The German Wife(53)

“He heard us for sure,” I muttered.

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“He needs to see a doctor.”

“A doctor?” I repeated. “For what? Nightmares?”

“I don’t know what kind of episode that was, but it was more than a nightmare.”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t need some doctor telling him he’s crazy, Calvin. He just had a bad night, and it’s our fault anyway, since he heard us talking about—” I cleared my throat “—your colleagues.”

“He knocked you into that door and he was ready to tear my head off. I’m worried about him, sweetheart.”

“Me too. But he hates doctors.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” I shook my head. “Then you need to do it, Lizzie. Please, just check in with him. Maybe he just needs some sleeping pills?”

I slept on the sofa that night because it was in the room opposite the guest room. Every single time Henry stirred, I shot upright, ready to go to his aid.

Henry came into the kitchen and scooped up one of those bruised apples I’d put back in the fruit bowl at 2:00 a.m. He was dressed and ready for work but looked as exhausted as I felt as he took a bite out of the apple and sat opposite me.

“Did I hear you talking to someone a while ago?” I asked him cautiously. I took a quick shower as soon as I woke, hoping to be dressed by the time Henry woke up, but almost as soon as I stepped under the stream, I heard Henry speaking quietly in the hallway. By the time I was dressed, he had returned to his room.

“Yeah, I called Walt to let him know I’d be late,” he said. He took another bite of his apple, and I noticed the 1401 BA SE scrawled in ink on the back of his hand. What did that mean? Was it a lumber thing—a reminder to do something at his job? “Then I called the police. Someone is coming round shortly.”

“What?” I said, as my heart sank. “Henry, no. I know last night felt real, but it was just one of those dreams you used to have. You’ve never even met Jürgen Rhodes. How would you know what he looks like?”

“How many other German men in this town have a beef with you, huh?” Henry said, frowning. “I know what I heard.”

“When you woke us up, you were in the kitchen, thrashing around against no one,” I said uneasily. “You know I’m not a fan of those Germans, but in this case, the intruder was in your imagination.”

Henry’s brows knit for a moment. Then he paused.

“Well, it won’t hurt for the police to come and check the house.”

Hell. How was I going to get through to him? I didn’t even have time to think about it, because a quiet knock came from the door. I scurried after Henry when he rose quickly to answer it.

The police officer was middle-aged and sharp-eyed. He stood in my foyer and peered into the living room, notebook in hand. Henry introduced himself, then pointed to me.

“Officer Johnson, this is Lizzie Miller. Mrs. Calvin Miller. Cal was here last night, but he’s at work at Redstone Arsenal now. He works on the rocket program there.”

“I’m Detective Johnson, Mrs. Miller,” the police officer said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you too,” I said weakly. Then I added, “My husband and I really didn’t see a thing.”

“Sounds like the intruder came in, realized he was outnumbered, and left,” Johnson said grimly. He glanced at Henry and added, “Probably didn’t expect to find two men here. You’re sure the intruder was this Jürgen Rhodes?”

“Pretty sure,” Henry said. Then he paused. “It was dark. But he had a German accent and Rhodes makes perfect sense. My sister had an argument with his wife last weekend.”

The officer excused himself as he moved past me, glancing into each of the rooms. Henry followed him, and I followed Henry.

I tried to see the house through his eyes. My home was a picture of perfect order: expensive furniture and artwork, carefully selected and arranged, highly polished floorboards I mopped every single day, the drapes I kept free of dust, the windows I cleaned once a week.

Surely the police officer could see that this was not the site of a break-in and attempted assault. Not a single item was out of place. Even so, Henry spun the officer a story as he walked through the house.

I don’t sleep well since the war. I was in bed, wide-awake. Heard a sound. Went to investigate. Saw Rhodes in the house. Chased him. A bit of a scuffle in the kitchen—pinned him against the fridge. Lizzie and Cal heard the noise and woke up just after Rhodes ran out. Probably out the back door. We never lock it.

This whole encounter was so absurd, I was starting to wonder if I was dreaming.

“I didn’t...” I interrupted as Johnson looked closely at the latch on the back door. “Cal and I really didn’t see or hear any of that. Not a thing.” What was I supposed to do in this situation? I had to tell the officer that Henry was imagining things, but I didn’t want to inflame him, and I certainly didn’t want to embarrass him.

“You probably slept through it,” Johnson said dismissively. He puffed out a breath of air, then looked between me and Henry.

“These Germans worry me,” he told Henry.

“Me too,” Henry said.

“You’re a veteran?”