The Things We Cherished

by Pam Jenoff

  But that had not happened, and Roger would not force the situation. Magda needed the protection that her marriage to Hans afforded her now more than ever. Defeated, he slipped from the room.

  That evening, Roger stood at the door of Hans’s study, waiting for his brother to notice him. He looked back over his shoulder. Magda would be furious if she knew that Roger was disregarding her wishes, as well as his promise to her. But after today he had no choice. And he was counting on the fact that Hans was preoccupied and told his wife little. Hans would not say anything to Magda unless he was actually able to do something and then it would no longer matter. Roger had to take the chance.

  When several minutes had passed and Hans had not looked up, Roger cleared his throat. “Come in,” Hans said, but his affability was forced, as though he was trying to hide annoyance at the interruption. “How are your studies?”

  “Fine,” he replied dutifully, more aware than ever of his brother’s benevolence, the imbalance of power that had always existed between them.

  “Do you need some extra money?”

  “No, thank you.” Roger fought to keep the indignation from his voice. He had asked for some money once just to make it until the end of the month when he received his stipend, and then he had repaid it promptly. “It’s about Magda.”

  Hans glanced up from the papers momentarily. “What is it?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m concerned about her safety and Anna’s too.” But Hans continued to stare at him blankly. Did he really not see the connection between his own work and the danger that threatened his family? “After all that happened today—” he pressed.

  Hans straightened. “Magda was not the target of the Gestapo inquiry. And with my position as a diplomat, they would not dare to touch my wife.”

  He was not trying to be arrogant, Roger realized. He was just giving his honest assessment. But how could he be sure? “If you could arrange some papers—”

  Hans shook his head. “Even if I could manage that, Magda would refuse to go.” In that one regard, at least, Hans seemed to know his wife. “And her departure would attract too much attention.”

  Roger’s anger flared. Was his brother seriously more worried about appearances for the sake of his work than about his family’s safety?

  Roger hesitated, yearning to say more. But he had already said more than Magda wanted and he would gain no further ground with Hans. He turned. “Good evening.”

  “Wait,” Hans called after him as he reached the door.

  He turned back, the dutiful brother summoned. “About Magda—I understand your concerns.” Hans’s face softened. “And I’m going to be traveling a good deal these next few months.”

  Meaning that Hans was going to be absent even more than he was already? Roger wondered with a mixture of hope and disbelief. It hardly seemed possible.

  “I want you to look after her.”

  I already do, Roger wanted to say. Hans continued. “That is, if something should happen to me …” Hans’s voice trailed off and his face clouded, betraying more concern than he had previously been willing to admit.

  “Is there something—?”

  “Nothing that I know of. No imminent danger.” But Hans sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Roger. “Just in case, there’s a drawer at the bottom of my desk with a false bottom. Beneath it you will find some money, as well as papers detailing my various contacts in different places. Don’t go there unless it’s absolutely critical. There are other things there too, and you would endanger yourself and Magda by knowing about them.”

  “Of course.” Another man might have pushed for more information or perhaps even been tempted to look. But Hans would say no more—and Roger had learned the value of keeping his head low.

  Roger retreated from the study, and eyed the stairs to the third floor reluctantly. Nights with Hans home were the hardest, and on the occasions when Roger knew his brother was coming, he would remain at the university for as long as he could, working until the librarian patiently reminded him that the building would be closing. Later, he would invariably lie awake, trying to shut out the sound of voices talking softly below, unable to accept that the moment of Magda’s arrival would not come.

  He started for the stairs now. Behind him there came a noise from the water closet and he looked back to see Magda emerging in her housecoat. She made her way to the bedroom, head down.

  As Roger forced himself to continue on, his boot scuffled loudly against the floor. He turned back. Magda glanced over her shoulder from the doorway and when their eyes met, he could see a longing that tugged at his heart.

  He stepped closer, emboldened. “Magda.” His lips formed her name without sound. He held his breath, wishing that she might dare to whisper his name as well. Seconds passed. Then the silence was broken by the shuffling of papers behind the closed study door, Hans clearing his throat.

  “Gute Nacht,” Magda said hurriedly. Roger opened his mouth, but before he could respond, she disappeared into the darkness behind her.

  Nine

  MUNICH, 2009

  Charlotte stared up wordlessly at Brian, a thousand conflicting emotions roaring through her. There was the usual jump in her stomach. But at the same time she wanted to slap him, hard, for standing her up at the airport. Everything he had done to her years earlier came rushing back, amplified even more due to his most recent transgression. Underneath it all, a small flicker of desire burned, the attraction she felt to him undimmed by time or pain. And then, just as suddenly as they had come, the feelings receded like a tide, leaving her hollow and drained. Inwardly she started to crumble.

  “Good morning,” Brian said, as though there was nothing unusual about his unannounced appearance, or the circumstances that had caused them to meet here. He walked past her into the room. She was suddenly mindful of her sweatpants and sleep-tousled hair, as well as the musky smell that seemed to linger in the air. He walked to the windows, pushing the curtains aside, and bright sunlight illuminated the unmade bed. He had just missed his brother, she realized with relief. What would have happened if he had arrived a little earlier?

  “When did you get in?”

  “About an hour ago.” But with his pressed suit and fresh shave, he showed no signs of having taken an overnight flight. “You were expecting Jack?”

  “I—that is, we—never said where we were meeting this morning.” The half-eaten food on the room-service trays that still sat in the corner seemed somehow like incriminating evidence. But Brian did not seem to notice. Anger replaced her uneasiness. It was he who had stood her up, sent her on to deal with the case on her own. He was the one who owed explanations.

  “Why don’t you take a shower?” he suggested before she could speak. “I’m going to grab some coffee in the lobby and wait for you there.”

  Ninety minutes later they entered the prison conference room. Jack looked up and at the sight of her began to smile. Then as he saw his brother, his face clouded over and his brow furrowed. His gaze dropped to Charlotte once more and his expression changed—to what exactly she could not say. Awkwardness? Desire? Regret?

  Jack stood. “Hello Brian,” he said evenly, his voice neutral, devoid of any reference to the decade of unexplained acrimony between them. The two men did not shake hands.

  “I just got in,” Brian said. “I was delayed by an emergency hearing.” As usual with Brian, there was no apology. “I heard that you were in Poland?”

  “Yes. It’s a long story and—”

  But Brian brushed by without giving him the chance to finish. “Roger,” he said warmly, extending his hand as though they were meeting on the golf course. It was the first time Charlotte had heard anyone address the older man by his first name.

  Then Brian stopped, noticing the ankle chains. “What’s this?” he demanded, turning around, as if Charlotte and Jack were personally responsible for Roger’s incarceration. “My client is a respected businessman, an industry leader. He shouldn’
t be treated like a common criminal.”

  His client, Charlotte repeated silently, annoyed. “I’m going to get the judge on the phone,” Brian blustered. “This is an outrage.”

  “You,” Jack replied quietly, his voice steely, “will do no such thing. You aren’t in New York anymore. This is a foreign country and they have their own rules and customs and throwing your weight around is only going to make things worse.”

  Brian’s mouth opened and Charlotte braced herself for an obscenity-laced retort, but then he sat back, seemingly subdued by his brother’s admonition. “So what are we doing now?”

  “Charley and I—” Jack faltered, flustered by his own use of the intimate nickname. Brian looked from Jack to Charlotte, then back again, a scowl crossing his face.

  “Yesterday Herr Dykmans was telling us about a clock that may contain some helpful information,” Charlotte interjected. “He thinks it might be in Salzburg and I thought we should go there to check out the lead.”

  “And I think it’s a wild goose chase,” Jack chimed in.

  “It’s not as if we have a better lead here,” she countered suddenly, feeling like she was arguing her case before a judge.

  “I agree with Charlotte,” Brian pronounced, as though the call was his. He was, she conceded inwardly, the tie-breaking vote. But did he really agree with her, or was he simply trying to outmaneuver his brother?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the look of anger that imprinted itself upon Jack’s face. This was the frustration he’d described before—it was his case and in waltzed Brian at the last minute, taking over. It was more than that, though. She could feel Jack shooting waves of recrimination in her direction across the room. To him, it was as if she had betrayed him, which seemed unfair, seeing as going to Salzburg had been her idea all along, and given that he’d brought up their disagreement. Still, she didn’t want him to think she was siding with Brian. I’m sorry, she tried to mouth to him silently.

  But Jack looked away. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll book the train.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Brian replied. “You can stay here and work the case and Charlotte and I can go to Salzburg.”

  As she stood back and watched them argue, dread rose in her. She wanted to be alone with Brian even less than she wanted to be separated from Jack, and the combination of both seemed unthinkable. The deluge of emotions she’d been holding back surged forth then, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  “No,” Jack replied firmly. “We should all go.” Charlotte exhaled silently. “Anyway, my German is the best.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Brian asked.

  Charlotte cringed. She had still hoped that he might back out of this part of the trip. “But your case in New York—don’t you have to get back?”

  Brian waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense. I just arrived. And there’s no matter more important to me than Roger’s,” he said, loudly enough for the older man to hear. But Charlotte could tell that it went beyond concern for his client. Brian simply wanted what Jack had, insisted on taking control. This was the tension she had sensed between the brothers years ago, only instead of easing with the passage of time, the gamesmanship was even more pronounced now, laid bare. And it wasn’t just about the case—seeing the closeness that had developed between her and Jack in the past few days had fueled Brian’s competitive instinct. The thought gave her little comfort. It wasn’t that Brian wanted her. He just didn’t want his brother to win.

  But there’s nothing between me and Jack, she thought, protesting inwardly. Was there? Last night was just a moment, and Brian didn’t know about that anyway. It didn’t matter, though; Brian’s jealousy had little to do with reality or her and everything to do with the rivalry between the brothers and his need to come out on top. He would not be dissuaded from going to Salzburg.

  She looked over at the conference table then. Herr Dykmans watched the two brothers debate, a glint of something at the corner of his eyes. Her irritation flared. Was he amused by this tussle among the team members trying to save his life? Then his eyes caught hers, held. No, it was something else. Empathy. I’ve been part of a love triangle too, his gaze seemed to suggest.

  She wanted to tell him the situation wasn’t like that, not at all the same as his had been. But whatever this was, being caught in the power struggle between the two brothers was not a position she relished.

  “All right,” she said, clearing her throat. It was time to take charge of the situation. “Let’s book the tickets. The three of us,” she did not meet Roger’s gaze, “are going to Salzburg.”

  “I took care of your client,” Brian said to Charlotte as they boarded the train an hour later, steps ahead of Jack. They’d left Roger at the prison and headed directly to the station, no one speaking during the short car ride. Now, as they located an empty compartment, three seats facing forward and three to the rear, Brian showed no trace of the bluster he’d shown earlier. He was subdued, almost contrite, a little boy chastised. She’d always been able to bring him to this place, Charlotte reflected, simply by waiting out whatever storm seemed to be blowing through him. “Kate Dolgenos is in Philadelphia right now.”

  She nodded. “I know.” But his fulfillment of that one promise in no way made up for the rest of it, the pain he’d caused years earlier, his failure to show up at the airport as promised a few days ago.

  Brian sat down in the seat closest to the aisle, facing forward, and Jack dropped into the rear-facing seat farthest from his brother by the window. Charlotte hesitated. Her choice of where to sit seemed somehow symbolic—as if she were picking between them. Ridiculous, given that they were all on the same side, at least in the legal sense. “I’m going for coffee,” she said, choosing neither. “Do either of you want anything?”

  Jack opened his mouth as if to speak but no sound came out. Brian simply shot her a look of helpless abandonment, begging her not to leave. It was the first time the brothers had seen each other in years, she realized, and they did not want to be alone with each other.

  But that was not, she decided a few minutes later as she settled in at a table in the café car, her problem. She was an attorney, not a therapist. She stirred her cappuccino and opened the copy of the International Herald Tribune she had purchased at the station, scanning the headlines, eager for distraction. A moment later she looked up again idly. The train had left the Munich city center and its residential surroundings, and in the distance the rolling green hills of southern Bavaria unfurled before her.

  She sighed, feeling surprisingly relaxed. There had always been a kind of freedom and anonymity here, a simplicity that she’d lost somewhere along the way back home. I could just keep going, she thought suddenly. Leave all of the drama of Brian and Jack behind, hop one train and then another and see where I wind up. The boldness of the notion almost made her dizzy. She already lived alone, a life devoid of any ties. Why not enjoy some of the benefits of that solitude?

  But even as she contemplated the idea, practical considerations rained down: she had a life in Philadelphia, a house, clients who were counting on her. And then there was Roger. Despite his cold demeanor and cryptic refusal to cooperate, there was something about him that she found strangely compelling. Not that he was sympathetic exactly, but he had a quiet resignation to which she could relate. Anyway, whether she liked him or not was irrelevant. She had taken on the case and he was her client now, and she would represent him to the end with the same dedication that she gave Marquan or any of the other kids she defended back home.

  And that meant continuing to work with Jack, she thought, as his face appeared in her mind. She was seized by a sudden image of last night, Jack moving above her. What had happened? The whole thing was so surreal, it was as if it had been a dream. But an unmistakable heat rose within her, confirming that the encounter had indeed occurred, leaving her to wonder what it all meant. It’s the stress, she decided. Two lonely people, working long hours together, caught up in
the moment.

  Still, she could not shake her sense of unease. It wasn’t like her; she could have stopped him or said no. There had been others, of course, in the years between Brian and now, casual encounters that after a few dates had left her feeling more empty than anything else. But this had been different. It was as if a tiny crack, a fissure in the protective armor she had spent years putting up around herself, had been opened, leaving her feeling naked and exposed.

  Irrelevant, she concluded finally, finishing her coffee. It had happened and it was over and now, with Brian here, it would not be an issue again. She stood, throwing her cup in the trash and refolding her newspaper before starting back toward the compartment.

  Just then her BlackBerry vibrated against her side, signaling a message. She looked down, surprised. Contact with the outside world seemed so foreign now. She pulled out the device, clicked over to the Internet function, and logged into her Gmail account. The Web page loaded slowly, hampered, she was sure, by the lack of a strong signal in the mountainous terrain.

  A new message, from Alicja Recka. Charlotte’s heart seemed to skip a beat as she clicked on the e-mail and scrolled down. She had not expected to receive a response so quickly. Lovely to hear from you, it read. I checked our records and regret to say it appears that Magda Dykmans died in the gas chamber at Belzec in 1943. Best, Alicja.

  Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Suddenly it was as if she had known Magda, and the loss was hers as well as Roger’s. Well, what had she expected, a happy ending after all these years?

  Reluctantly, she headed back to the compartment to tell Jack and Brian the news. As she neared the door, she stopped, hearing voices. The brothers were actually talking to each other, which was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps they had managed to break the ice after all. She waited, not wanting to interrupt the possible reconciliation. But the volume of their conversation was rising now. She leaned in, listening more closely. Though she couldn’t make out what they were saying, it was clear from their heated tones that it was not an amicable conversation.