“You know, sometimes the day just gets away from me, and I realize I haven’t taken a full breath until the moment I sit down,” he says. I don’t know how he stays on his feet all day like that. I’m exhausted and I usually sit all day.
“So, do you mainly focus on cardiovascular health or do you practice any other type of specialty too...you know, besides comedy?”
He points at me and winks, appreciating my comedy joke, but then begins answering with a sense of seriousness. “Cardiology is about as much as I can handle for now. It’s a lot, and there is a constant influx of patients, so I’m never bored enough to look for more trouble.” He smirks as he hands me one of the menus while taking the one underneath for himself. “I have to say, I’m envious of you getting to change your scenery up whenever you want to. Is it nice working from different locations? It must be good inspiration, huh?”
“I suppose,” I tell him. Though, after days like today, I sometimes think I would be better off in an office than roaming around looking for a quiet place to sit.
It only takes him a minute to look over the menu before he places it back down and leans forward onto his elbows. “Can I admit to something that you might make fun of me for later?”
“Uh oh,” I joke. I shouldn’t be, but I’m a little worried about what he might say.
“I’ve caught myself daydreaming about you today, twice. Doctors can’t be doing that kind of thing,” he says as he places his palms on the sides of his face.
Impulsively, I cup my hand over my mouth because I’m not sure what to do with the amount of heat rushing through my face. “Well, I apologize for being such a distraction, but I can’t promise I’ll be going away anytime soon. My grandmother is in your hospital, after all.”
“Good,” he says, reaching across the table for my hand. “I mean, that you’re not going away...not that your grandmother is in the hospital.”
“I was going to say...wow, what kind of doctor are you?” I scoff with laughter.
“Emma, you are so distracting,” he continues.
I know I’m blushing. I take my menu and open it up, glancing up and down the list of options. I’m having a hard time focusing, but the chicken finger platter catches my eye.
“So, your grandmother was talking about Charlie some more this afternoon when I went in to check on her.”
The change of subject shifts my nerves from one distraction to another. “What was she saying about him?” The eagerness inside me is desperate for answers I know I haven’t gotten to in the book yet, but the suspense is killing me.
“She asked if you had gone to look for him and was telling me what he might look like now. Then she said the sweetest thing.” Jackson chuckles with his breath at the recollection. “She said...and I’m quoting her, ‘But even if he were bald and covered in wrinkles, I’d still only see the blond-haired, blue-eyed soldier who had too much compassion for the world to have any space in his heart for the hatred he was forced to show.’”
“I think I know why she’s suddenly talking about him,” I tell Jackson.
“Did you find something out while you were reading today?”
“No, but she said when she—when her heart stopped for those few minutes, she was sure Charlie would be waiting for her, and he wasn’t there.”
“You know, what happens after death is all hearsay, right?” Jackson asks. I don’t think he’s trying to diminish Grams’s thought, but scientifically, he’s correct.
“Of course, but we can have our own opinions on the matter.”
“You’re right about that. I also agree with the hearsay. Unfortunately, I’ve heard more than a few patients talking to loved ones while passing away.”
My chest tightens, considering the truth of it all. “If it’s true, maybe Charlie isn’t dead.”
“Who said he was?” Jackson asks, curiously.
“Well, I was rudely interrupted while reading the part where Charlie was deployed to the front lines and had to say goodbye to my grandmother.”
The waiter comes over with an order pad and greets us. “What can I get for you two?”
We place our drink and food orders, then the waiter leaves us to the cliffhanger of my story.
“You were saying you were rudely interrupted?” Jackson asks, eagerly.
I glance down at our intertwined hands, noting once again, how fast everything is moving in my life. “Evidently, Mike had spent the better half of his day hunting me down,” I tell him, worried about the reaction he might have.
He looks upset rather than angry. “Really? What did he want?” There’s a sense of apprehension laced between his words, but I’m sure he’s smart enough to know I wouldn’t be here with him if Mike was able to work me over.
“He wants things to work out with us,” I tell him.
“And what do you want?”
I appreciate his question and can’t stop the small smile from stretching across my mouth. “Well, I would like…to see how things work out between you and me.”
As much as I thought Jackson would eat up my words, he doesn’t smile in return. There’s a serious concern wavering through his mesmerizing eyes. “Take me out of the picture for a minute. If you hadn’t met me, would you have broken up with him, and if you had, would you have been persuaded to go back to him today?”
His questions cause me to consider the truth. “I can’t lie and tell you I know I would have been strong enough to do what needed to be done, but I can say that after knowing you for the short time I have, you gave me enough reason to see that there are people who are worth spending my time with, and people who are not.” I don’t know how I would feel if I were in Jackson’s shoes, or what I’d think if his ex-wife just showed up out of nowhere, begging for him to take her back, but I can’t lie about this. He knew this just happened, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has gone through the trials and tribulations of a breakup.
“So, what you’re saying is, you’re not going back to him because of me?”
I’m not sure there’s any other way to put it. “Would it cause you to get up and walk away if I said yes?”
“No,” he says with the slightest hint of accomplishment written into his grin. “It makes me want to pat myself on the back. I can now say I’ve saved over two hundred sick patients—and one healthy woman—from destructive heart conditions.”
“Aw, another doctor joke?” I jest.
“Kind of cheesy, huh?”
“Kind of adorable,” I tell him. I feel like I need to fan myself, but I settle for nervously brushing my hair behind my shoulder.
“So, after dinner, would you agree to come back to my place so we can—” he clears his throat, and my gosh that’s forward. I’m not complaining—not even a little—but wow. I wasn’t expecting him to just come right out and suggest it. “—read a little more of the diary. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
With even more of a need to fan myself now, I struggle to catch my breath as uneasy laughter sings like an injured bird from my throat. “Yeah, wow, I—definitely.”
“Sorry, was that rude of me to ask?”
“No,” I reply in a high-pitched squeak, which only comes out when I’m uncomfortable about a topic or when I’m lying. “It’s way better reading it with someone than doing so alone.”
“You sure now?” he asks.
“I’d love to see where you live. Actually, where do you live?” Why has this question not come up yet? We started talking about it, and then we never finished that conversation.
“Brighton,” he says. “And you?”
“My mom lives in Needham, but it’s only temporary until I find my own place.”
“Oh nice, only a few minutes down the road.”
The small talk ensues, and I have a rough time eating while trying to get the food past the bundle of nerves expanding throughout my body. I forgot how awkward this dating thing could be. I know his intentions are true, but I suspect there’s more than my grandmother’s diary on his
mind. There’s certainly more on mine.
Once our plates are cleared, the bill arrives, and Jackson snatches it up faster than I can reach for it. The time seemed to disappear, and I’m feeling a little panicky. I’m going to his apartment. I’ve only been with two men, and the first one was twelve years ago in college—not much to brag about there—then there was Mike, and I’d rather forget about him completely. I could be getting ahead of myself, though. Jackson might just be lonely and want a little female companionship, or maybe he is just interested in Grams’s diary, and I’m reading way too much into it.
The moment we leave the restaurant, Jackson’s hand finds mine. It’s easy with him. There’s no thinking or planning. Everything just flows smoothly. He walks me to my car and leans over to kiss my cheek before I slide in. “Can I have your phone for a second?”
I reach for my phone, knocking over my sunglasses and lip gloss that are sitting on my middle console. He has me so flustered, and it’s making me clumsy. I hand him the phone, watching as he struggles not to laugh at me. “I’m just putting my number in here and plugging my address into your GPS in case you lose me in traffic.”
“You’re spoiling me,” I tell him.
“What in the world are you talking about, crazy girl?”
I realize how pathetic I just made myself sound, but I might have never known there was a thoughtful, decent man on this earth if I hadn’t met Jackson. Up until now, I have only met up with the ones who are clueless about life and being gentlemen. “Not everyone is as considerate as you are,” I tell him.
“It’s time you start interacting with some nicer people,” he says with a quick wink.
“It seems you’re taking care of that little problem.”
Jackson leans down and ducks into the Jeep. “If you think I’m being nice now, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispers before kissing away the chance of a response rolling off the tip of my tongue.
With his words being the last before my door closes, I watch him make his way over to his car across the lot.
The late-night hour makes traffic easy to navigate, so following him through Boston and into Brighton is quick and easy.
Apparently, Jackson has his own parking garage underground. How fancy! I didn’t know these existed here. I thought street parking was the only option in the outskirts of Boston. Shows what I know from living in the suburbs.
There’s a string of silence between us as I follow him to the elevator and up to the top floor of this apartment building. I’ve told myself many times before that I can learn about a man from the way he lives, and right now, I have no clue what I’m in for. The elevator brings us to a hotel-looking hallway, lined with bright white doors, fancy trim, and gold-plated numbers centered perfectly on each apartment door. “This is so nice,” I tell him.
“After I left my ex, Dana, I went on a bit of a spending spree,” he says. “It was my way of coping.”
“Hey, I can appreciate that.”
He unlocks his door, and it opens into endless square feet of dark brown hardwood floors and windows for walls across the back side. You can see the whole city from up here. In the kitchen, there are modern, stainless steel appliances surrounded by dark granite countertops and sharp contrasting gray cabinets. Everything else is white. The decor is very masculine but neat and trendy. The best part is, the entire place smells just like him. “I love your apartment. It’s so clean and new.”
A crooked smile perks to one side as he unbuttons the cuffs on his sleeves to roll them up. “It’s funny you say that. It’s exactly how I feel too, except I’d rather feel like I’m home, and it hasn’t exactly felt like that for me yet.” That breaks my heart because I think I know exactly how he’s feeling. I’m in the same boat, but I’m home, home, like my childhood bedroom home where my comforter is neon pink and blue with cheetah print patches. There’s got to be an in-between spot we’re both missing out on.
Jackson pulls me over to his couch and takes the bag from my grip. “White or red wine?”
“White, please.” The couch is plush and comfortable. It’s easy to tell this was one item where he went for comfort rather than style, although it looks nice too. “You really do have an amazing view from up here.”
“Yeah, it’s nice, but honestly, when I’m not working nights, I drag myself to bed and watch TV until I fall asleep.” I see another side of Jackson that I wasn’t aware of—there’s sadness in his voice, and I think I can tell he’s not the kind of person who likes to be alone. It’s the same thing that got me stuck in a relationship that went on for way too long.
“I think we have a lot in common,” I tell him. I don’t live in a place like this, but I think he’s already seen a hint of the common traits we share too.
He walks over with a bottle of wine and two glasses he’s already filled halfway. “Get that book out, Emma. It’s time.” After placing the glasses and bottle down, he rubs his hands together with excitement and sits down on the couch beside me.
“You’re really into this story?” I ask, needing more validation. Mike was never interested in any part of my life. This is all new to me.
“That woman knows what she is talking about, and I want to learn from that kind of wisdom. You don’t just find people walking around who have lived the kind of life she has lived. Her story is the type to change someone’s way of thinking, and from the parts I’ve heard, I’m already impressed with her strength and desire to push through a situation without hope—alone at that. I don’t think I could do something so heroic, and it amazes me to hear about those who can make it through hell and come back from it all.”
I get it. Her story is altering my entire view of the world. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at life the same way again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Amelia
May 1943 - Day 520
I couldn’t think of one moment worth writing about from the time Charlie left Theresienstadt until almost a year later. As I learned more about the situation I was held hostage in, I found that the definition of a ghetto had changed during the prior years to my imprisonment. A ghetto was formerly defined as a place where segregated religions would gather and live in a communal area. In 1942, however, the definition had apparently changed, becoming a place where prisoners were kept against their will between barbed wire fences.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I was still alive after more than a year of starvation, brutal work conditions, no sanitation, and so many people around me dying from various diseases and ailments. It was beginning to feel as though God had chosen to keep me alive for a reason, one I didn’t think I’d ever understand. Misery was my only companion after the one reason I had for happiness went away, just like all the other precious parts of my life.
I clung to Leah during the days following Charlie’s departure. Helping her with baby Lucie was a slight distraction from the permanent pain in my heart. Without hope of future happiness, each ache and pain became abundantly noticeable, and I lost the will to keep pushing myself as hard as I had been.
Keeping Lucie quiet was very challenging, considering a baby doesn’t understand the danger her mama could be in if she was heard. However, by the luck of something larger than I could understand, somehow, a whole month went by before Leah was reported for not showing up at her assigned job in the administration building. It was the middle of the day, and I was outside in the sweltering heat when I saw a group of Nazis heading for the barrack Leah was living in. My heart ached because I knew it was not end well. Then I heard one of the Nazi’s shout, “There is a baby inside.”
My clipboard fell from my hands, and I ran as fast as my bony legs would carry me. My heart pounded in my chest as I followed the Nazis from behind. I had seen enough to know that something terrible was about to happen to Leah and Lucie, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I stood to the side of a barrack, watching and waiting, scared and hardly breathing through the fear overwhelming my mind. I heard a sh
riek, followed by an infant’s wailing cry that I hadn’t heard from Lucie since she was born. Despite her circumstances, Leah cared for her so beautifully that there was hardly a need for her to cry.
Leah was dragged out of the barrack, her thin arms locked tightly within the grip of two Nazis’ hands as her bare heels dragged through the gravel-ridden dirt. They were shouting at her in German as she screamed at the top of her lungs, but it would make no difference. Her pleas for mercy would change nothing, but at least screaming gave her an outlet to express the palpable fear and pain she was experiencing. Hopefully, that would slightly help her face the impending wrath of the guards. She had broken the rules, and she had deceived them. I was unsure if her punishment would be a whipping, imprisonment, or an immediate transition to the next stop, which I was sure at that point was off a cliff somewhere.
I didn’t move from the corner of the wall I clung to, gripping at the brick finish so tightly my fingertips began to bleed. After Leah was halfway down the alley between the barracks, another Nazi came out with Lucie locked firmly within his hands, holding her as if she were nothing more than a sack of dirt. The soldier screamed at her—damning her for being born a dirty Jew.
I wanted to murder the Nazi.
I wanted to brutally destroy him for the words he was screaming at an innocent baby, and for the way he was handling Lucie. She was not old enough to hold her head up on her own yet, and it was hanging to the left and bouncing around as the Nazi carried her toward the sick bay, where I was not tending to my job as I should have been.
I raced for my clipboard, passing by the Nazi with Lucie in his hands. I retrieved the clipboard and continued questioning the others in line.
As the Nazi and Lucie disappeared inside of the block, I continued down the path where the other Nazis were taking Leah. The direction was opposite of where the prison was, and I wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not.
I soon found out how little a relief it was that she was not taken to the solitary cells. Instead, she was brought to the execution field. She was forced down to her knees as one of the Nazi’s took his position across the way, aiming his rifle directly at Leah’s head. I wanted to move, run away, avoid the scene that would permanently be marked in my soul forever, but I was paralyzed as I watched.
Last Words: A Diary of Survival Page 18
