The Truth About Us

by Tia Souders

  “What if Yoel was one of the ones who escaped?” Abby asked, hope rising in her chest.

  “At the time, maybe I would’ve believed that, despite what I had heard. Because I wanted to believe. But now, it is well documented which Sonderkommando escaped, and Yoel was not one of them. His name is among those supporters killed.”

  “What if they’re wrong?”

  “They’re not.” Anna’s lips trembled with the force of her words.

  A swell of desperation rose inside Abby like nothing she’d ever felt before. The dam on her resolve cracked with her helpless to stop it.

  “Why? Why are you so insistent he’s dead?” Abby yelled.

  “Why are you so insistent he’s not?” Anna slammed her brittle fist down on their table, rattling the plates and attracting the stares of the patrons around them.

  Abby flinched at the sound; bile rose to the back of her throat, threatening to gag her. It was too much. It was all too much.

  “I think the question we need to ask is how your family got this if your grandfather is not my Yoel?” She held the journal up, shaking it in front of her, her dark eyes piercing Abby almost as much as her questions.

  Swallowing, Abby listened to the ominous staccato in her chest as her stomach twisted. She needed air. She needed space to think. Holding a finger up, she murmured, “If you’ll excuse me,” and pushed away from the table.

  The metal legs of her chair scraped on the worn linoleum, as she turned and hurried in the direction of the bathroom without waiting for a response.

  She closed the door to the lady’s room and leaned back against it, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the churning in her gut to cease. Inhaling through her nose, she held the air in her lungs. After a moment, she released it, repeating until she could move without fear of losing it on the bathroom floor.

  “What am I doing?” she asked herself. With shaking hands, she pressed her fingers against her temples, easing the pressure in her head.

  “Oh my gosh. Grandpa.” Abby gasped, then reached in her pocket with shaking hands. He was supposed to meet her there, a surprise for Ms. Gutman. Abby thought if maybe she could convince her there was even a chance Yoel was alive, then they could meet and reconnect.

  She had to stop him from coming. There was no way Anna Gutman would be open to a meeting with him.

  Opening her phone, she tried calling him but got no answer. She sent her grandfather a text, praying he’d check the old phone mom insisted on buying him two Christmases ago, but Abby knew it was probably no use. He always left it at home.

  Ms. Gutman was right. Abby should’ve gone to him in the first place, confronted him directly about the journal. This secret-keeping was stupid. Instead of risking a dead woman’s wishes, Abby brought Ms. Gutman, a virtual stranger, all the way there, despite her insistence Yoel was dead. She used the journal like a bribe. And for what?

  Hurrying to the sink, she turned the faucet on, cupping water with her hands and splashing it over her face until her hands stopped shaking. Suddenly, all the reasons she brought Ms. Gutman here seemed unclear. Futile, at best. Regardless, she had to lead with her gut. After all, she had nothing else to go off, no roadmap to guide her, and her instincts had told her to keep GG’s letters a secret. Her instincts told her to tell no one about her quest for clues until she had everything figured out. Her instincts told her Anna was wrong her grandfather was Yoel. For some reason, Ms. Gutman just didn’t want to accept the truth.

  Straightening, Abby squared her shoulders. Like it or not, she had to go back out there and face her again, even if she looked like a complete idiot. She knew what she needed to do.

  The fact it scared her so much made her wonder. Maybe Ms. Gutman was right. Maybe Abby wasn’t so sure of herself after all? Maybe she wasn’t sure of anything.

  She squared her shoulders and left the bathroom with renewed purpose. When she returned to their table and met Ms. Gutman’s eye, she reached into the pocket of her jeans and retrieved an old photo of her grandfather and placed it in front of her. She may not be up for meeting him, but Abby could show her. Make her see.

  “I believe this is him,” she said, her gaze steady on Anna’s face.

  Ms. Gutman hesitated like she was afraid to deny or confirm her cousin’s existence. When she finally settled her gaze on the picture, the breath caught in her throat. Her body stiffened, her gnarly grip curling around the edge of the table for support.

  “This is my grandfather,” Abby said, allowing her words to sink in as Ms. Gutman fell silent. “I believe this is your cousin.”

  Abby waited for her response, her stomach coiling in anticipation. When Ms. Gutman finally managed to tear her gaze away, she stood. Her knees wobbled as she stumbled around the table, pushing away from her chair and away from Abby, the journal forgotten. “Stay away.”

  Abby frowned. “What?”

  She placed a hand over her chest, her fingers curling into the bony spot over her heart, below a pendant she wore—the Star of David—as her eyes darted wildly in front of her.

  Leaping forward, Abby’s hands fluttered in the air around her, helpless to stop her departure but needing her to stay. “Are you okay?”

  Ms. Gutman pointed a finger at the photo. Her voice shook like an engine roaring to life. “When you spend so much time inside of a place like Auschwitz, worse than any hell you could imagine, there are things you don’t forget. Things you wish you could.”

  “Okay,” Abby said, awash with disappointment. A heaviness descended in her chest, but Ms. Gutman’s reaction prevented her from giving in to the weight of it. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  Anna took another step toward the exit, with hurried movements. “You’re asking all the wrong questions,” Ms. Gutman murmured, and with those parting words, she turned and left.

  ABBY CLUTCHED THE MESSENGER bag over her body—the journal tucked away safely inside. If it was true she had been asking all the wrong questions, she wouldn’t sleep until she found the right ones. She’d miss school. She’d force Mr. Klein to tell her what he knew. She’d do anything to find the truth. Not just for her or GG but for her grandfather. For seventeen-year-old Yoel, the boy in the book—whether it was her grandfather or not. For all the victims at Auschwitz. For the Sonderkommando who tried their best to fight back but were killed and for her family. She would uncover this skeleton and wouldn’t rest until every bone was left unturned—exposed—and she could sleep again.

  After her meeting with Ms. Gutman, she was struggling. She tried not to let the botched meeting get her down. Now more than ever, she was convinced the journal was everything. There had to be something she missed.

  When she got home, she closed the front door behind her and headed toward the stairs, as her mother exited the sunroom and stepped in front of her, arms crossed over her chest.

  Uh-oh.

  “Abby, where were you?”

  Abby shrugged, trying to keep her expression neutral. After all, it was only twelve in the afternoon. It’s not like she was out late or her mother caught her sneaking in. No need to arouse suspicion.

  “I told you. I was at Cammie’s this morning. We had a school project to work on.”

  “Yeah, I got your note when I woke up, but I called Cammie’s and she said you weren’t there. She sounded confused.”

  Abby fisted her hands, unjustly irritated. “Why were you checking up on me?”

  “Shouldn’t you be explaining where you were instead of asking why I was confirming my daughter’s whereabouts? Especially since you were gone before I woke?” The heat of anger flickered in her mother’s eyes, warning her to tread lightly.

  “Okay, fine. I was with Kaden.”

  “So why lie?”

  Abby shrugged. “His dad doesn’t like me, so I guess I figured it was best no one knew we were hanging out.”

  Her mother’s expression faltered, caught up in the statement that someone dare have anything against Abby. “Why doesn’t he like you?” sh
e asked, then held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t answer. It’s not important right now.”

  Abby waited. Her mother seemed to believe her, but her blue eyes remained on her face, a million questions flickering behind them.

  “Am I in trouble?” Abby asked.

  “I don’t know...”

  Her mother held a piece of stationery in front of her—the same white stationery with pale blue accents GG used. “This was delivered to the house about thirty minutes ago.”

  Abby’s heart stopped mid-beat. A letter.

  Her eyes widened as she took in the envelope, trying to ascertain whether it had been opened, as her pulse pounded in her ears.

  Her palms dampened, as she asked, “Did you read it?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s against the law!” Panic swelled in her chest like a balloon, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. Her voice rose like the tide, crashing against the shore of her tattered nerves. “You can’t just read my mail.”

  “You’re my daughter. I most certainly can. Now, would you like to explain to me what the heck this is? Is this some sort of game? A prank?” She narrowed her eyes. “Who sent this?”

  Abby blinked up at her mother, her mouth glued shut, knowing she needed to give her an answer. One that would make sense. One that would calm her down, explain everything yet nothing at all, but she couldn’t think. A million tiny questions exploded in the back of her head, and all she could think about was what answers might be written on the small square of paper.

  “No one. It’s nothing.” Abby snatched the letter from her mother’s hand, catching her off guard.

  Her mother’s mouth gaped as Abby catapulted herself around her and launched herself toward the stairs, where she ran like someone was chasing her.

  “Get back here right now!” her mother yelled after her, but Abby had already hit the landing and thrust herself into her bedroom.

  She turned and locked her door before her mother could catch her. Heart beating in her throat, she listened to the drumbeat of her mother’s footsteps against the stairs, then jumped when her mother started pounding against the door.

  “You owe me an explanation!” Her doorknob turned over and over in quick succession as her mother tried to open it in vain. “Abby, you open this door right now!”

  With little regret, Abby backed away from the door and held the letter out in front of her. She had no idea how much time she had until her mother found a way to unlock her door. Or bust it down. So, she tore the letter open and read.

  Dear Abby,

  By now, you should’ve gone to my safety deposit box and found the documents I had there, which means you know Detective Lawson, the man I hired to help me was killed.

  He called me before he died.

  Abby’s pulse jumped in her throat as the blood pounded in her ears, but she focused, forcing herself to keep reading, hoping GG revealed everything inside the safety deposit box since she hadn’t been able to access it.

  It’s my belief Lawson confirmed my suspicions that night. It’s my belief he found concrete evidence. But I will never know because he is gone, and I am an old woman afraid of the truth.

  Now you see why this secret is so important. Why you must be sure before you go on and finish this. I give my blessing to stop searching for answers if you so choose.

  But remember, people have died for this secret. Many people, in fact. By now, you should be close. All you need is that final puzzle piece. Whatever it was Lawson found.

  All I know about the night Lawson was killed is that he discovered something in a storage unit. I assume it was somewhere in the town they discovered his body, as I am sure somewhere there is a key. Somewhere in a unit is all the proof you’ll need. I’m confident of this. Find it and you’ll know, but please don’t despair. You must find a way to live with the truth, to reconstruct everything you know about yourself, about us.

  I came across a quote in my quest to come to terms with the truth, and it calls to me now as I write you. “...family can be the very devil in disguise. More powerful than any drug, more alluring than any sin. They can demand a loyalty that will rip your heart out and chew it up without the thought of apology.” ~ Liz Reinhardt

  I’m sorry,

  GG.

  Chills crept up her spine at the parting quote, but GG’s words did little more than confuse her. All she did was confirm assumptions Abby had grown to believe to be true. She already suspected Lawson had been murdered to keep quiet, and she had already found the storage unit. If the contents inside were proof, then Kaden was right. The only explanation was blackmail. Her grandfather made his money off the expense of Irma Mentz’s freedom. Unless there was something else in the safety deposit box. Some missing piece to the puzzle to form a different picture.

  The knob of Abby’s door jiggled and twisted as the sound of metal-on-metal broke the silence.

  Her mother. She was running out of time.

  Abby shoved the letter inside her messenger bag, then rushed to her closet to retrieve the others. Flinging open the door, she shifted aside the bag of old clothes she placed over the box of evidence to obscure it from plain sight and froze. The lid was off. The contents inside were shuffled instead of neatly placed as she had left them.

  Lifting the box, a cursory check told her nothing was missing, but as she turned around and scanned her room, she noted her dresser drawers askew. The drawer to her desk was open, its contents spread out over the typically tidy surface.

  Someone was in her room, searching through her things.

  It was probably just her mom, she told herself.

  When GG’s letter came, she went snooping. A perfectly reasonable explanation, so why was her stomach tangled in knots?

  Something clicked in the lock of her door. Her gaze turned to the twisting knob.

  She had no time to think. Only react.

  She raced to the window and slid it open. Pushing herself up with her arms, she hoisted her body until she managed to perch herself on the edge of the window, with her feet dangling above the porch roof.

  She stared down at the yard, which looked farther away than she had imagined, and muttered, “Maybe you didn’t think this one through.”

  But as she heard her bedroom door slam against the wall, along with the sound of her mother’s voice, she slid her body down the window until she hung by her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she let go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Abby ignored her cell phone. It had rung incessantly with calls from her mother since she snuck out, trying to stave off the guilt of what had probably given her mother a full-blown panic attack. She texted her that she was fine. She told her she had something to do and would be home in a couple of hours. That was enough reassurance, right?

  She shook her head, pretending like she wouldn’t be brutally punished when she got home. Abby wished she wasn’t alone but knew there was no way she could drag Kaden into this. She had already involved him too much, and the last thing she wanted was for him to get in trouble.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, Abby tried to shake the feeling she was being followed but failed. Maybe the secret was finally getting to her, making her paranoid.

  Or maybe the same person who killed Lawson was out to get her.

  Her thoughts flickered to the car she swore tailed her from Lawson’s house to the man she noticed watching her twice at the coffee shop—once with Kaden and then with her grandfather—then to the items moved in her room.

  What if Kaden was right and her grandfather was blackmailing Irma Mentz? What if he had caught up to her?

  Someone knew she was searching for the secret, and she’d be lying to herself if she said it didn’t scare her.

  Breathe, Abby. Just breathe.

  Inhaling, Abby focused on the road and the task at hand. As much as she wanted Kaden with her right now, if she got caught doing what she was about to do, it was one thing. She could handle getting arrested, but with Mr. Oliver’s job at st
ake, Kaden couldn’t.

  Somewhere between Fairfax and D.C., Abby had convinced herself this was her only recourse. Breaking into Mr. Klein’s office was the only solution. She needed her grandmother’s files—everything he had on her. The remaining letters were crucial, and she was almost certain the answers she needed to put all the evidence together was in his office, wedged inside a filing cabinet, waiting.

  Abby parked at the bus station and retrieved the jack from her trunk, tucking it into her bag. She walked the rest of the way to Mr. Klein’s office, ignoring the blare of horns from passersby and saying a little prayer he was not working on a Sunday afternoon.

  The heavy glass doors opened, which seemed odd, but there were double doors. She stepped inside the first set, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do and convincing herself it was the only way.

  Her phone alerted her to another text, but she ignored it, praying her mother forgave her and hoping she wouldn’t be grounded for all of eternity. Or worse, arrested.

  She stepped toward the second set of double doors but paused. The lock had been busted, dangling like a fallen soldier from the handle of the door.

  Her hands shook like an earthquake as she reached out and pulled the door open, and Abby gasped.

  Looks like someone beat her to it.

  HER HEART SLAMMED INTO a panic as she stepped inside into the reception area. She stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the shattered glass glittering on the carpet in front of her, like a sheet of broken ice.

  The sound of her harsh breathing filled the silence as she stood there, staring. Several beats passed before she could move again. Shaking off her shock, Abby trod carefully over the broken glass, avoiding the giant shards and cringing at the crunch under her sneakers like gravel. She cocked her head in front of the opening to Mr. Klein’s office, listening for sounds of the intruder.