The Things We Cannot Say(94)

“It doesn’t matter anyway—I don’t know her by either name. I’m sure my grandmother has never mentioned her.” Lia sighs. “I still think you’ve got the wrong family, or perhaps the wrong town.”

“No, my grandmother definitely said Trzebinia, and we even found her childhood home. Besides, all of the other details line up,” I say. I look to Zofia, then double-check, “Am I missing something here?”

“Everything lines up,” Zofia says, frowning at Lia now. “Alice and I are quite sure of our facts. Are you sure the disconnect isn’t at your end?”

“Surely you can see how upsetting it would be for me to go to my eighty-five-year-old grandmother and tell her that some American woman thinks her beloved big brother was alive for seventy-five years longer than he actually was.”

Lia isn’t quite rude, and she doesn’t throw us out of the building, not exactly. Regardless, Zofia and I quickly find ourselves back outside in the sunshine.

“The family must be wealthy,” Zofia says.

“But we told her we didn’t want money,” I say helplessly. She shrugs.

“If you’re Tomasz’s granddaughter, perhaps he was entitled to a share of whatever inheritance Aleksy left behind. And if that was significant, maybe she’s nervous about what that would mean for her family.” Zofia glances back at the building. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she made up the story about the gravesite, just because it gives her an excuse to refuse to engage with us.”

“How do we sort this out?”

Zofia pauses thoughtfully, but then she slowly shakes her head.

“Well—the birth records were clear. There was only one Tomasz Slaski born in this parish in that period, at least that I could see. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing we can clarify is Lia’s story.”

“Maybe hers is a different family with similar names.”

“In a tiny little town like this, what are the odds of there being two Aleksy Slaskis who married Julitas and then had children named Emilia and Tomasz?”

“Well...” I ask hesitantly, “How common are those names?”

“Not that common,” Zofia laughs.

I hesitate, glancing back at the doors. Then I straighten my posture and say, “Wait here? And if she throws me out bodily this time, try to catch me before I hit the cobblestone?”

I walk back to the counter, where Lia and the young man have their heads close together, and they are whispering furiously. They only notice me when I’m close, and I bend down low and I say, “Lia, I understand you wanting to protect your grandmother—I’d probably do the same. But my grandmother doesn’t have long left, and she’s sent me here on this wild-goose chase and she’s looking for something. I just can’t help but think that your Emilia might be able to shed some light on all of this—and who knows? Perhaps this confusion is part of the puzzle. So, will you at least think about talking to her? Just tell her Alina Dziak or Hanna Wis′niewski is trying to get in touch with her, that’s all I ask. And—” Lia is glaring at me, but I reach across the desk, help myself to a pen and a sticky note, then scribble down my name and cell phone number. “I’m here for another few days,” I say. “Call me anytime.”

Lia hesitates, but when I hold her gaze, she eventually nods. I breathe my thanks, then quickly spin on my heel and leave before she can change her mind. I find Zofia leaning against the wall of the clinic. She surveys me warily, then laughs.

“What on earth did you say to her?”

“I felt like she slammed the door in our face,” I admit. “So I stuck my shoe in it, and made sure if she changes her mind, she has a way to contact me. That’s all I can do, right?”

Later that night, after dinner and a glass of wine at the hotel restaurant downstairs, I pick up the phone and call Mom. She’s driving to the hospital when I call, and her greeting seems unusually subdued.

“Hello, Alice.”

“Hi, Mom. How was your day?”

“Fine,” she says, but she sounds distant.

“Is everything okay with Babcia?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just tired...a little confused by this whole secret identity thing with her. I don’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me if she changed her name,” Mom sighs.

“I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m just hoping she recovers enough to explain herself. I was thinking that your friend there or a translator could ask her about it, but I can’t see the point, because how can she tell us what happened if she can’t speak? There’s a million reasons she might have changed her name so we’re never going to guess, and the AAC doesn’t exactly have a button for this.” Mom trails off, then she clears her throat and asks, “How’s the rest of the expedition through Poland going?”

“Good. We found out that Emilia Slaski is still alive. We found her granddaughter today, and her name is Lia, which is surely just a shortening of her grandmother’s name.”

“So, will you get to speak to this Emilia? Maybe she can tell us what happened with Babcia.”

“Something weird happened, actually. Lia was adamant that Emilia’s brother Tomasz died in 1942, but...well, obviously he didn’t.”