The Things We Cherished

  She took out the business card he had given her shortly after her arrival in Munich, considering. There was an e-mail address and she thought about dropping him a message saying hi and … what exactly? They had not left things at a keep-in-touch kind of stage. She recalled the night they spent together, the looks they exchanged, and the quiet understanding they seemed to share. Yet a business card was all that remained, maybe because their lives had pulled them in two different directions or because things were too complex. No, a casual e-mail message would be too much and at the same time not enough.

  Then she heard Brian’s words, telling her that his brother had feelings for her years ago. Why hadn’t Jack said anything? Well why, more to the point, hadn’t she? In her mind she saw that moment in the hotel bar the other evening, when she could have owned up to how she felt. She wanted to blame it on the interruption, the fact that Brian had arrived before she had a chance. But there was always a way if one really wanted something. No, the truth was she simply hadn’t been brave enough.

  It’s too late now, she decided, setting the mail aside. What’s done is done. Standing, she pushed the thoughts from her mind and set about unpacking and fitting back into the life that she had chosen.

  Charlotte stepped out of the Criminal Justice Center and walked to the corner. A sharp breeze gusted down the street, sending leaves and a piece of crumpled newspaper flying. She drew her coat more tightly around her midsection. It was early November now, more than a month since she had returned from Europe, and the air had an unmistakable feel of the impending winter.

  She crossed Market Street and made her way toward the office, still thinking about the hearing she had had that morning for Laquanna, a fifteen-year-old accused of drug possession. The girl was undoubtedly guilty, but if there was only some way to get her a reduced sentence in some sort of rehabilitative program …

  She walked into the office, still lost in thought. “Whoa!” Doreen cried, as Charlotte collided with her, sending the stack of files she was carrying flying in all directions.

  “Sorry,” Charlotte mumbled, stooping to pick up the scattered papers. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Shocking,” Doreen replied, a note of humor in her voice. Charlotte’s absentmindedness when focusing on a case was legendary. She had once accidentally walked into a toilet and broken a toe while preparing for a closing argument in a trial.

  Charlotte handed the papers to Doreen, who promptly passed them back again. “I was just taking these to your mailbox,” she said.

  Charlotte groaned. Her colleagues might have covered her cases while she was gone, but the mountain of paperwork they’d left behind for her was taking forever to clear. “Thanks.” She started down the hall.

  “Wait, there’s—” Doreen began, but Charlotte continued on, lost in thought.

  Charlotte stepped into her office and stopped short as a tall figure caught her eye. Someone was there. Her breath caught. A male visitor sat in the chair across from her desk once more. Only this time it wasn’t Brian.

  “Jack,” she gasped.

  He stood up, unfolding himself in a way that was unmistakably familiar from his brother’s earlier appearance. “Hello, Charley.”

  A strange sense of déjà vu came over her. It was more than just the reminders of Brian’s earlier visit, she realized. She had seen this. She pulled the image from a haze of dreams, half buried in the jet lag of the days following her return. She didn’t believe in prescience, but in the dream she had envisioned Jack sitting exactly like he was now. She had woken up shaken by the vividness of the image, telling herself that it couldn’t happen. But now he was actually here, a fact that was almost unfathomable. What, she tried to recall from her dream, had he wanted?

  “I don’t understand,” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just passing through because of a case,” he replied. His words echoed Brian’s weeks earlier, but with Jack, the excuse seemed even more highly implausible. Was he serious?

  No, of course not. Jack had no business that would bring him to Philadelphia. Her mind raced. Perhaps a personal matter had brought him back to the States. “Is your family all right?”

  “Everyone’s fine.” She waited for him to offer an alternative explanation for his visit, but he remained silent, his gaze holding her own. No, he had come to see her. Her stomach tightened.

  A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her then, surprise and confusion and curiosity mixing with the fact that she was, well, genuinely glad to see him. The tiny office space suddenly seemed too cramped to hold both of them and everything she was feeling. She didn’t want to run away from him, as she had when Brian came looking for her. But she needed air.

  “Is there somewhere we can get some coffee?” he asked, sensing her discomfort.

  She nodded, setting the papers down on her desk and gesturing for him to follow. She could feel the curious stares of her coworkers as they walked through the office and they wondered about this tall, attractive man, the second such visitor to the normally solitary Charlotte in recent months. She stole a glance upward at Jack. His eyes were clearer and he seemed less haggard than she remembered, as if a weight had somehow been lifted. And the stubble that usually covered his cheeks and chin was gone as well. “You’ve shaved,” she remarked abruptly.

  He half smiled. “I thought it was time for a change. How did Marquan’s case go?”

  “Really well,” she replied. “Better than expected. Kate Dolgenos did a great job and Marquan got four years in a decent facility, followed by parole. They’ve got a vocational training program there so he should still be able to graduate high school on time if he really applies himself.” If. There were still a hundred roadblocks between Marquan and a happy ending.

  “That’s great, though you’re being too modest. I’m sure you had a lot to do with the result.”

  Neither spoke further as they stepped out onto the street, stopping at the hot dog vendor. As Jack handed her one of the Styrofoam cups, she couldn’t help but contrast the dark bitter brew with the foamy lattes they had enjoyed in Munich weeks earlier. But he took a sip, not seeming to notice. “Roger’s name was cleared,” he said.

  “I know. I saw the story in the press.” The article had been brief, just a mention that a document had been found exonerating Roger posthumously. It had seemed so inadequate—there was no reference to Magda or the clock or all of the passion and heartbreak that underscored the tale. A secret history left for only a few of them to know.

  He raised his coffee cup once more. “I helped to settle his affairs these past few weeks. Anna, I mean Anastasia, will get everything. Per Roger’s wishes in his will, she’s donating the house in Wadowice, which will become a museum dedicated to prewar life in the town, showing the relations between Jews and Poles.”

  Charlotte nodded. Amidst the horrific legacy of the war, the backdrop of pogroms and hatred that had painted the centuries black, there was a quieter side of the story that almost no one ever heard, a tapestry woven from the simple fabric of everyday life, with Poles and Jews coexisting peacefully beside one another, interacting as customers and tradesmen, teachers and students, guests and friends. Even lovers, she thought, picturing Roger and Magda as a young couple. Anna’s museum would pay tribute to both of her parents and their unspoken love by trying to illuminate a tiny piece of that tapestry so that visitors who stopped in when passing through the town could see more than just blood.

  “So it’s really over.”

  “It is.”

  “I appreciate your telling me.” She swallowed. “Though you came an awfully long way to do it.” He looked away, not answering. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work to catch up on at the firm, now that Roger’s case has ended.”

  “I quit.”

  “Oh.” She studied his profile. What was he running away from this time?

  “That is, I’m taking on a new project,” he said. “I’ve been given a grant by the Ark Foundation t
o start up a new nonprofit. We’re going to take on cases like Roger’s, finding forensic and other evidence to protect those who may have been wrongfully accused. Kind of like an equal justice project, only on an international level.”

  “You’re changing teams,” she remarked. “Crossing over to the dark side of defense work.”

  “Well, Roger’s case convinced me that things aren’t always as black and white as they seem.” He cleared his throat. “You had a lot to do with that too.” He paused. “Come work with me, Charley.”

  She stared at him, too surprised to speak. “I-I don’t understand,” she managed finally.

  “We’re going to need someone like you, who’s good with the witnesses and the evidence.” He half smiled once more. “Whose instinct to defend the accused and whose sense of justice are stronger than mine.”

  He was serious. Just over a month ago he hadn’t even wanted her working on Roger’s case. You could have anyone, she wanted to say. The best investigators and criminal attorneys in Europe. “I need your help,” he added.

  The same thing that Brian had said, she mused. The request for help, someone always wanting what she had to give, or more. But what about her needs? She opened her mouth to tell him no thank you, that she had a life here and a job that she loved. But then she remembered the thrill of racing round Europe working on Roger’s case. With Jack. The murmur of emotions in her head rose to a roar.

  “Why didn’t you just call?” she asked abruptly. Jack’s eyes widened. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to see you.” She could feel a faint blush begin to creep up from her collar. “And I’m flattered really. But wouldn’t it have been easier to phone, or even e-mail?”

  “I suppose,” he admitted slowly, gazing down the street once more as though the answers lay in the traffic snarled at Broad and Chestnut. He rubbed his chin in the now-familiar way that meant he was choosing his next words with care. “I certainly didn’t plan on this. I mean, I considered you for the position right away and I was planning to reach out to you as soon as I got settled in at The Hague. I knew as soon as the grant came through that you were the right person. You just … make things work so much better.”

  Easy, she thought, as a lump formed in her throat. He could just be talking about the job. But his tone seemed to suggest something deeper.

  He continued, “Then yesterday morning, as I was wrapping things up at my office, some flowers arrived. They were from Anna—I mean, Anastasia—with a note expressing her appreciation for everything we had done for her family, especially Roger.”

  “That was thoughtful,” Charlotte remarked, unsure how the information related to her or his job offer.

  “The flowers …” he paused. “They were asters.” He turned back, his eyes meeting hers squarely. “Asters. What are the odds?”

  They are a fall flower, she wanted to say, but did not. “What a coincidence,” she remarked instead, managing to keep her voice even as his gaze held her own.

  “It was more than that,” he insisted. “Like a sign or something.”

  Quite an admission, she reflected, from someone who purported not to believe in fate. “Or another chance,” he added. She nodded, understanding. He’d taken it as another opportunity to tell her everything that he had left unsaid years ago, a second or maybe even a third chance, if you counted their missed connection years ago when she had been with Brian.

  Of course even now, Jack had not said everything—his words, as always, fell shy of what he really meant. But she knew how much it had taken for him to go this far after everything he had been through—knew because it was that hard for her too. He had been brave enough to go where she had only wished to the other night in the hotel.

  Still, the revelation of his feelings did not make it easier to confront the dilemma that his proposal, so dramatic and unexpected, posed for her. “I don’t know,” she said finally, swallowing. “I mean, I need to think about it.”

  A brief flicker crossed his face and he blinked. It was not surprise, she realized; he did not share Brian’s sense of entitlement that the world would give him exactly what he wanted. Rather, he was disappointed. “I’m flying back tonight,” he said. He had not, she calculated, been on the ground twenty-four hours. “If you want to call me before then, that’s great. Otherwise I’ll be in Munich tomorrow, then on to the Netherlands to open our office.”

  “That’s quick,” she observed.

  “There’s a case involving a defendant at The Hague that’s scheduled to go to trial in two months and we want to be up and running in order to jump in on that one before it’s too late.” There was a gleam in his eyes as though a part of him, long dormant, had come back to life. “It’s a Bosnian doctor who’s been accused of aiding in interrogations, but we really think that this is a case of mistaken identity—”

  “Really?” It was still hard to imagine Jack switching sides after all of the work he had done at the Tribunal.

  “Yes, and there’s a chance we can get our hands on some DNA evidence—” Seeing her smile, he broke off in mid-sentence. “What is it?”

  “You just seem so idealistic is all.”

  He laughed. “And you seem more cynical. Kind of like we switched places somewhere along the way.”

  Not exactly, Charlotte thought. Meeting Roger and learning the truth about what he had done, making the worst possible choice for all of the right reasons, had certainly challenged some of her long-held assumptions about guilt and innocence. It wasn’t cynicism, though—just a more grounded perspective. But it wasn’t something she could readily explain to Jack.

  “So we’ve got to move quickly,” Jack continued. “Of course, if you need more time, take it. I’ll—I mean, we will be waiting.”

  He lowered his head and before she could react, his lips were on hers, purposeful and firm. She gasped. Though it was not the passion they had known in the hotel or even the attic, the promise and intent were unmistakable.

  Before she could respond, he broke away, straightening. He gave her one long last look and it seemed for a moment as though there was something else. “Take care, Charley.” Then he was gone, striding toward Broad Street and hailing a cab.

  Go after him, a voice not her own seemed to say. But she stood numbly, watching as he sped away, letting him leave again. A moment later, as she stood alone on the street, she wondered if she had imagined it. Had Jack actually been here? It had not been a dream this time, though. And he had asked her to do … what exactly? To pack up her life again, not as Brian had asked, for a few weeks, but this time for good.

  She walked back up to her office, looked around. How could she just up and leave? This was her whole world. She had a job helping the accused, but Jack was offering her the chance to do much the same work on a different scale. And beyond that, the office was just four walls. She had a house she could sell (or lease, if she wanted to keep it as a safety net), a cat she could take with her.

  But for what? A job she didn’t know anything about. She had no idea how much it paid (not that it would be hard to top her salary as a public defender) or how stable it would be. And what about working with Jack? Their interactions had been prickly at best on the Dykmans case, heated and confrontational as often as not. It was possible that they would hate each other, that it would be a disastrous working relationship.

  I’m really considering it, she realized. A few months ago, the notion of picking up and leaving the safety of this world would have been unthinkable. But stepping away from it and working on the case with Jack had helped her to put some of the old ghosts to rest, and she could contemplate possibilities now that she hadn’t known existed.

  She saw Jack’s eyes as she entered her office, the spark of hope and something more. He could have gotten anyone to work with him. He could have called or e-mailed. But he had come all the way to Philadelphia to ask her himself. No, this was about something more than a job.

  A life in Europe, working together with Jack. Suddenly the potential unfurled
before her. Now she was freed from all the baggage of the past, finally free to live her dreams.

  She picked up her bag and started out, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Acknowledgments

  The inspiration for this book was a beautiful, antique timepiece, known as an anniversary clock, which my husband, Phillip, gave me for our first wedding anniversary. I was intrigued by the history of this unique type of clock and as I began to research it, I imagined the lives it had touched over the past century and The Things We Cherished began to unfold.

  Of course any writer will tell you that the road from inspiration to finished book is long and I am grateful to the many people who have taken this journey with me. I’m indebted to my incredible agent, Scott Hoffman, and his team at Folio Literary and Film Management, and my gifted editors, Phyllis Grann and Jackeline Montalvo, and their team at Doubleday, for sharing my vision for this book and bringing it to life. I’d also like to recognize my UK editor, Rebecca Saunders, and her team at Sphere for their excellent work.

  The Things We Cherished enabled me to return to the familiar and beloved terrain of Jewish life in Europe and I’m so grateful to the many people and places that have inspired and influenced my work. While the events and some of the places in the book are fictional, I have learned a great deal from certain historical works, including: The Pity of It All: A Portrait of the German-Jewish Epoch 1743–1933 by Amos Elon and A Community Under Siege: The Jews of Breslau Under Nazism by Abraham Ascher. As usual, the mistakes are all mine.

  Just to make it interesting, I wrote this book during the same period of time in which I was pregnant with and gave birth to my twin daughters, Charlotte and Elizabeth. Finishing the book while caring for three children under the age of two (including my wonderful son, Ben) was no easy feat and I owe deep thanks to an army of family and friends: my husband, Phillip, who is the most hands-on father I’ve ever seen or heard of; my parents, Gene and Marsha, who have stopped their lives to help care for my kids; my brother, Jay; my in-laws, Ann and Wayne; plus Joanne and Sarah and others too many to name. Without you, none of this would be possible or worthwhile.