Alice had been enough for him, a careful girl, well-behaved, seldom dirty. I was simply far too much. Together with Dad I felt like I was all elbows, clumsy. Hard and sinewy. Far too loud. My movements uncontrolled. He never said it, but I was still young when I started noticing how he would leave the room when I came in. His sighs. How he lifted his book, always some book or other, protectively up against his face, using the book as a shield.

He didn’t even manage to follow up on my schooling, didn’t understand my impatience, my confusion over the letters of the alphabet. He had never been like that himself. I used to think that he’d always been old. And I was madder than hell with him for just that.

But still. Now I couldn’t imagine the world without that failing old body of his, without his sighs and his thousand-yard stare. My little old father. I had given up on him too soon. I could have tried to approach him. I should have. While there was still time.

I should have understood that he survived for a reason, that I was fortunate.

But they just left, he and Mom. One day in October of last year, they closed up the house, covered the furniture with sheets, and locked the door. They wanted to take the train to Paris—she had a cousin there. Alice went with them too. From there they hoped they would be able to continue farther north. In May we received our last message from them. They hadn’t been granted residency anywhere but were going to try to get to Denmark on their own. After that . . . nothing.

I walked quickly. We passed the halls, the sanitary barracks. I pulled air into my lungs. Dad . . . Stop thinking about him, you have to stop thinking about him. About Dad. About Mom. About Alice.

Because there were too many people. Too many of them. I didn’t have enough hope for so many people, only for Anna and August. Their faces, the smell of August, his gurgling, the hollow of Anna’s neck, snuggling against it, in it. Just the two of them. That would have to do. If I could have them, it would do.

“Where are we going, Daddy?”

Lou trotted alongside of me, struggling to keep up. “Daddy?”

“I don’t know. Out.”

I took a breath. Tried to smile at her. “We’ll just go for a little walk.”

She didn’t want to go, I could see it on her face. But she didn’t protest. She just took my hand and held it tightly. Wherever I went, she followed.

I stepped briskly, adult strides. I had to get some air. Had to stop thinking. Stop yearning. Just wait. Anna. August. Wait.

“You’re walking so fast,” Lou said.

“Sorry.” I pulled her toward the exit.

Chapter Seven

Signe

It’s easy to find out where he lives. Some things have actually become easier and he clearly hasn’t made any attempt to hide it—the address is posted on several sites on the internet.