I nod, not knowing how to respond.
“She’s a beautiful baby.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, the sound choked with a new round of tears.
He responds like most men do when they see a woman cry. He grows uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, clearly uncertain what else to say or do. He wishes me a good day and hurries off.
And I am left at the crossroad, not knowing if I should giggle at his reaction or cry some more.
“We should return home,” I tell Anna, “before anyone else is silly enough to approach a grieving woman.”
I lower her into her pram and cover her with the blanket. The rattle rolls off the blanket and bangs lightly against the inside of the pram.
I pick up the rattle, shake it for Anna to see, and slip it into my handbag. Then I wheel the pram out of the park and along the street.
I don’t go directly to the flat. I take a few detours until I am positive no one is following me, appearing fully the part of a young mother taking her baby out for some fresh air.
At the apartment building, I push the pram through the front doors. It’s awkward at best.
“Collaborating whore,” a woman says, descending the staircase, making no attempt to assist me. Her words sting but they lack enough venom to maim.
I ignore her. She’s been calling me that from the moment she first learned I was pregnant. I scoop Anna out of the pram, retrieve my handbag, and walk up the steps to the flat. I unlock the door and step inside.
Lise is sitting on the settee, reading a book. She looks up. “How did it go?”
“It went well.” I don’t bother to tell her about my breakdown in the park and how it drew the attention of a German soldier. Ever since she brought me news of Johann’s death, Lise has carefully watched me, as though expecting me to shatter at the drop of a hat pin. I cannot say I blame her. There are still days when I feel that way too.
She takes Anna from my arms. “Is your maman training you to do our job?”
“I’m hoping the war will be over before it comes to that.”
She rocks Anna from side to side. “I could not agree with you more.”
I remove the rattle from my handbag and examine it.
“What’s that?”
“A rattle. The cut-out gave it to me from Henri.” I inspect the figure closer. A piece of paper sticks out from the hole through one of the beads that makes up the clown’s leg. I use my fingernail to draw it out and unroll the tiny piece of paper, revealing a coded message. “I think I understand now why he said the rattle was forme.”
I decipher it and write down the date and time and location, followed by:
Plane will be landing to drop off two agents. You and Anna will be on it when it leaves. That is an order.
The world stops spinning for a fraction of a second as the words sink in, and I suck in a sharp breath.We’re going home.
I crumple to the floor, relief, grief, and an endless exhaustion pulsating within me. A sob wracks my body, tears wetting my face, falling to the ground. As much as I want to stay and help the cause, my heart hurts too much from being in the country where Johann no longer exists. And I have a baby to take care of.
“What does it say?” Lise asks.
“Anna and I are going home. I’m being recalled.” I hand her the message, a whirlwind of emotions clashing and tumbling inside me.We’re going home. We’re really going home.
Prior to Johann’s death, I would have come up with any excuse for why I had to stay in France. But my reason for remaining is dead and buried, and the network doesn’t need me as much as my daughter does.
I am finally ready to go home. Ready to start the lengthy healing process, to create a new life for Anna and me.
Assuming the weather cooperates.
Assuming nothing goes wrong.
