“And how long have we allegedly been living together?”
Allegedly … “For six months. You had a one-room apartment, and my place was too small for the two of us. We went looking for somewhere new and finally found this house.” Even as I’m uttering the last sentence, something occurs to me. “The lease! Joanna. We both signed the lease. It’s in the green file, in the cabinet in the living room with all the other documents.”
Without even waiting for her to react, I slide off my stool and practically run into the living room. My heartbeat quickens. If Joanna sees both of our signatures on the tenancy agreement …
Except—what if that’s disappeared as well?
I open the top right cabinet door, and find the green file right away. Joanna wrote IMPORTANT on the white tab at the back of the file in permanent marker. My hand is shaking as I reach for it and pull it out of the cabinet. The lease must be somewhere in the middle, in between the other documents. With nervous movements, I leaf through the papers, already fearing that the document’s gone, but then I finally have it in front of me. I take it out of the plastic sleeve, hastily flip it over and heave a deep sigh of relief. Our signatures are there on the lower third of the last page, next to the date.
Joanna looks at me warily when I hold the agreement out toward her.
“There, look at it,” I prompt her, unable to suppress the triumph in my voice. I put the paper down in front of her and point at the spot. “Here, you see?”
Joanna only eyes the document for a moment then looks back up at me. “The signatures were added with two different pens.”
This can’t be happening. “Christ, Jo, we both had our own pens. That’s not exactly unusual.”
“Do I really have to point out that you could have added it at any time after the fact?”
This is driving me crazy. My hand slams down on the breakfast bar with a bang. “Yes, damn it. At the end of the day you can question everything, even when you see it with your own eyes. Come on, think about it. If everything really was phony, the photos, the contract, evening visitors, even your friendship with Ela … just think about how much of a hassle it would have been to set it all up? And what could possibly justify all of this? Jo? Why would I be doing it?”
Again, I get one of those strange looks from her. One full of suspicion, mixed with anger. But now it seems there’s a new element in the mix. Something I can only read with difficulty. Like she knows more than I do. It almost seems disdainful.
She must have inherited it from her father. From the stories she’s told me, he’s a … A thought flashes through my head. Why am I only thinking of it now? “Your father!”
“What? What about my father?” She looks irritated.
“You told him about me, Jo. You put it off for a long time, but … Call him. Please. He’ll confirm it.”
This next look irritates me even more. She’s hiding something from me, I can feel it. But right now it’s more important for her to speak to her father. She’d believe him.
“All right.” She gets up. “I’ll call him.”
I’m so relieved I could kiss her. “Thank you.”
I’m tempted to jump up as Joanna, very matter-of-factly, walks over to the shelf behind her where her phone is, but I decide not to. She picks it up and tosses it back down again seconds later.
“Battery’s empty. Can I use yours?”
“Yeah, sure.” I fish my smartphone out of my pocket and hold it toward Joanna.
To my surprise, she sits back down on the stool as she’s dialing. I was expecting her to leave the room for the call to her father. Like she usually would.
I nervously wait for someone to answer. This should be the breakthrough moment. If Joanna’s father confirms that we live together, there’s no way she can have any more doubts. Then, of course, there will still be the problem that she can’t remember me, but once this awful mistrust she holds against me is gone, things will look totally different. I feel like we can get through this.
“Hi, Dad, it’s me, Jo.” Her voice sounds harder than usual. Is it because she’s speaking English rather than the German she speaks with me, or because it’s her dad she’s on the phone with?
“Good, thanks, and you?” She laughs briefly.
“Same old, same old … Oh, thanks. Tell him I said hi.… No, he hasn’t been in touch. But that’s fine.” There’s a longer pause, during which she’s only listening. “I don’t know yet.” She looks over toward me. “I’ll discuss it with Erik.”
My heart is pounding. I watch her face carefully. Another strange look, then Joanna gets up and leaves the kitchen. I watch her go, perplexed. Why is she leaving now?
She pulls the door to the hall shut behind her. If she leaves the house now … I push the thought aside, try to calm myself down, tell myself her father must have said something about me that she wants to talk over with him in private. Maybe he’s trying to convince her to come back to Australia. After all, that Matthew guy is waiting for her over there.
Man, how long is this going to take? I consider following her, but discard the thought. I want her to feel that I trust her.
Finally, the door opens. The way Joanna looks at me brings my world tumbling down even before she opens her mouth.
“My father didn’t know who I was talking about when I mentioned your name. He doesn’t know any Erik.”
11
It’s just after nine in the evening in Melbourne, and Dad only picks up after the seventh or eighth ring. That probably means they have guests, because then my father only answers the phone very reluctantly.
“Hi, Dad, it’s me, Jo.” I try to hide my nerves.
“Jo, sweetheart.” Yes, I can hear voices in the background. Laughter. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks, and you?”
He clears his throat. “Everything’s fine. The McAllisters are here right now, and Max Cahill with his new wife—do you remember Max?”
Yes. A bald-headed lawyer with buckteeth and a laugh that could make milk curdle. “Mom’s away for a couple of days,” Dad continues. “The usual charity stuff. She’ll be sorry to have missed your call, you know how much she likes to hear about your adventures in her homeland. Paul had a fight with Lisa but then they sorted things out again; other than that…”
“Same old, same old,” I finished his sentence for him.
“Yes. And Matthew sends his best.”
“Oh, thanks. Tell him I said hi.” Matthew. The fiancé who I definitely can remember, maybe even a little too well. The man whose life consists of a steady stream of fulfilled wishes, the man for whom I—everyone agrees—am the perfect match. One empire marrying another, just like it was two hundred years ago. The fact that I had felt the need to put a few continents between us hadn’t particularly fazed Matthew—after all, he would get me for the rest of my life once I was back, he had told me as we said good-bye.