The Things We Cannot Say(96)

But that also means I don’t ever get to see that same, surprised joy on Eddie’s face that Wade has managed to achieve right now. There are no surprises in Eddie’s life with me. I’m utterly bewildered by the jealousy I feel.

“We go there on Friday morning if he stays at school all day on Thursday, and we park at the same place for ballet, so I guess he knows the way...” I say, my voice trailing off. I fall silent then, watching as Eddie’s gaze leaves the phone screen to focus on something in front of him. I suspect from the ever-growing excitement in his eyes that he’s looking at an approaching train. “What’s the plan tonight?” I ask Wade.

“Soup is the plan tonight,” he says. He’s still offscreen, but there’s no mistaking the edge of bitterness in his tone. “Is that why you called? To check?”

“I called because I had a really emotional and confusing day, and I just wanted to hear your voice,” I say. It’s astounding how I genuinely wanted to connect with him on this call, but less than sixty seconds into it he makes a comment like that and in an instant, I feel defensive, and the bitterness that leaps into my tone instantly matches the level in his. No wonder we’re in such a mess. I feel like we’re on either side of a very long footbridge and we’re both afraid to set out onto it. Each time one of us steps forward, the other steps back in case the bridge can’t take our weight. I can’t fight with him tonight—I just don’t have the emotional reserves. I take a deep breath, and say evenly, “But now isn’t really the time for that chat, I guess. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Eddie’s face disappears from the screen, and in his place, I see Wade. There are heavy bags beneath his eyes and for the first time in living memory, he hasn’t shaved on a workday.

“Don’t hang up, Ally,” he murmurs. “I have to say something—and brace yourself, this is going to be shocking.”

I can tell he’s about to make a joke, and I laugh a little in anticipation.

“I’m braced,” I joke in return. “Go ahead.”

“Two kids? Significantly more difficult to manage than three hundred lab rats. This is no holiday. And I’m really sorry about before—and I’m sorry about the soup,” he sighs heavily, then says wryly, “Let it be known that I’m sorry about pretty much everything at this point.”

“I’m sorry too,” I whisper, and then I touch the screen with my forefinger, feeling again that soul-deep pang of longing. I stare right into his eyes on the screen and my voice is rough with emotion as I choke, “I really miss you, Wade.”

“I miss you too.” I hear the rumbling of the coming train, and then I see the rush of wind mess with Wade’s hair. I want to ask him about the new Go-Gurt labels, and to see Eddie again—to see that Eddie really is okay. But this clearly isn’t the time to talk, because Wade has to shout into the phone as the train draws near. “Let’s talk properly tomorrow, when I’m not at a train station?”

I laugh and nod, then kiss my finger and press it to the camera.

“I love you,” I whisper. He reads my lips, and I see him echo it back to me.



CHAPTER 33

Alina


As we walked back to my family home, Saul tried hard to convince us to leave him behind, but he was too exhausted to make a convincing argument. He eventually gave up on Tomasz, and when he instead tried to convince me, I found myself in the god-awful position of taking Tomasz’s side.

“It makes sense for you to join me on the journey,” I forced myself to say. “Tomasz is needed here.”

It would take at least six hours for the plaster cast to dry, and Tomasz wanted it close to set before we boarded the truck. The original plan would have had us back to my family home with plenty of time for the cast to cure—but now we arrived back at the farmhouse just as the clock struck 3:00 a.m. I’d be boarding the truck with the cast still well and truly soft.

“You will have to be so careful,” Tomasz whispered, shaking his head as he wound the bandage onto my forearm. I had been staring up at the floorboards of my childhood home—trying to convince myself that this really was going to be my very last time there—unable to bear to watch as he wound the plaster around the canister onto my wrist. “Be absolutely sure not to bump it until it dries—it simply has to look realistic or someone might become suspicious that there’s something valuable in there. And do not let this cast get wet. Even once it’s cured—the film must stay dry.”

“Farther toward the wrist, Tomasz,” Saul said. His voice was suddenly strong, as if he hadn’t just lost his whole world a few hours earlier. Tomasz adjusted the placement of the soft bandage that would line the cast, shifting it a little farther from my elbow.

“Better?”

“Yes. You are very short on supplies—better to do a short cast and make it thick, to hide the bulk of the canister. Remember you’re not actually needing to stabilize the movement of her arm in this case, however if this were a real fracture...well, this would be inadequate. However, in our circumstances, if anyone even knows to question the length of it, Alina can say the fracture was right above the wrist and her physician did the best he could with what he had.” I looked down at Saul. He was sitting on the floor against one of the walls of the cellar. His arms were around his legs, his knees drawn up to his body, and he stared up at us on the makeshift bed with flat eyes and a deathly pale face. He met my gaze and his tone softened a little as he suggested, “If someone asks how you got the injury, say you fell and had stretched your hand out before you—the wrist bore the impact. Say the bone was reset by a field surgeon, and it was agonizing—white-hot, searing pain. With such detail, the story is at least realistic.”