant breath and get ready to deliver my explanation.
This is do or die.
If she doesn’t buy it, I might need to go back empty-handed.
“My mother was in the military too. She had died at about the same time as Andrew. I want to celebrate her life by writing a book about her. This book will bring me some closure. But to get to that point, I need to go back and revisit some of those moments that I couldn’t fully understand at the time since I was a teen. I want to learn more about the people in my parents’ lives and what happened before I came into this world. I want to uncover stories. The ones that had been known to only a few people and also the ones that had remained untold. And maybe that way, I’ll understand why their lives were tragically cut short.”
Her eyes glint with sympathy for me.