She opened her door and turned to Hannah. “We have a flat tire, Bunny,” she said, then she extended her hand toward her sister, who took it. “Let’s go and see if these people can help us.” Hannah slid across the seat and hopped down on Mary’s side, her skirt and coat catching as she lowered herself to the ground.
Mary looked down at Hannah, who was still wearing her earmuffs and purple coat, along with a black velour dress Mary had purchased at Goodwill and stockings that now had a hole in the knee. “You look cute,” she said.
With Hannah’s hand in Mary’s, the Chase girls made their way up the long driveway to the house, which, they could see, bustled with the movement of family and visitors and holiday festivities. Mary saw Hannah look nervously ahead, apprehensive about entering a world that was not her own. The girls were noticed before they arrived when they stepped onto the stone path that led to the front door, tripping the motion detector and flooding themselves in light. In the wide front bay window, a group of blond women holding wineglasses paused their conversation and lifted their heads, trying to make out the figures walking up the path. Mary adopted an apologetic smile and waved. Mary and Hannah climbed the steps and pressed the button for the bell.
Inside, Mary heard, “Stefan, honey, can you get that?” through the conversation, through the glass clinks of laughter. And again her heart spasmed. If it had been a story Mary was telling, this would have been the culmination, the moment before all was set right again—the righteous recognized, the thrown secure, and prosperity befalling the kingdom.
Then the door glided open and he was there, framed in the warmth and the light of the place from where he had come.
Eleven
1982
It had been several years since they had seen each other. And then it was for only a night. But he knew her at once, his eyes widening as a smile burst on his face, memories of Mary playing in rapid succession in his mind. “Mary,” he said.
Mary’s brow wrinkled as she pretended to search for his name. “Stefan?” she asked tentatively.
His laugh was open and generous, a thunderclap of good fortune. “What are you doing here?”
Mary smiled crookedly, as if seeing him were still too much to trust or understand, then she gestured behind her. “Our car got a flat tire,” she said. Then she laughed, her expression confused as she rested her hand on Hannah’s back. “We just wanted to see if we could call a tow truck. What are you doing here?”
At that moment, one of the blond women Mary had seen through the window approached the door, her heels clicking on the shiny marble floor. “Stefan, honey,” she said, as she rounded the corner. Her German accent still held a commoner’s lilt. “Do these girls need help?”
Stefan’s eyes didn’t leave Mary. “They, ummm,” he started. His skin was tan and his hair still sun bleached at the ends, as if he still existed in the summer of Mary’s mind. Another solar flare of a smile. “They have a flat tire.”
The woman, whom Mary already knew to be Martina Kelly, gave her son a look. And why is that funny, Steffie? Then she turned to Mary. “Well, come in, come in,” she said, all grace and charity as she ushered the Chase girls inside. They stepped over the threshold, and Martina pushed the door shut behind them. “It’s freezing out there,” she said, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands over her thin silk blouse. “Stefan, honey, can you take a look at their car?”
“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you,” protested Mary, glancing briefly at Stefan. “If we could just use your phone.”
Martina made a sound. Tsk-tsk. “Oh, no, no,” she said, then she looked at Hannah and gave her a warm smile. “This little one looks cold.”
Hannah, who resembled a Victorian street urchin with her tattered stockings, ill-fitting coat, and stolen earmuffs, turned to Mary for corroboration or direction.
Mary tilted her head, suggesting reluctant accord. “I think she is a bit chilly.”
“Well,” said Martina. “Let’s get you something warm to drink while Stefan sees to your tire.” She waved for the girls to join her, leading them past the expansive French doors, beyond which several of the other women sat craning their necks and offering their vanilla smiles.
Mary and Hannah followed Martina into the kitchen, with its hunter green walls and glimmering copper pots. “Let’s see,” she said, opening and closing cabinets, looking for something. When she found it, she emitted a pleased cluck. “Do you girls like hot chocolate?”
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” assured Mary.
“What about your sister?” asked Martina.
Hannah looked from Mary to her hostess. “Yes, please,” she said, her voice not more than a thimbleful.
“Good girl,” said Martina, as she pulled a white packet from a box and marched over to the sink. She pulled a mug from a shelf and set it on the counter, then, giving the packet a brisk tear, dumped its contents inside. Positioning the mug under a small faucet, she pulled a lever, sending in a steaming rush of water. “Alright,” she said, as the cup filled. “One hot chocolate coming right up.” Pulling a spoon from the drawer, she stirred as she walked back over to Mary and Hannah.
“Careful, sweetie,” said Martina, as she set the mug on the counter. “The water from there is very hot.”
Mary gave Hannah a sidelong glance and an instructive nod.
“Thank you,” said Hannah immediately, as she took her seat at the counter.
Martina turned to Mary, giving her a warm smile. “Now you, big sister,” she said. “Would you like something else? A glass of wine?”
Mary’s hand halted the offer with a polite wave. “Oh, no, thank you.”
“No?” said Martina, the bottle already in her hand, gauging Mary’s interest. Martina’s words carried the easy warmth of drink. “Oh, well,” she said, setting it back down. “I’m from Germany. We don’t let anyone come to our house during the holidays without offering them wine.”
Mary emitted a polite chuckle.
“Alright, well, why don’t you girls stay here,” she said, turning to leave the room. “We’ll see what Stefan has to say about your car.”
Mary watched her go, then took the seat next to Hannah. “Don’t worry, Bunny,” Mary whispered, seeing Hannah’s nervous eyes. “Everything’s okay.” With her hand on Hannah’s knee, she glanced around the room. Framed family photos were positioned on the walls and shelves—elegant professional shots of two handsome boys, of a beautiful mother and a dignified father.
“Stefan!” Mary heard Martina call from the front door. “Was denken Sie?”
After a few moments, the front door clicked shut and Stefan’s voice echoed through the foyer, with its high ceilings and hard floor. “Die M?dchen waren richtig. Es ist eine Reifenpanne,” he said. “Wir sollten den Abschleppdienst rufen.”
“Can’t you change it for them?” asked Martina, switching to English.