The Truth About Us

A breeze fluttered her hair in the answering silence. Everything inside her ached for GG’s presence.

Alongside her grief, a new emotion emerged from the shadows of her heart. Something darker.

“I found out your secret, the one that was so awful you died with it. Thanks for that, by the way.” Abby clenched her jaw and leaned forward, bending down by the bench, plucking a daisy from the ground.

Anger zipped through her veins—hot and jagged. How could GG leave me with this?

“What am I supposed to do now, huh?”

Her legs twitched. She stood, needing to move, to vent. She shook her head, her throat tight. “This is so unfair. You said you never got the evidence you needed to confirm anything, but you didn’t even try. Did you? Not really. You just gave up!”

Abby’s chest heaved. Raising her fists to the sky, she shook, wishing she had never opened GG’s stupid letter in the first place. Wishing she had never started any of this. Mr. Klein was right. GG never should’ve asked this of her.

“I’m only ei

ghteen,” she screamed into the wind. “How am I supposed to deal with this, to know what to do? You said you were a coward and that I am strong, but I’m not.” Her voice cracked, and with it, she crumbled to the ground, choking on a sob.

How could she face this alone?

She sunk further into the warm grass, allowing the tears to fall for the first time since GG’s death. All the grief of the last few weeks exploded like fireworks in her chest, pouring out of her, soaking into the dirt. Her chest heaved, and she hiccupped as she tried and struggled to catch her breath.

Weeks of unshed tears purged at once. Snot ran down her face into her mouth, leaving a salty trail in its wake, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. GG’s funeral, Lawson, the storage unit in Newberry, the museum, and the broken look on her grandfather’s face all flashed in her head—an ominous slideshow she had no idea how to handle. And she shouldn’t have to. The injustice of the burden burned her the most.

Regardless, this landed on her lap, and now she had a choice to make.

She cried herself dry, knowing it wouldn’t help, but was unable to stop. Her chest ached, and fire ravaged her raw throat.

When she pushed herself up on shaking legs, she pressed her palms to her eyes until the tremors in her body ceased, and the tears stopped. Lowering them, she wiped the moisture on her jeans. Her head pounded as she wobbled toward the pool house and leaned her weight against it, propping herself up since she no longer had the energy to stand on her own.

His blood ran through her veins. The blood of a killer. Irma Mentz.

Her inability to share emotion, to talk about her feelings was so much like him. Even as recent as last night, her father had said as much. Deep-down were they the same? Was she cold? Callous? Uncaring?

She shook her head. She didn’t think so. But how could she know for certain? She shared genetics with a monster. Maybe under the surface, her own demon lay in wait, waiting for the right opportunity to show itself. Maybe all people had them, it just took the right thing to make them crack.

Bringing a hand up to her pounding head, Abby tried to focus. She came there to decide—turn him in or bury his secrets—and she wasn’t leaving until she did.

What he did was reprehensible. But the image of the monster collided with the one of the man who spent hours playing chess. How did one stop loving someone after a lifetime? How did she reconcile herself with the fact that both men were one and the same?

If Abby kept his past a secret, would she be guilty by association? Could she live with herself knowing the truth, knowing she did nothing about it? Would she be every bit as evil for not bringing him to justice?

Right now, no one else knew, but if she turned him in, her mother would be crushed. She would no longer be the only one who knew Yoel Gutman was really Irma Mentz. Her parents’ careers may falter, their reputations at stake. Not to mention what would happen with her grandfather. All to pay a price for sins committed a lifetime ago.

If she thought he truly regretted what he had done, that he was ashamed and would make amends if he could, she might be able to turn the other cheek. He said he’d switch places with the people he hurt long ago if he could. So, maybe the question was not so much what she should do as it was did she believe him?

He cried. It had been the first and only time she had ever seen him shed tears. She remembered the way he trembled, the sorrow in his eyes. Was a lifetime of regret, of knowing no amount of repentance could make up for your sins punishment enough? Maybe that in and of itself was justice.

Abigail pushed off the pool house and paced in front of the water. She exhaled, focusing on the soft sound of her footsteps, wondering how she’d tell her mother when it came time. Could she stand watching her fall apart again, when she had barely scraped the surface of losing GG?

Her feet glided over the stone walkway, her thoughts running a million miles per hour before she paused and straightened. Her mother was innocent. She shouldn’t have to fall apart again. Her grandfather may be guilty, but her parents weren’t. Abby didn’t know if she could put them through this pain. The controversy and speculation that would come with the discovery of a Nazi war criminal hiding all these years should not be theirs to bear.

She straightened and squared her shoulders, preparing herself to shove every feeling she had over the last couple weeks back inside where they belonged. She could shelve this. She had to. GG’s letters, the journal, the chest—she’d get rid of all of it and never think of it again.

“GG, I’m sorry. Whatever decision you thought I’d make, I’m not sure if this is it, but I can’t do it. I can’t hurt Mom and Dad like that,” she said into the sunshine.

Turning, her eye caught something by the shrubs beside the pool house.

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze sharpened, homing in on the spindly branches, dotted with round, glossy black berries. On autopilot, she moved toward them, her knees wobbling with the effort of every footstep, and as she grew closer, a chill cascaded down her back. The hair on her arms rose with goosebumps.