Magda returned, carrying a dessert plate that had a special indentation to hold a teacup. She served him the dish along with a cloth napkin. “Where is Ginny?”

“Outside.”

“They’re here?”

“No, I think she’s just—”

“Why does she wait outside? It makes me look like I’m too anxious.”

“I think she’s a little anxious, too.”

Magda made a face. “What does she have to be anxious about? It isn’t her life.”

“No, that’s true,” Decker said. “But you are her mother and she wants it to go right for you.”

Magda exhaled. “Then she should have come to me first!”

“You’re right.”

Again the old woman exhaled. “I am still her mother. She is still my daughter. I go out and calm her down.”

“You’re a good woman,” Decker said.

“If you say that after this tea, then I believe you.”

Magda went outside.

Again Decker reveled in silence. He felt his eyes close, his mind turning slow and fuzzy. He had almost drifted off to sleep when a slamming car door made him snap to. Still sleepy, he almost stood up, nearly knocking his sandwich plate off his lap. But he remembered at the last moment and recovered the food before it became abstract art on Magda’s Aubusson rug. He placed the plate on one of the end tables and peeked out the window.

The driver was opening the door.

Anika came out first, dressed in a white blouse and green linen A-line skirt. Marta followed wearing a yellow cotton suit. Both of the women had donned jaunty little summer hats over their gray locks. Decker couldn’t hear words, but he certainly heard the screams.

Magda and Marta fell into an unplanned, unrehearsed embrace, both of them falling on one another’s shoulders and sobbing their little eighty-plus-year-old hearts out. In a speck of time, a lifetime of intervening memories flew out the window as two little schoolgirls hugged and laughed and cried and strolled arm in arm up the walk-way to the house. Rina had placed her arm around Anika, who looked a bit uncomfortable with her sister’s display of emotion.

They came through the door like chirping magpies.

“Ach, this is beautiful, Marta,” Marta Wallek told Magda. “Sehr schön!”

Rina said, “Ladies, you remember my husband, Lieutenant Decker?”

“Bestimmt … certainly. It is a pleasure to see you once again.” Marta smiled, still holding Magda’s arm. “Oh, this is so lovely! You were always such the künstlerin … the artist.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you remember how you draw pictures for everyone in the schule? ‘Die modedesignerin.’” Marta turned to Rina. “We call her ‘the Dress Designer.’ In art time, she draws amazing dresses.”

“Oh, that!” Magda waved her hand. “That is because of my mother. She designed beautiful dresses.”

“And you draw them all!” Marta said, laughing.

Magda beamed. “Come. You must be hungry.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Anika piped in. “It was a long ride.”

“Not so long,” Marta argued.

“Not so bad until the freeway. Then it was very long.”