Lunch, when it’s served a few moments later, proves to be simple and elegant. Pan-seared chicken crusted with rosemary. Sautéed asparagus. New potatoes with roasted garlic. Yeast rolls served with sweet cream butter. When Werner sets the plate before Max, the navigator considers shoving it aside on principle. This is Maier’s meal. And given the events in the kitchen Max would be justified in indulging in a temporary hunger strike. But he’s famished. And smart enough to know that what Emilie did was about him, not Maier. So he eats, begrudgingly, only to discover that the meal is superb. When his plate is empty he leaves the officers’ mess without giving his compliments to the chef.
Max makes a quick detour to deposit the morning’s collection of letters and postcards in the mailroom, then checks his watch. There are only a few minutes left in his lunch break, but he doesn’t want to return to the control car just yet. He needs to clear his head. Five minutes of silence in his cabin will do the trick.
Wilhelm Balla intercepts him just as he’s leaving the mailroom. “Du siehst schlimm aus,” he says. “What has Emilie done now?”
Max hasn’t seen a mirror since early this morning, so he guesses that Wilhelm’s assessment of his appearance is likely correct. His eyes are dry and they sting when he blinks. He nicked himself while shaving, and every time he smiles it feels as though the cut is splitting open on his chin. Best not to smile, then. It’s an overrated expression anyway.
He rubs his jaw. “It was stupid of me to think it would ever work.”
“Oh.” The tendons beside Balla’s mouth curve to accommodate the knowing smirk. “So you got your kiss, then?”
“Maybe,” is all Max says. He had gotten his kiss and then some.
“And a broken heart to go along with it. So tell me.”
No response.
“She’s leaving the airship for one of the luxury hotels?”
A glare.
“She’s joining a convent?”
He clenches his jaw.
“She’s pregnant with another man’s baby.”
“For God’s sake!”
“What? It’s not like you’re giving me any hints here. I’m a man after all. My mind is base.”
“I would think your mind is blank given this lack of creativity.”
“She’s dying?”
“Just stop,” Max says. “It’s much worse than any of that.”
“Worse than dying?”
“Maybe. Almost.” The words sound crass and petty to him and he immediately regrets them. He clears his throat. “If she were dying—which she’s not—at least she wouldn’t be leaving me on purpose.”
“Leaving?”
He hadn’t planned to confide in Balla. This certainly isn’t his secret to share. But he needs to talk to someone, and the steward is the closest thing he has to a friend aboard this airship.
“Emilie is immigrating to America.”
“She told you this?”
“No. I found papers in her cabin last night.”
“You were in her cabin at least. That’s progress,” Balla says. “When is she leaving? Maybe you’ll have time to change her mind.”
He looks at his watch. “In a little less than two days, I’d say.”
This brings Balla up short. His eyes have a natural almond shape and they narrow even further at this news. “And you discovered this by…”
“Accident.”
“I take it she isn’t pleased that you know?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“So she had no intention of telling you. That’s a problem.”
“The problem is that she’s leaving. That’s why I look like hell and feel worse. Schei?e!” Max grabs his cap and throws it against the wall.
“You love her.”
“Obviously.”
“Does she know that?”
“I don’t see how she couldn’t.”
“But have you said it in so many words?”
“Listen,” Max says, the rage he felt in the kitchen returning in a hot whoosh, “it’s not like she has reciprocated much. Call me a fool, but I can only put myself out there for so long without any encouragement.”
“She kissed you, yes?”
“You could say it was the other way around.”
“But she responded?”
Max closes his eyes and gives himself five seconds to remember the kiss. “With enthusiasm.”
Something occurs to Max. Clearly she has been planning to leave Germany for some time. Her papers were in order. It must have taken several years to save as much as she has. And the plan alone is meticulous. So Emilie was planning to leave Germany long before she ever met him. She’s scared enough to leave everyone and everything she has ever known, and he goes and takes the decision as a personal slight. Stupid. Selfish. He’s ashamed, and now he’s angry with himself as well.
“Schei?e!”
“What now?” Wilhelm asks.
“I’m an idiot.”
“I’ve known that for ages.”
Max picks up his cap. Dusts it off. Places it back on his head with precision. “I’m going to set things right.”
THE AMERICAN