The Things We Cannot Say(51)

“America,” I said.

“Ah, America is a very rich country, you know. We would surely live in a mansion,” Tomasz said, and a big grin covered his face as he glanced up at me.

“I’d settle for a house,” I sighed, because at least that day, I wanted the fantasy to be a little realistic. But then I paused, thinking of my parents’ tiny place and how much larger the home Tomasz and Aleksy and Emilia had once shared. “House” could mean so many different things, even in Poland. I couldn’t fathom what homes would look like in a wealthy country like America. “A big house, mind you.”

“Well, we’d need a big house,” he agreed, and when I looked down at him, his eyes crinkled. “For our eleven children, of course.”

“Eleven!” I gasped, then I laughed. “This is my fantasy, Tomasz, so I get to pick the number of children we have. We’ll have a small family—just four.” I paused, then added, “Okay, maybe five, but certainly no more than six.”

“And I’ll be a doctor, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Can I be a specialist doctor in this fantasy?”

“A specialist?” I said, then I looked at him in surprise. “What kind of specialist?”

“A children’s doctor,” he smiled.

“Do children have their own doctors?” That seemed as unlikely as the idea of us living in a mansion.

“In Warsaw they do,” Tomasz told me. “I am sure it would be the same in wealthy countries like America. Pediatricians, they are called.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to do that kind of medicine.” I gave him a confused smile, and he drew in a sharp breath, then exhaled it slowly.

“At college in Warsaw, I studied under all kinds of specialists in the hospitals. For example, at the Jewish hospital, I met a surgeon.” A look of sadness and regret crossed his face. “His name is Saul. He inspired me so much—he made me think that maybe there’s something to that more focused path. But surgery is not for me. I like talking to people...putting them at ease. I like the idea that if we ever find a way out of Poland and I can study again, I’d dedicate my life to children.”

“We don’t need to leave Poland for you to study again,” I laughed softly. Tomasz turned his gaze back to me and sadness sparked in his gaze.

“Perhaps we do.”

“But...when the Nazis leave, the universities will reopen. You can go back to Warsaw. And trust me, Tomasz, no one is going stop me from coming with you this time.”

“Alina,” Tomasz said abruptly, and he shifted on the ground, then sat up so that he was facing me. He reached up for my hands and held both of them between his, resting them on my lap. I could tell from the intense expression on his face that he was about to say something I didn’t want to hear. I resisted an odd urge to cover my ears like a child. “Even when the war ends, we can’t stay here. It will be years before the universities run as they should, and I will never be able to rebuild a life in Warsaw or even in Krakow. We will need a fresh beginning.”

“But... I can’t leave Poland,” I said uneasily. I flicked my gaze toward him. “My parents...even... Truda and Emilia are here. We need to stay here for Emilia.”

A sudden tension had arisen between us, and I didn’t like it one bit—especially when Tomasz tried to deflect away from that statement with another of his silly fairy tales.

“Maybe I’ll build you a gingerbread house,” he told me suddenly, his tone too light. “Then, if you’re ever hungry again, you can eat the house.”

“Maybe I’ll build you a church,” I told him, and he raised his eyebrows at the flatness of my tone.

“I thought the morning prayer was just a cover for us to meet. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of taking vows?”

He was still teasing me, but I was deadly serious now. I pulled my hands away from his and stood as I muttered, “You can’t lie in a church, Tomasz. If I build you a church, you’ll have to tell me the truth about all of the things that I don’t understand.”

He fell silent then, reaching only to pick up a twig from the dirt and twirling it through his fingers. His expression was somber, his gaze distant.

“I’m scared to tell you,” he admitted unevenly, then he looked right at me, and there was such breathtaking pain in his gaze that I forgot I was angry with him and took my place on the log again, just so I could reach down and take his hand. I saw shadows in his gaze, like he was staring off into a nightmare. But then he shook himself, looked at our hands and admitted, “I made terrible mistakes. I’m trying to undo them, so I can be a man of honor. All I want in this world is to be a man worthy of a woman like you. I’ll tell you in time, I promise. But now? You do know what’s at stake in this war, even though I am sure your parents still shelter you and treat you like a child sometimes.”

“They do!” I exclaimed in frustration. “They really do. And that’s why I can’t bear it when you do the same.”

“That is not what I’m doing,” he pleaded with me.

“That is exactly what you are doing,” I said flatly.

I could hear Mama calling me from the field, exasperation in her tone, so I disentangled myself from Tomasz, but I was reluctant to leave him after the surprisingly tense conversation we’d just had. I brushed my lips against his once more.