Underneath a photo in which she looked much happier than she felt, she typed:

Everything OK there? The food here is very interesting: clove-flavored foam with flower petals. Thom would love it, haha

We’re getting up early tomorrow and packing our sandwiches for an exciting day hiking along the cliffs!

Do your best at school and say hi to Grandma and Grandpa for us.

Love, Mom

“What did you write? Can I see?”

“I haven’t sent it—”

Werner snatched the phone out of her hand.

“Yet.”

His expression was slightly anxious at first, but then he began to read, and a smile broke out on his face. “Perfect—that’s great. I’ll send it, OK?” He pressed the button and then tucked the phone away again.

There was something strange about how he was handling that phone—and all their communication with home, for that matter. “Why are you being so—”

“More water?” The waitress appeared at the table with a carafe. She looked at them both in turn, clutching her decanter clumsily.

“No, thanks,” answered Werner, and then looked at Helen. “How about coffee?”

30

30

A short, balding customs officer stepped away from his colleagues and waved them through with a bored expression.

“That was easy.” Ralf accelerated past the tall fence topped with barbed wire. He smiled but could feel his eye twitching.

Past a curve in the road was another barrier. More men in uniforms—but this group looked a good deal more active. An officer raised his hand and waved them over to the side.

Ralf stopped underneath the canopy. The checkpoint was flooded with bright fluorescent light and felt like a space station.

Ralf opened his window.

“Passports, please.”

The man sounded very English. A little snobby.

“I think this is the British border,” he heard Sara say from the passenger seat. She took her ID out of her bag and handed it to Ralf, who passed it to the man along with his own. “Back there was the French one.”

Another customs officer walked around the car. He looked at Sara, made eye contact with Ralf. Walked to the back of the Polo and peered in through the windows.

Ralf tried to swallow but couldn’t.

“Where are you from?”

“Holland.” Why did the man ask that? Couldn’t he tell from their IDs and license plate? Ralf coughed to cover a nervous shudder.

The officer asked them what they were planning to do in England.

“Romantic weekend,” answered Sara, leaning across Ralf’s lap and smiling as her eyes met the officer’s. She placed her hand on Ralf’s leg.

The customs officer took another look at their IDs and asked them how long they intended to stay.

Ralf opened his mouth, but Sara beat him to it.

“Two nights.”

“And where are you staying?” He looked at Ralf as if he had already decided in advance not to take his answer seriously.