The Truth About Us

He extended the trembling hand and offered her the book. Though she hesitated, she eventually reached out. With sweat-dampened palms, she took the offering, noting the velvet-smooth feel of the cover, the crooked spine, and the worn edges peeking out from underneath it like years of wear had caused the pages to come loose. The book looked like it had lived a million lives.

She searched his dark eyes, unsettled by what she saw in them—sadness and pain like she had never seen before—and the weight of responsibility pressed down on her as she realized the burden of her grandmother’s dying wish was squarely on her shoulders.

Part of her wanted to give the book back, to drop it and run, while a part of her wanted to shake this man until his bones clacked and he gave her answers.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Read it.”

For the second time that night, Abby wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of this—unraveling the truth of her family secret. Not if creepy old men and questionable gifts were involved. Not if it had the power to turn her life upside down as GG had hinted.

She found her voice. “How did you know my grandmother?”

“That doesn’t matter now.” He raised a trembling, liver-spotted hand. The veins bulged from his skin like blue spaghetti. “Just one thing. You must only read it in private. No one can know you have this.” His voice shook with conviction. “No one.”

Abigail inhaled a shaky breath, caressing the book with her fingers. Glancing around her, she scanned the horizon for any sign of Kaden. Had he seen them?

Once she confirmed the empty playground, the stars in the sky, and the wind in the trees were the only things to witness their exchange, she turned back to see the old man had returned to his car. “Wait!”

She stepped forward, motioning for him to stop, but he ignored her. She couldn’t let him leave. Not yet.

“Stop!”

She lunged forward, as the car’s engine roared to life. With one final bone-chilling glare at her, he backed out of the lot and left.

Clenching the book tighter in her grip, she watched him drive away. Adrenaline surged in her veins, and her limbs quaked. Her breath came in ragged puffs. Swallowing, she hugged the book close and headed out of the gravel lot, toward home.

Whatever was inside this book must be important, yet she had more questions than answers as she pumped her legs in a half-walk, half-jog as fast as her feet could carry her. She wanted nothing more than the safety of her bedroom. Part of her wished she had never left it. Part of her wanted all this to go away, while the other part of her clung to this gift GG had given her. Because as long as she was getting letters from the grave, it was like she wasn’t gone, and Abby didn’t have to think about it. She didn’t have to mull over the fact they’d never speak again or how she was never coming back.

As long as she had this shared secret—whatever it was—Abby could pretend GG was still alive.

CHAPTER TWO

By the time Abby arrived home, book in hand, a war had waged itself inside her head. Open the book and pursue GG’s secret or hide it in the deepest, darkest depths of her closet and pretend none of this ever happened?

Abby closed the front door, her head reeling from her encounter at the park. With little light to guide her, she stumbled in the dark. She found the bottom of the stairs with her toes, then took them slowly, careful not to make a sound and wake her grandfather sleeping on the first floor. Or worse, her parents. When her feet hit the landing, she turned into her room and shut the door behind her. Flicking on her bedside lamp, the soft, creamy walls greeted her—a sanctuary to her muddled thoughts.

She held onto the book, fingers clenched around the peeling spine, contemplating her next move. The silky-smooth leather had grown ragged around the edges. No longer rigid, the spine moved to the touch. Could she ignore whatever was inside? Could she stuff GG’s letter under the flap and never look back?

She imagined waking tomorrow, going downstairs for breakfast and pretending nothing happened tonight. Like a complete mystery wasn’t sitting in her closet like a lost child, waiting to be found.

Then she thought of GG, her bright smile and even brighter eyes, slightly green in the sunlight. The way she always dressed up for dinner and carried butterscotch candies in her pocket. She thought of all the ways she had made Abby into the woman she was today. The impact on her life and the loss Abby would feel in the coming years was so profound it formed an ache in her chest. As lame as it sounded, she had been her best friend. She had always been a beaming symbol of virtue, automatically having the answer for any of life’s problems to be solved. When Abby needed advice, she turned to her. Sturdy and reliable, GG had always been there.

And now her grandmother needed her. In her final days, this secret must have weighed on her thoughts, but she was old and broken and could do little more than write Abby a letter. And though Abby had no idea what this secret was about, she would not let her down. She wouldn’t fail her. Not now.

Abby squeezed her eyes closed, her hands curling by her side. When she opened them, she headed for her desk and took a seat in the fuzzy white chair. She gripped the book with two hands and mustered her courage. She had no choice, not really.

She pushed her shoulders back, inhaled, and opened the book before she could stop herself. A slip of paper fluttered onto the surface of her desk. With it, a jolt of recognition zipped down her spine. For the second time that day, she took in the familiar scrawl of her grandmother’s handwriting and the scent of her rose perfume.

Longing reached into her gut as she read GG’s words.

Dear Abby,

The man who gave this book to you was a dear friend. I knew I could trust him with the safekeeping of this journal after meeting him years ago at an event for the museum. He is a survivor of the Holocaust, much like your grandfather.

As you begin to read, you will wonder what possible relevance this has to your life. You are young yet, growing more and more into the woman you are to become every day. I’m sorry I’ll miss that.

What makes a person who they are? What determines who you will be? Your family? Your heritage? Your legacy? Or is it simply our choices? Do we choose who we become? Do we have the control, or are we merely a product of environment, time, genetics...circumstance? These are age-old questions you will need to ask yourself on this journey. Questions you will need to search your heart and find the answers to if you proceed.