“Where?”
Hannah pointed at the strawberry patch. “There!”
The two of them instantly ran in the direction she was pointing to.
“Now do you have the answers you want?” Hannah snapped at the three women once her children were out of hearing range.
Indignant, Charlotte began to defend herself: “I had no idea?—”
“And it’s none of your business!”
“Hannah, she didn’t mean to hurt you all! No one wants that. I do know what you’ve been through.” Lena stroked her arm, and Hannah gave in. No one ever meant any harm. People just didn’t think—they couldn’t put themselves in their shoes.
Should she stay? Should she try to put it behind her, to mingle with the other guests and pretend that life was wonderful?
No, she had already created enough ill will. If she stayed, Lena wouldn’t be able to enjoy her party at all. And besides, after this conversation, any remaining urge to stay had disappeared.
She looked at the clock and clapped her hand over her mouth in an exaggerated show of alarm. “Oh no, so late already? I need to go now and pick up Marco from soccer. Thanks for the invite. Emi, Leon, come—we’re going!”
And before anyone could stop her, Hannah was in the car with her two little kids and driving off.
3
It was Saturday morning, and the eagerly anticipated summer vacation had finally begun. It meant sleeping late, staying in your pajamas half the day, and having hardly any appointments. Wonderful.
The mailman rang the bell early in the morning. “Big batch today!”
Hannah groaned. “Coming!”
“No, I want to get the mail!” Emi implored, already putting on her sandals. “You’re the only one who ever gets any mail, Mommy. This way, I can pretend I get lots and lots of letters!”
“They’re just bills, sweetie, not the nice letters you think they are.”
“I still want to!”
Just as Hannah was opening the door to let Emi out so she could then bolt down the three flights of stairs, the door to the neighbor’s apartment opened. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Meyer. Did the mailman ring your bell as well? He always rings everyone!”
“Hi, Frieda, I’m getting a whole lot of mail today!” Emi cried excitedly as she raced past the elderly lady and down the stairs.
“Hello, my angel. Goodness, what cute little dimples the little one has!”
“Frieda,” Leon said as he padded over to her. “Do you have more chocolate for us?”
“Leon, that’s not something you ask people!”
“Oh, Mrs. Meyer, let him be. I’ll bring you some later, my angel, all right?” Frieda winked at him over her half-moon reading glasses.
Soon after, Emi came tromping up the stairs, a mountain of letters in her hands. The bottom envelope was more than twice the size of the others. “All you get is bills—yeah, right,” she said, panting. “Look, Mommy!”
Hannah furrowed her brow and took the stack of letters that was about to slip out of her daughter’s hands, although Emi refused to let go of the large envelope. She kept staring at it, her mouth hanging open. “It has some kind of squiggly writing on it. I can’t read it. Oh, wait! Let’s see. It says: To Han...nah Mey...er, Stif... What does that say?”
“It should say our address. Let me see.”
Emi reluctantly handed her mother the large envelope, which was made of thick, solid paper as if it were highly official and from another time. Now that Hannah was finally holding it in her hands, her jaw also dropped as she stared at it in amazement.
Her name and address were written in florid script, evidently with a quill or fountain pen. The corners were adorned with shiny gold embellishments, and in place of a stamp, it bore the imprint of an elaborate coat of arms.
Hannah knit her brow. “Who handed you the mail, Emi?”
