Of course, their house was still now, too. Krys’ parents had sent three sons to the war, and the older two had been killed and one was still gone. His father looked older than I remembered him, the lines in his face more deeply etched, broad shoulders stooped, hair mostly gray. Guilt rose in me. Even though I had not been close to Krys’ parents, I should have checked in on them since he had left.

But his father showed no recrimination as he stepped toward me, eyes warm but puzzled. “Ella, what are you doing here?” I started to tell him that I needed directions. “If you are looking for Krys, he will be back soon,” he added.

“Back?” I repeated the word, certain that I had heard him wrong. Had he received word from Krys? My heart skipped a beat. “From the war?”

“No, back from lunch. He’s expected within the hour.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Krys is still away at war.” I wondered if the older man was confused, if the grief and loss had teased his mind.

But his eyes were clear. “No, he’s been back for two weeks. He has been working here with me.” His voice was sure and certain, leaving no doubt. I froze, stunned silent. Krys was back. “I’m sorry,” Krys’ father said. “I thought you knew.”

No, I hadn’t. “Please, do you know where I can find him?”

“He said he had an errand. I believe it was to the café on Barska, the one where he went often before the war.” He pointed up the street that led away from the river. “Second street on the right. You might find him there.”

“Thank you.” I set off in the direction of the café, mind racing. Krys was back. Part of me was overjoyed. He was just steps away, and in a matter of minutes, I might see him. But the man I was supposed to marry had returned from the war—and had not bothered to tell me. I suppose it made sense; after all, he had broken up with me before leaving. I was just a girl from his past, an afterthought. Still, to not even tell me that he was back and safe, to leave me worrying and wondering, was outrageous. Surely he owed me more than this. I considered my options: go after him, do nothing. If he had not come to see me, I should not lower myself to chasing him. But I needed to know what had happened, why he had not come back to me. Propriety be damned. I started toward the café.

Barska Street, where Krys’ father had sent me, was near the center of Dębniki. As I made my way through the neighborhood, I noticed that the buildings here were close-set, their facades tinged with soot and pockmarked. I soon reached the café. This was not some elegant restaurant on the market square, but a simple café, where people grabbed a black ersatz cup of coffee or a quick poppy seed or sweet cheese roll before heading back to work. I scanned the patrons who stood around the few high tables on the far side of the window. I had imagined seeing Krys more times than I could count over the past few years. Occasionally, I had even thought that I caught a glimpse of him on a passing trolley or in a busy crowd. Of course, it was never him. I did not see Krys now either, and I wondered if his father was mistaken. Or perhaps Krys had been here and I had missed him.