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“Cecelia?” she whispers to my daughter, appearing stunned that the infant she left fifteen months ago could have turned into a little girl. She reaches out. “Come to mama, darling.”
Cece tucks her head into my shoulder and tightens her arms around me. Did Yvette really think her daughter would remember her? She was barely involved in childcare even when she was around. “She’s been sick, and she’s also a little shy,” I tell her. “Give her a minute to warm up.”
Yvette frowns and looks as if she plans to argue before reluctantly taking the seat across from mine. “I’m surprised you dared come here,” she says, opening a small case and withdrawing a cigarette.
“Edouard said you wanted to see her.”
She lights her cigarette and takes a long drag, observing me. “Have you enjoyed it? Playing mother to my child when you can’t have your own?”
My elbow brushes against the pocket of my coat, where a knife rests.
“She’s a very good baby,” I reply.
She takes another drag off her cigarette and exhales. The smell of the smoke makes me gag, and I hate that Cece is breathing it all in when she’s still recovering.
“And Henri?” Yvette asks. “I suppose you got your claws in him too, didn’t you? As you can probably tell, I don’t care. I’m far better off without him.” The lie is obvious. Her bitterness and jealousy show in every line of her face, which leaves me with no good way to answer. She’ll know I’m lying if I deny it, and she’ll be livid if I confirm it.
“I know you don’t like me—” I begin, and she cuts me off.
“Don’t like you?” she repeats. “You cannot begin to imagine the depths of my hatred for you, because if you did, you’d never have dared come here in the first place. Do you know who my benefactor is?”
Benefactor...what a pretty word to describe what you’re doing, and with whom. She sees the disdain on my face.
“Ah, of course you do. Do you think you’re so much better than me, Amelie? That’s rich. It’s I who look down on you. I could send you off to the concentration camps with a single word. And what’s to stop me from doing it? It’s more than you deserve.”
She blows a plume of smoke from the corner of her mouth. “You may think he loves you, but it wasn’t you he wanted any more than it was me.”
I still. “What makes you say that?”
Her eyes flicker toward Cece. “The night she was conceived he was so drunk I was surprised he was able to…you know. Oh, but the whole time it was about Sarah. Him crying for Sarah, shouting her name at the end. I don’t even think he knew I was there. You and I, we are the same. Just poor substitutes for her.”
It only makes me love him more, hearing this version of events. My throat tightens, and Yvette laughs. “How does it feel, cousin?”
I would like to shatter her moment of misplaced triumph, but that’s not why I’m here. “Cecelia will need help to get out of Paris. She needs travel papers that don’t identify her as a Jew.”
She stubs out her cigarette. “You don’t need to worry about my daughter anymore. Hand her to me.”
I freeze. If I refuse, she’ll call the guards and have them take me away. If I time travel, I’ll probably still land in her apartment, and there will still be guards outside. My best bet is to go along with it, and reverse things once I reach the church. I shudder at the idea of leaving Cece in her care for even a few minutes, but I’m not sure what choice I have.
Yvette makes the decision for me, yanking her away. Cece begins struggling to get free, and when her flailing hand strikes Yvette’s face, Yvette drops her. For just a heartbeat, we both stare in horror at Cece on the ground, and then she begins crying and scrambles to her feet, running back to me.
“Guards!” Yvette cries. “Hurry!”
For a moment I’m frozen. Boots approach quickly from the hall and the door flies open.
Yvette looks at her daughter the same way she looks at me—with disgust. “The child is a Jew and the woman is a conspirator,” she says. “Take them away.”
There is no time for finesse or escape. I close my eyes and give in to the urge I’ve felt since today’s journey began. I picture the moment Yvette opened the cigarette case and I jump, and then land...naked, in front of her.
That earlier version of me looks as shocked as Yvette does, pulling Cece close, as if I might be another enemy. I lunge forward, grabbing the knife from the coat pocket.
“I’m Sarah,” I tell Yvette, and then my arm swings in a wide arc, slashing through her jugular vein.
The fully dressed version of me watches all this with Cece’s face pressed to her chest, staring at me in horror. That’s when I realize the biggest problem with what I’ve done: once the guards find Yvette’s body, they’ll be looking for me. If I hope to leave the city at all, I need to get out today.
45
SARAH
