As Sarah grappled for an answer, the alarm blasted from Joey’s phone. “Time to get beautiful,” Sarah said, and pushed herself up off the couch.

Joey followed her to the bathroom. They removed the silver masks. Like Joey had explained, they didn’t need to be rinsed but rather peeled off like rubber.

“How do I look?” asked Sarah, picking at a few silver bits that remained. She adopted a cheery tone. “Fresh-cheeked and seventy again?” In actuality, she didn’t think her face looked any different, but then it was home to so many wrinkles it was conceivable this mask had closed up shop on one or two of them.

“Radiant,” said Joey, beaming at her.

Sarah beamed back. Oh, how she loved this girl.

After they’d rinsed their feet, Sarah asked a few questions about the computer that she’d written on a Post-it. Then she stepped out onto the front porch to see her granddaughter off.

As Sarah waved goodbye, a thing began to nag her. At first, she brushed it aside, waving, waving. This used to be Sam’s job—to see their girls safely off. After his death, Sarah had assumed his role.

But as Joey disappeared around the bend, Sarah’s arm stopped its motion, and she wondered whether she’d been selfish to evade Joey’s questions before. Whether there was something plaguing her granddaughter. Whether Joey needed to understand something, or release something, and instead of helping, Sarah had withheld honest counsel.

Sarah went to her computer, and in an act that was most familiar to her, she buried those uncomfortable questions.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sarah

Corfu
1943

After Sarah learned the Nazis had taken Corfu, she ran to Gira Beach, to find Milos on his return from fishing. He called it the best beach in the world, and they strolled often on the peninsula by the old windmills off the dunes, searching for funny-shaped seashells to add to their collection and watching the flamingos flock.

But that evening, Sarah didn’t even notice the waves kiss the shore. The sun hovered over the lagoon, low and orange, by the time Milos stepped onto the sand, a net slung over his shoulder and a bucket in hand.

She ran to tell him but saw it first on his face. How long had he known without telling her? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“You never told anyone you were Jewish, did you, Sarah?” She squirmed from his attempted embrace but shook her head no. Then she retched onto the sand. Milos came down on his knees beside her. “We’ll get you new papers. There aren’t any Jews on Lefkada. Only my parents know. No one else will suspect.”