Last Words: A Diary of Survival

by Shari J. Ryan

  After skimming through the first few entries I read, I come across the name Charlie Crane. I can only imagine how many Charlie Cranes there are in the world.

  I open my browser and type in his name, followed by World War II soldier. My throat tightens as the swirling icon spins over a blank page.

  I’m not surprised when several pages of articles pop up, but nothing with Charlie’s name in the headline. I delete the World War II soldier part and just search broadly for his name, but I’m greeted with even more pages of Charlie Cranes. I need to know what country he’s living in, or lived in, for that matter.

  Out of frustration from not knowing where to start, I search for Grams’s name to see what information comes up about her. There’s very little, but her name is on a list of survivors documented at Ellis Island in 1944, which means there is still a year between the time she escaped and when she made it to the United States. I have no idea what happened during that time.

  A blur of blue scrubs moves past the window, stealing my attention away from the screen. The door then opens, and Jackson pops his head inside. How does he look so good after getting so little sleep? I probably look like a zombie right now. “She’s awake if you want to go on down there,” he tells me.

  I hop up from my seat, slapping my laptop shut and tossing it into my bag, along with the diary. “Is she groggy?”

  “Not really,” he says. “I want to warn you that her face is pretty bruised up, though. I don’t want you to be surprised when you see her.”

  “Did she need stitches or anything?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and presses a slight smile to one corner of his lips. “No. Luckily, they’re just superficial bruises.”

  “At least that’s one good thing,” I sigh.

  “Hey,” he says, walking into the waiting room. He pulls me in for a hug and runs his hand over the back of my head. “She’s alive, and that’s a good thing.” He’s completely right. How quickly I’ve forgotten about my distress from last night is proof that exhaustion is starting to get the best of me, as well.

  “You’re right,” I agree.

  He takes my free hand and pulls it up to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Jackson stands back up and guides me over to the door, holding it open for me to walk through. “I’ll be down there in just a few,” he says. “I have another patient to check on first.”

  I make my way through the hall to Grams’s room, anxiously stepping inside as I try my best not to wince at the blue and purple splotches covering her face. This kills me. Weeks ago, she was still walking every day, managing her life just fine, and now, out of nowhere, or so it seems, she could be slowly dying. I can’t help but wonder if she was ignoring symptoms, or just failing to mention them to us. She’s done it before because “she doesn’t need help,” as she likes to remind us.

  “Good morning, Grams,” I say, upping the level of perkiness I tend to use.

  “Oh, Emma,” she says, sounding annoyed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  I pull up a chair and sit beside her. “You were thinking you’ve had enough of this bed along with all the help you need, and wanted to take a midnight stroll to see if this hospital has a bar downstairs. Am I right?”

  A choked laugh catches in her throat. “Oh, my girl sure does know me.” A world without her won’t be okay. She’s like a second mother to me. This woman hasn’t missed one important moment in my life, and she sat beside Mom as she raised me, always having a thing or two to say about the matter. I couldn’t have asked for a better family than the one I have.

  “Are you in a lot of pain?” I place my hand carefully on hers, scared to do anything that could hurt her more.

  “Eh, I’ve fallen before. I mean, falling face first on this floor wasn’t the highlight of my life, but what are you going to do?”

  “Never a dull moment with you, Grams,” I tell her.

  “So, I hear I’m dying,” she says with an exasperated sigh.

  Recoiling from her words and the shock that she already knows too much, my mouth falls agape. I have no idea what to say, besides, “Don’t think that way. You could still have years left. You just have to be careful and follow the doctor’s orders.” It’s so hard to swallow my words because I feel like I’m not telling her the whole story.

  “I knew it was coming,” she says.

  “What? How?”

  “If you search online for shortness of breath, tightness, and pain in the chest, plus fatigue, it gives you the answer right there. The only solution is surgery, and it’s too risky at my age. I figured I had a few good months left in me.” Wow, I guess when you’ve lived ninety-two years, through just about everything, you don’t need someone to tell you anything.

  “Grams, you should have been a doctor,” I tell her.

  “I probably could have been with the amount of knowledge I gained while working at the sick bay, but I wanted nothing to do with that once I was free. I had seen enough scars to last me the rest of my life.”

  I brush her hair off her forehead, careful to avoid any of the bruises. “Grams, where did Charlie live? I mean, the last time you heard from him.” I’m determined to find this man now.

  “The last time I heard from him?” she asks through more struggling laughter. “Oh, Emma, it’s been seventy-four years since I heard from him last.”

  “You—he, I don’t understand.”

  “Honey, I don’t know if he’s dead or not. I want to think he’s not because I’ve now been revived twice, and he hasn’t been there along with the others who are waiting for me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but in my heart, I feel like Charlie is still alive somewhere.”

  “In the United States or another country?”

  “I have no idea, Emma. Anything could have happened since I saw him last.”

  “Well, what happened?”

  Grams stares at me with angelic eyes as if she were gazing right through me. Her head gently shakes from side to side before she begins to speak. “I can’t,” she says. “If you want to know, you will have to read it for yourself.” I want to tell her that talking about things sometimes helps, but I will never be able to understand what she’s gone through. “Anyway.” She nestles her head into her pillow and shrugs her shoulders a bit. “How is Jackson?”

  “Grams, he’s fine,” I say, shortly, hoping to change the subject back to Charlie. We’re not doing “that” now.

  “He said he would be back in just a few minutes, but I have a strange suspicion you already knew that.” Even with the bruises lining her swollen cheeks, she can still wink at me.

  “Grams,” I say again.

  “Oh, Emma, my goodness, I was your age once. I know what young people do.”

  How do I belong to this family? I’m going to turn into her someday, and embarrass my children without a care in the world. “That’s great,” I tell her.

  “So, do you think you could grow to love him?” How can I look at her like this and get irritated? She knows that, and she’s using it against me.

  “We only started seeing each other a few days ago,” I remind her.

  “Love will grow, sweet girl. Just give it time, and be good to each other.”

  I’m beyond thankful that Jackson walks in when he does, interrupting this uncomfortable discussion of my personal life. I do need to figure this out for myself. It’s new and exciting, but I don’t want to get hurt again, either. Yet, I was sort of quick to ask this man to be my boyfriend last night. I’ll chalk that insanity up to pillow talk, sleep deprivation, and distress. That’s what it must be.

  “Hey, Amelia, did they bring in your breakfast yet?” Jackson asks her.

  “Not yet, but it’s okay, I can wait a bit,” she says. Grams twists her head to look over at Jackson as he’s reviewing her cardiogram report. “So, when are you two getting married? I need a great-grandchild, you know.” Before I have a chance to intervene and stop whatever will come out of her mouth nex
t, she continues, “I suppose with the short timeline you’ve left me with, that may not be possible, but there is enough time for a wedding.”

  Jackson takes the outpouring of suggestions quite well. Thank goodness, he’s understanding. The small smile on his face and the nod he gives as he continues reviewing the report, says it all. “You know, Amelia,” Jackson says as he places the report down, “most of my patients who have gone through what you have in the past week aren’t as talkative as you are. You are just full of energy, aren’t you?” Jackson has his doctor smile on—the one that probably calms his patients and makes them feel comfortable under his care.

  “Grams, Jackson and I just met a week ago,” I remind her again. Not like she didn’t hear me the first time, but maybe it’ll sink in this time. Doubtful, though.

  “Yes, but you only live once, although you may die twice…if you’re me,” she says.

  I close my eyes and drop my head into my hand. I believe I hear a snicker from the peanut gallery on the other side of the room while Grams is just raring up to keep going.

  “You know, it’s possible to fall in love in a night,” she says.

  “That’s not what everyone else says,” I argue.

  “Everyone else is wrong, or they’ve never fallen in love at first sight.” I don’t think she understands exactly how I’m feeling right now. If she did, she’d know how uncomfortable I am with the fact that I just stepped out of one relationship and right into another. I’m not complaining per se, but it doesn’t sound good out loud.

  “Grams, we’re not getting married in the next few months,” I tell her, assuming Jackson is silently agreeing with me.

  “Fine,” she says, folding her hands over her chest. “If you want to question my life-long research and experiences, that’s fine, but I bet you one thing—”

  “What’s that?” I ask, looking over at Jackson who’s suddenly intrigued by whatever Grams is about to say.

  “By the time you are finished reading my diary, you will have realized two things,” she begins.

  “Okay…?” I question.

  “First: Love has a way of sneaking into your heart and taking you hostage for an entire lifetime. Second: If you’re lucky enough to hold onto love, you won’t have to experience the pain of having your body captivated by a soul that may or may not still be alive.”

  I pull in a shuddering breath as I wrap my hand around the front of my neck, still unable to shake away the tightness. “I understand,” is all I can say. I won’t question the meaning of her life. I can’t.

  “Jackson,” Grams says. “I need you to marry my granddaughter.”

  I’m mortified. You can’t put a man in a position like this just days after meeting a woman, especially a man who just went through a divorce less than a year ago. “Grams, please stop.”

  “Amelia,” Jackson says her name without so much as a hitch in his deep, soothing voice. “If by the end of your diary, Emma tells me she can’t spend a day without me, in fear of suffering from the unknown for the rest of her life, I will do what I can to arrange the fastest marriage known to man. However, she has to tell me this herself.”

  Are they both crazy? Who does this? People don’t get married after meeting someone a handful of times. They don’t talk about marriage. In fact, some people would become physically ill thinking about the idea after a horrible six-year relationship. “People do it all the time on TV,” Grams argues with my silent thoughts.

  “Jackson, may I speak to you for a moment,” I articulate, standing from the chair and taking his arm so I can pull him into the hall.

  “Do you know what you just agreed to with a dying woman?” Jackson looks down for a minute as if I were scolding him and he’s ashamed, but when his face lifts, he’s chuckling—this hoarse little laugh he does when he’s teasing me. “You can’t play games like that with her, Jackson. She’s serious.”

  “Emma,” he says with a stone-walled expression. “If you truly feel that way when you’re done reading her diary, then I would agree to marry you. If you were certain after only knowing me for a short time that I’m undoubtedly the one person in this world you can’t live without, I would be a fool to walk away.”

  The first time he agreed with Grams, it just made me uncomfortable, but this time, he’s taken my breath away. “You just went through a divorce,” I remind him.

  “What’s your point?”

  I don’t have an answer. “I suppose I don’t have one.”

  “The two of us are both single for a reason, and it wasn’t because we found this kind of love she’s talking about with someone else.”

  “A week. We’ve known each other a week,” I tell him.

  “And I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to spend every minute with you. Your laugh makes me smile. Your smile makes my heart do these strange flip-flops in my chest, and I could probably sit and talk to you for a week straight without needing a breather.”

  His words are wooing everything inside of me, but there are other parts of this he isn’t considering. “Did you know that I like sardines? Hmm?”

  “That’s gross, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, determined to throw him off his sureness. “I eat them out of a can sometimes,” I tell him.

  “Still, gross, but I’ll sit next to you and admire your can-peeling technique.”

  “Whenever I get a migraine, I vomit,” I continue.

  “I’m a doctor. I’ve been vomited on more times than I can remember. I can hold your hair back.”

  “I have a horrible singing voice and I like to sing loudly on long car trips. Oh, and I know all the words to every popular song there is.”

  “That’s so funny,” he says, leaning up against the wall as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I do the same exact thing.”

  I find myself looking from side to side, trying to think of another terrible habit I have. “I own fifty pairs of shoes.”

  “I’d be interested to know what you need them for, each individually, of course.”

  “Ugh, forget it. You are infuriating,” I tell him. “Oh, I know, I like to pick little fights a lot.”

  “Noted, but that can make a relationship stronger,” he rebuts with a grin. “Plus, you’re adorable when you get mad. Your nose scrunches up, and your voice squeaks.”

  “I can’t handle you right now,” I argue.

  He lowers his arms and wraps one of them around my back, pulling me into him as he places a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you a little later, crazy.”

  “Me? I’m crazy?”

  “Just a little.” He pinches my chin between his fingers and jiggles my face from side to side.

  I slowly fall prisoner to the walk of shame back into Grams’s room, finding her beaming, of course. “I just knew it. It’s a talent I have.”

  “Grams,” I say, trying to hold onto the angered inflection in my voice.

  “Emma, please sit down and continue reading to me. The faster you get through the book, the faster I can move on with my life.” I have a sad feeling I know what she means by that, and I’d like to think that’s not how this is going to go.

  “Don’t say that,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere until you marry that man. Don’t worry.”

  I roll my eyes and grab the diary from my bag. “I left off at the part where you were country hopping,” I tell her before opening the book.

  “Oh, and that was quite a trip.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Amelia

  May 1943 - Day 522

  I knew we weren’t safe. I figured the worst was about to happen, and the progression of fear turning into terror consumed me as I held Lucie tightly, finally calming her into a peaceful state that quieted her cries.

  However, the glow of a flashlight continued to bounce from tree to tree, hovering just a few feet above our heads. I prayed, but had little faith left after the past year. I would always look to God with que
stions that would go unanswered, and I often begged him for mercy, but I wasn’t sure he could hear. Though, I’m sure Mama would have rolled over in her grave if she heard my thoughts.

  Charlie caressed the side of my face as he stood over us, knowing full well that if we were caught, there wasn’t anything he could do for us.

  It was only minutes before the footsteps came so close, there was no way the man didn’t know precisely where we were. I figured he was taunting us, making us believe we had gotten away from him, but that was probably what his type did to people like us. Torment was a game. We could no longer move to another tree since the twigs and branches below us would crackle and crunch. As far as I was concerned, we were already cornered.

  Just a year earlier, I would close my eyes in the face of horror, but at that moment, with Lucie in my arms, I decided to look evil in the eye with hope of intimidating the enemy. I used to react when facing danger—my heart would beat fast and hard against my sternum, pulsating in my ears. Sweat would run down the back of my neck, I’d become short of breath, and a knot would form in the pit of my stomach. However, during my time in the prison camp, fear gradually became a muted sensation as I fought against becoming a victim of the deadly solution that was quickly eradicating my race. I was convinced that I couldn’t be a victim if I fought back, and since living in fear was allowing Hitler to win, bravery was my only defense.

  As I expected, the light found us, bearing its dreadful glow onto the tops of our heads. “What are you running from?” the man asked.

  “We aren’t running,” Charlie lied.

  The man laughed and straightened his posture to re-light a cigar he had been smoking. “It’s obvious you’re running from something.”

  “No, we’re not,” Charlie said, muttering into the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Well, most people don’t dump a luxury car that looks as if it belongs to the SS, then run into the woods just two miles from the Austrian border.”