White Picket Fences (28 page)

“I can’t remember why I went back to Keith’s room or what I did there. I can only remember escaping. Another boy and I crawled to safety after the fire spread to our room. But a baby girl died.”

Josef waited for Chase to continue.

“I dreamed of the fire the other night, and Eliasz was in my dream. And he could see. He told me I was forgetting something. He kept telling me to remember.”

“Remember what?” Josef said.

Chase sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his wavy hair. “I don’t know.” A couple of seconds ticked by. “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know anything.”

“You think Eliasz can tell you what you cannot remember?”

It sounded ridiculous as soon as the words left Josef’s mouth. Ludicrous. “I don’t know what Eliasz can tell me. It’s just… Eliasz can see in his dreams.”

“But that does not mean he can see in yours.”

Chase felt a wash of warm humiliation enveloping him. It had been a stupid idea to come. Absurd. What had he been thinking? That an eighty-four-year-old blind Jew he barely knew could tell him what really happened thirteen years ago? This had to be one of the more lame things he had ever done. He’d been a fool.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he mumbled. Next to him, he saw Tally begin to raise her hand to touch him. But she changed her mind.

“You want to know the truth. About who started the fire, yes?” Josef’s voice was soft.

Chase winced. He hated those words.
Started the fire. Started the fire.
“Nobody can tell me that. No one else was there.”

“That is incorrect.”

Chase lifted his head. “What?”

“God knows what happened. God was there. He saw it. He knows who started the fire.”

“God.”

“Yes. God. Ask him to tell you. You ask Eliasz this, and he will wonder what brand of vodka you’ve been drinking. God will not.”

Chase sat back in his chair. “Ask God to tell me.”

“Tak.
He was there. Ask him.”

A weak laugh escaped from within Chase. “Sure. I’ll just ask God.”

Josef smiled back at him. “Haven’t you ever asked God a question before?”

Chase couldn’t mask the mocking tone in his voice. “Oh yeah. I’ve asked God lots of questions.”

“No, you haven’t.” The answer was brusque and gentle at the same time.

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell in your voice you have not asked God many questions. You have not asked him to reveal to you what he knows about this fire. Eliasz cannot tell you what happened. Only God can tell you. Ask him.”

“Is that what you did?” Chase challenged. “Did you ask God where Katrine was? Did he tell you? Did he tell you what happened to her? Haven’t you wanted to know?”

Josef hesitated only a second. “All my life I’ve wanted to know. If I had been able to handle the answer, I am sure he would have told me.”

Chase suddenly felt young and small. Like a child. For several long seconds he said nothing; he was too afraid a little boy’s voice would spring from his vocal cords and whimper that he didn’t think he could handle the blistering light of God revealing to him what had happened in that house.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Chase said, when he trusted his voice to sound like his own again.

Josef stared at Chase for a moment. “I don’t think there is anything simple about this. Are you sure you want to know?”

Chase saw the lighter in his small hand, could feel the warmth seeping through the smooth silver finish. Saw the smoke. The flames. Ghost. Alyssa’s crib. “Yes.”

“What if you don’t like the truth?” Josef’s wrinkles were knitted into a mask of concern and doubt.

“Isn’t it worse to wonder? Isn’t knowing the truth better than not knowing it?”

Josef tipped his chin. “You confuse knowing the truth with telling the truth. We are meant to be truthful in what we say and do. But there are some things we are not meant to know.”

“I need to know if it’s my fault.”

“But you were just a small child.”

Chase nodded. “I need to know.”

Several seconds ticked by.

“So would I,” Josef said. “I would need to know too.” The old man leaned forward in his chair. “I will pray for you. I will ask God to give you what you want. He and I go way back.”

Chase felt his lips easing into a smirk. “Okay, sure.”

Josef eased back in his chair, and the fake leather squealed in
protest. “Eliasz did not bring you here today, Chase. I think God did.”

A short stretch of silence fell between them as Chase attempted to digest Josef’s proposition. At that moment Eliasz stirred in his sleep.

“Do you think he’s dreaming?” Tally said to Josef.

Josef eyed his friend. “No doubt.”

“Do you believe that he sees when he dreams?”

“I do.”

Chase turned back to Josef. “My dad says that people born blind don’t have the images stored in their brain for their unconscious mind to draw from.”

Josef shrugged. “That sounds like a scientific answer to a scientific question.”

“Isn’t that what it is?”

Again Josef lifted and lowered his shoulders. “I am not a scientist. I am just a man who has seen both absolute horror and absolute beauty. Seen it, felt it, heard it, lived it. Who of us can really say what the mind can accomplish with things that are absolute? They have no equal.”

Josef stifled a yawn. Chase looked at Tally, and they both stood. “We should go.”

“I hope now that you are done filming, you and Tally and Matthew will find other reasons to come visit Eliasz and me. I must say, I’ve enjoyed our talks. You’ve reminded me of many things I’d nearly forgotten.”

“I’ll come back,” Chase said. “I think you deserve to know what happens next.”

Josef nodded. “That would also be my pleasure. And privilege.”

The two teens started to fold the chairs, but Josef told them to stop. “Leave them. I am going to tell Eliasz when he wakes that two show girls came and played gin rummy with me.”

Chase and Tally left the room and walked silently down the long hallway. He was glad she said nothing. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened in Josef’s room. Not yet.

In the lobby, the man in the bathrobe sat near a window in one of the pink wingback chairs Chase had used in the video shot. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a tubular Pirouline cookie in another. The man smiled at Chase and Tally and toasted them with his mug as they walked through the automatic doors.

thirty-five

T
hey had almost reached the house before Tally spoke. She’d replayed the details of Chase’s conversation with Josef in her mind as they drove the few miles from La Vista to home. Pondering them. Wondering if God would do for Chase what Josef said he would.

When they turned onto their street, she looked at her cousin. “I really didn’t you think you’d be the one leaving the nursing home today with an answer. I thought it would be me. I really thought Josef could tell me why my dad left Poland but decided to stay on in Ukraine. I thought he could somehow tell me why he hasn’t come home for me. Seems stupid now. How could anybody know that?”

Chase breathed in deeply but said nothing.

“You don’t want to talk about it,” she continued. “And you don’t have to talk about it. I just felt invisible in there.”

“You’re not invisible.” Chase’s voice was soft but toneless. “And I didn’t leave with an answer.”

“But you didn’t leave the same way you came in.”

Chase turned into their driveway but didn’t press the remote to open the single garage door. Tally turned to face him. “You’re not coming in?”

He looked straight ahead. “I need time to think.” His voice sounded airless and vacant.

“Well, what am I supposed to tell your mom if she asks where you went?”

“Tell her the truth. You don’t know.”

“What if she asks why you’re not home?”

Chase turned to her. “Tell her whatever you want.”

She could not read his face, could not tell if he was releasing her from her promise to guard his secret or daring her to keep it. Her own uncertainty troubled her.

He moved the gearshift into reverse, a tacit message for her to get out.

Tally grabbed her book bag from the backseat. She opened the door, got out, and closed it.

Chase was out of the driveway and pointed toward the street before she’d taken more than a couple of steps. She watched him drive away and then headed for the front door.

The interior of the house was quiet except for the muffled sounds of Delcey’s stereo upstairs from behind her closed door. Tally moved from the entryway to the kitchen, which was bathed in late-afternoon sunlight. There was nothing simmering on the stove, nothing fragrant roasting in the oven. She wondered if Amanda had dropped Delcey off and then left again to run errands.

She moved through the kitchen to the sewing room, which was now her bedroom. A figure in the laundry room startled her as she walked past it.

Amanda was leaning forward against the front-loading washer, arms splayed as if she might drop to her knees, crawl
inside the thing, and go for a spin. Hearing her, Amanda spun around, and Tally could see Amanda’s cheeks were wet with tears.

Tally stepped back. “Oh!”

Amanda’s hand flew up to her face to wipe away the wetness. Her aunt’s face was flooded with fear.

“Are you okay?” Tally took one step forward, unsure.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” Amanda faked a smile and blinked back tears poised to fall. “You and Chase had a good meeting at the nursing home?”

“I… We…,” Tally stammered. “Um, yeah.”

Amanda nodded and the fake smile widened. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips together. Her aunt was desperate to pretend all was well.

“Is something wrong?” Tally asked.

Amanda brought her hands to her face and gently ran her fingertips under her eyelids, flicking away what rested there. “I’ll be okay, Tally. I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I forgot you’d be coming to this part of the house when you got home.”

Tally took another tentative step forward. “Are you hurt?”

Amanda smiled. It wasn’t fake, but it lacked warmth. “I’m not bleeding. You don’t need to call 911 or anything.”

The two of them stood wordless for several seconds. “Um. Okay.” Tally took a step toward the sewing room, her eyes still on her aunt.

Amanda began to move away from the washer. “Tally, there is something I need to ask you.”

“There is?”

“Want to go into your room?”

Tally opened the door to the sewing room. A twin bed ran
the length of one wall, flanked on either side by a three-drawer dresser and a nightstand. The remaining walls were covered with shelves, boxes, an ironing board, and a sewing table. Amanda sat on the bed, and Tally slowly sat down next to her.

For a moment Tally feared something terrible had happened to her father. But Amanda’s pain didn’t seem to spring from anything having to do with Bart. At least she didn’t think it did.

“Did something bad happen?”

Amanda’s wet eyes widened. “No. No, honey. I just… Your social worker is a little worried that your dad… might need help. And I want him to have it. Don’t you?”

Amanda was hinting at something.

“I know you promised not to tell why your dad went to Poland, and I know I told you I wouldn’t ask you to break that promise. But, Tally, something has gone wrong. Your dad even said it in his letter. He might be in trouble. We need to know how we can help him.”

“But he didn’t ask for help. He didn’t say he was in trouble.”

“But maybe he didn’t ask because he didn’t want you to worry. And, Tally, there are legal reasons why we need to know what’s going on. Bart didn’t give your grandmother legal custody. We can’t just leave everything indefinite.”

“What do you mean, legal reasons?” Tally knew what legal custody meant. She’d been around the court system enough to know. Bart had been threatened a time or two by government people who didn’t like the way he was raising her. But he’d never lost custody. Never gave up custody. He’d always done whatever they asked or moved to a different state.

“The county people where your grandmother lived, they’re
the ones who have custody of you right now. And that’s because no one knows where your dad is. No one can reach him.”

“But you said I can stay here!”

“And you can. For as long as you want. But it’s complicated, Tally. All of this involves a judge and the courts and statutes. Nancy says it’s not good for all of us to continue like everything is just fine.”

When she said this, her aunt flinched slightly as if poked.

“What difference does it make if I tell you why he went? He’s not even in Warsaw anymore.”

“But if he’s involved in something illegal…”

“I already told you he’s not!”

“I know that’s what he told you, but…”

“He’s looking for money and jewelry Grandpa buried in his yard before the Nazis came!” It was out of her mouth in a flash. A rush of relief moved across her. There. It was out.

“What?” Amanda’s mouth hung open.

“When Grandpa died, you sent my dad a box with some stuff and a letter.”

“Yes.”

“Well, the letter told my dad the location of money and jewelry and stuff that Grandpa buried at their house in Warsaw when he was a little boy. He buried it in the backyard. Your grandpa told him to. Your grandparents knew the Nazis were coming for them and that they’d be shipped off to the ghetto, and your grandparents were wealthy. So your dad did what he was told and buried it all. But your grandparents died, and he never went back for it.”

“I don’t believe it,” Amanda breathed.

“It’s true. I saw the letter. I didn’t read it, but I saw it.”

“But that was more than seventy years ago! Those things wouldn’t still be there.”

“Why wouldn’t they? No one knew about it except Grandpa, and he never told anyone.”

Amanda sat silent on the bed, processing. “So Bart went there to find this stuff? to dig it up?”

Tally nodded.

“Without telling anyone? That property doesn’t belong to the family anymore! How was he going to do it?”

Tally pictured her father as Chase had described—wee morning hours, a flashlight and a shovel—and knew her cousin was right. She didn’t answer her aunt. But she didn’t have to.