The Things We Cannot Say(50)

“Did they ask you to take them back to Poland?” I ask Mom quietly.

“Yes and no,” Mom says. “Pa was adamant he would never go back. I think that’s why Mama didn’t even entertain the idea until he got sick. Then she asked me right after I took the district court posting and there was just no way I could take the vacation time. In fact, the timing could not have been worse for any of us. And frankly, I was a little annoyed she waited so long, just like I’m annoyed about this photo nonsense now. You know as well as I do, Alice—your father and I went to Europe several times when you were a kid—long before Pa got sick. Why didn’t she ask me then? I’d have gladly added a stop in Poland if all she wanted was some photos.”

“And there’s no one back there we can contact?” I ask. “No one at all?”

“She used to send letters to her sister, every week for years and years.” Mom glances at the iPad again, then reaches for it and unlocks it. “Well, I thought it was her sister, but... I remember her saying she was trying to write to ‘Amelia.’ But look—she’s written Emilia Slaksa. I wonder if that’s who she was writing to? Slaksa... Slaski...maybe it’s a typo... I wonder if it was a relative on Pa’s side?”

“Did they fall out of contact?” I ask, and Mom looks up at me.

“Oh no. Emilia or Amelia or whatever her name is never responded. Eventually I think Babcia had to accept that she’d died. I’m sure you know Polish history about as well as I do—even once the war ended, the country was occupied by the communists for decades and things were still really rough there. Who knows where this sister of hers ended up, if she was even alive after the war ended. You know, I was well into adulthood before Babcia gave up with those letters. She must have sent hundreds over the years...” Mom pauses, then adds softly, “Actually, maybe it was thousands.”

“Poor Babcia,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like to leave everything like that and not know what became of the people you’d left behind.”

We stand in silence for a long moment, then Mom asks, “So, did she understand when you told her you can’t go?”

“I...” I swallow, hard. “I didn’t tell her I can’t go. Not yet. It’s hard to say with the AAC. I need to explain to her all of the reasons why it’s impossible. I’ll have to think about how to word it tonight.”

“Surely she understands this is just asking too much of you.”

“I don’t know,” I say. It’s too hard to explain to Mom why I’m so tempted to try to find a way through the difficulties of my home life to actually fulfil this crazy quest, because so many of my motivations start with when Mom was too busy working to give me what I needed, Babcia filled the gap.

“Who knows what’s going on in her mind? She’s probably confused.” Mom sighs. “Maybe she’ll forget she even asked this tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” I agree weakly, but then I glance at the time. “I have to go pick the kids up. I’ll bring them by a bit later so they can see her.”

“Fine,” Mom sighs, but then her weary gaze brightens just a little. “You’re bringing Callie too this time?”

“Yes, Mom.” I match her sigh with my own. “Callie too.”

I’m back at Babcia’s bedside within an hour, this time with both kids in tow. Eddie climbs up to snuggle into Babcia’s side. He pulls the tray table over their legs and he tries to make the precious dreidel spin. After a few attempts, Callie gets impatient, snatches it from his hand and sets it going. Eddie sucks in a delighted breath, then he squeals and claps his hands.

Callie greets Babcia, but quickly falls into a conversation with Mom about her school day. Babcia’s eyes follow me as I move around the room. I keep my body busy just to expend the frenetic energy generated by my racing thoughts. I toss out some old flowers in a vase from earlier in the week and adjust and readjust the blinds as the afternoon sunlight grows too bright. I’m vaguely aware of Babcia using the iPad, but I’m startled when it speaks for her.

Alice home now. I turn back to Babcia in surprise. She looks pointedly at me, then she turns back to the iPad. Alice home now. Later, Alice plane Poland.

“What’s she talking about?” Callie frowns.

“She’s very ill,” Mom tells her sadly. “She’s not making much sense at the moment, darling. You needn’t worry.”

But Babcia is making sense to me. And it’s becoming increasingly apparent that she’s not going to let this drop.



CHAPTER 15

Alina


Each day over the next few weeks, Tomasz and I would sit in the woods holdings hands or embracing—happy enough just to be together. On the very best days, he’d spin a tale for me—usually a tale about us escaping, moving far away from the war and the occupation and the sadness and the hunger. One day, I was sitting on a log, leaning up against a tree trunk, and he was resting on the ground, his head on my lap as I played idly with his hair. I’d trimmed his hair and beard a few times since his return—sneaking scissors under my coat to help tidy him up. I did a woefully bad job of it, but I took an immense amount of pleasure from being able to do that one small thing for him.

“Where should we go today?” he asked me. I pondered this for a moment, running through the very limited list of countries I knew about, but I settled on his favorite fantasy.