The Paris Library(83)

Ah, they’ve caught us—playing cards and listening to Bach, while our children play make-believe in the bedroom. Vladimir opened the door slowly. Four Nazis pushed past. One pointed a gun at Vladimir. Two tore into the books on the shelves; another ripped the cushions from the divan. Damn snoops, they were never satisfied. Perhaps they’d found out about the boy. Vladimir and Marina were teachers, not revolutionaries, yet here they were, in trouble for helping a child. Why else would the Nazis be here? Not that Nazis needed a reason.

Boris was no longer surprised to see such men. Parisians had seen the Nazis at their best, boots polished, buying trinkets for their mothers back home. And at their worst. Too much to drink, stumbling down the streets. Red-faced after a blunt rejection by a Parisienne. Of course, Nazis had seen Parisians at their worst. Hungry and resentful, snapping at one another in line at the butcher’s. No, they were intimate enemies. On top of one another, beside one another, beside themselves.

The Nazi with the pistol snarled something in German. Anna, Marina, and Boris had remained seated at the table. This enraged him, why were they sitting there so calmly?

“Get up!” he shouted in French.

Anna rose with the grace of a czarina rising from a throne. She would not show she was scared. It would prove that they’d won.

“You, by the door,” the Nazi told Vladimir. “Stand with the others. Hands up!”

They raised their hands, and Boris realized he still held his cards.

The gun aimed at Boris. Would they arrest him? Russia and America were both at war with Germany, and he was a Franco-Russian working at an American institution. Yes, now he recognized the man brandishing the pistol, though the weasel had worn a tweed suit when he’d rifled through the collection, searching for evidence of betrayal. The snoop had been in the reading room so often that Odile said, “Someone needs to tell the bastard that the decent thing for him to do would be to pay for a Library subscription.”

That Odile! He’d laughed. He laughed.

The Luger went off. Pain bounded through Boris’s body. Blood soaked through his whitish shirt. He let go of his cards. They fluttered and fell to his feet. The pain was too much. He swayed. And in that last dance, he thought, Tell the children I love them. Anna, oh, Anna. You know all that I feel.

He didn’t remember falling, didn’t feel his head hit the floor. He sensed Anna beside him, saw the red run down his shirt over her ashen hands. He heard the Nazis shout. It was all too much. Boris longed to slip up the spiral staircase, to walk along secluded rows of books, to lose himself in the sweet quiet of the Afterlife.





CHAPTER 33

Lily




FROID, MONTANA, AUGUST 1987

MARY LOUISE’S SISTER, Angel, reigned from the front page of the Froid Promoter. Homecoming queen. Bikini-clad car-wash diva raising money for orphans or cheerleading camp. Her gaze could turn a grown man’s brain to manure. Mary Louise and I spent hours wondering how we could be like her. To get some conclusive answers, we snuck into Angel’s room, ears pricked for trouble, like any sign of Sue Bob coming down the hall. A whiff of danger blended with the sickeningly sweet scent of Giorgio perfume.

Mary Louise pawed through the dresser drawers. On her finger dangled a black bra with cups so big they could hold softballs. We caressed Angel’s angora sweaters, softer than skin, and held them up to our flat chests. What would it be like to feel Robby’s hand creep under the sweater, wanting to get at me? Delicious. Under the bed, I found a shoebox filled with corsages of proms past and a pink plastic container. Inside, pills wound around like a snail shell. The birth control in my palm was like a gun—both had the power to stop the human body. I plucked a pill from the foil, but Mary Louise told me to put it back.

On the vanity, makeup was laid out on a tray like a surgeon’s instruments. The blue liner made Angel’s eyes seem like endless oceans. When we tried, it looked like someone had gone crazy with a Bic. Finally, we lost ourselves in the closet, full of silky Gunne Sax dresses. Feeling them was like holding hands with the heavens.

When I got home, Odile and Eleanor were on the couch, waiting.

“Sue Bob called,” Eleanor said grimly as she rose.

I couldn’t believe the intelligence report made it home before I did.

“You know it’s wrong to snoop.” Eleanor wasn’t mad. She seemed… concerned. “How would you like it if I went through your things?”

“Go ahead!” I said bitterly. “I don’t have any secrets.”

“Ma grande,” Odile said, standing as well, “everyone has secrets, and private feelings. Your dad, Eleanor, me. Be grateful for what people tell you, when they’re ready to talk. Try to accept their limits, and understand that their limits usually have nothing to do with you.”

Seeing I didn’t know what to make of Odile’s advice, Eleanor simplified, “Don’t snoop. You’ll get yourself into trouble.”

“Why am I the one getting lectured when Angel’s the one with the birth control pills?”

Eleanor gasped, filling me with satisfaction.

Odile’s fingers dug into my arms. “Listen carefully: there is nothing worse than divulging someone’s secrets. Why would you tell us—or anyone—Angel’s private concerns? Are you trying to get her into trouble? Ruin her reputation? Hurt her?”