funny. Stubborn. Like, one day when she was about eight, she was mad at me for not letting her play with my friends, so she filed down the heel of my shoe. Only the left one. A little every day, for a week. I thought I was going crazy. Or maybe that I had some wasting illness because one of my legs was shorter than the other. I don’t think many eight-year-olds have that kind of patience or that kind of, I don’t know, deviousness.”
“You were close?”
He shakes his head. “We weren’t, really. I thought she was immature. But I guess I also assumed we’d become better friends when we were both older. Instead, she got sick.”
“Oh, Josef. I’m sorry.”
Without thinking, I rest my hand on his forearm. He looks down, and he doesn’t pull it away. He leans into it. Almost imperceptibly, but he does. I can feel the tendons and muscles of his forearm ripple beneath his sleeve as he starts the horses up again. Slowly, he transfers both of the reins into his left hand, resting his right one open on his lap, palm up. Slowly, I slide my own hand down his arm and lace my fingers between his. This exchange takes forever, whole minutes. Only when he lets out a little breath am I sure that this is what he was hoping I’d do, and only when he gratefully curls his fingers around mine, like they’re starving, like I am safety, do I realize he was afraid I wouldn’t. His fingers are cooler than mine, and they feel solid and real.
“Josef,” I say quietly. “What if my brother is dead—but what if he’s not? I’m not ready to give up yet. Do you think that’s stupid?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. I’m not the right person to ask about stupid things. I start fights with people bigger than me, remember?”
“I get on trains and cross countries,” I say.
“That’s not stupid. That’s brave.”
The word choice surprises me; it’s not one I’d choose to describe myself. The things I’ve done I haven’t done out of braveness. I’ve done them out of necessity.
“I think I’m just doing what anyone would do to find their family,” I say. “Wouldn’t you, if your sister were alive? Or your parents. If they were.”
His hand twitches in mine, and he shifts awkwardly. “I think they are still alive.”
I gape at him. “Really?”
“As far as I know. I think so. But we can talk about something else.”
He sets his face in a mask, the same kind of evasiveness from when I offered to repair his shirt. A closed-offness.
This revelation about his parents is unfathomable to me. How could you have living family and not be doing what I’m doing or what Miriam is doing, dedicating as many waking hours as possible to finding them?
“You’re looking for them, though, right?” I ask. “You’re still looking for them? Josef?”
Instead of answering, Josef coughs and abruptly releases my hand to cover his mouth. It sounds forced, though, high in his chest. When he finishes, he takes the reins in both hands again and shifts away. There’s a gap of cool air now against my thigh.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I try. “I just wondered about your parents.”
“That’s not it,” he insists. “It’s just that it’s late. We were at the W?lflins’ longer than I think we meant to be. I think I should focus on the horses.”
“Oh. All right.”
Nothing he says is rude or even impolite, but it’s distant, a voice that could be measured in kilometers. I don’t know what I’ve said or done, but I’ve become a stranger to him again.
It’s late evening when we get back to Foehrenwald; most of the cottages are already dark. We pass a few vehicles, khaki-colored, official-looking ones, parked in a cluster by the camp entrance. They weren’t there when we left; they must be the broken ones, now repaired, that Mrs. Yost mentioned earlier.
Leaving Josef at the stables, I walk back to my cottage. When I get close enough, I see it’s one of the few that’s still bright, with the glow of a lantern coming from the curtains of my bedroom. I hesitate, debating whether to wait outside until the lights have gone out. I’d rather not talk to anyone right now; I’d rather just fall into my bed, curl my knees to my chest, and sleep.
I tiptoe through the front room where Judith and Miriam are sleeping, hoping that the light in our room is on