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ut you have no idea what it’s like.” Kaden shook his head.
Abby swallowed over the lump in her throat.
He stepped forward, his chocolate eyes softening along with his voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to hide all of this from everyone. I mean, you’ve seen it, Abby. It’s not like I have a raving social life. Set aside the fact that I have no cell phone, no computer, or access to the internet, or that my jeans are last season and have tears in them and not because they’re fashionable but because I can’t afford a new pair. If people knew that our power gets shut off once every four months, what would they say?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “Kids at our school aren’t always the nicest. If they found out my father, the police officer, has to get canned goods at a food bank three towns down just so that he’s not seen, what do you think they’d say then? Yeah, we’re not the only ones struggling, but people around here aren’t very forgiving. They don’t want to see you struggling. And when they do, they just look down on you even more than before.” His voice cracked on the words as he glanced away from her.
Abby curled her hand around his arm, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to fix this problem for him, for Sophie but feeling powerless to do so. She could see how much this admission cost him already. So, she took his acceptance of her hand and her support instead, relieved when he didn’t pull away. These were the only gifts she had to give.
“I didn’t know it was that bad, Kaden. But you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. You don’t have to hide this.” She ducked down, catching his gaze with her own, refusing to have him look anywhere but at her.
He ran a hand over his face, then returned his dark eyes to hers and said. “It’s hard sometimes. It shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t. I hate that I’m insecure about it, and I know you don’t care, but I get so mad because my dad... He doesn’t deserve any of this, you know? I mean, yeah, he chose a profession in an area that makes it hard to make ends meet in the city where the cost of living is high, but the leftover bills from my mom getting sick is what made it impossible. It’s unfair, you know? If she were here with us, it’d be worth it. One hundred percent. But she’s not, and he has to work his butt off to pay for the fight that failed in saving her. She’s been gone for years, and he’s still catching up. Maybe he never will. With his job in the community, he can’t lose the house. And Sophie, well, she really gets the short end because she’s suffering by paying for a mom she never really even had in the first place.”
Abby opened her arms, and Kaden all but fell into them as she wrapped him in a hug.
The warmth of his breath tickled her neck as he mumbled, “At least I had time with her. I would pay anything to have more of it. I would do it all again, and I know my dad would, too. I don’t mean to sound like I wish—”
“Shhhh. I know,” Abby said, stroking his back.
After a moment, Kaden pulled away enough to kiss her, a soft brush of the lips before they parted. “Are you sure you’ll be okay speaking with Anna Gutman alone tomorrow?”
Abby nodded. “Totally. Spend some time with Sophie and your dad.”
“Looks like tomorrow will be his only day off now, so there’s no way I can get out of here.”
She pressed a finger to his soft lips, silencing him. “No worries. I’ll let you know how it goes first thing Monday.”
“Monday.” Kaden dipped his head and with a final brush of his mouth against hers, opened the door and stepped inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Adrenaline spiked her blood and mingled with the caffeine, making Abby regret the two cups of coffee she sucked down already. But there was no time for regrets now, and wishing for Kaden’s soothing presence did her no favors.
Laughter floated in the air around her, along with conversation and the scent of freshly roasted coffee and baked goods. A blueberry muffin sat in front of her, but she barely touched it, her stomach too tangled with nerves to eat.
The liver-spotted hand shook, as it clasped the journal with bony fingers. Abby wondered how many hands Anna held in her lifetime, how many backs her slender fingers had stroked, how many letters they wrote, and how many mouths they fed. But as much as Ms. Gutman’s hands told a story, the expression on her face gave away nothing as she glanced up at Abby with guarded dark eyes.
Her age-thinned lips parted, and her wrinkles cinched like plastic. When she spoke, her raspy voice trembled, a testament to how much the book Anna Gutman held in her hands meant to her.
She opened the journal and brushed her fingers over the pages like brail, capable of absorbing the words through her skin. As she paged through the entries, her mouth flattened until her lips all but disappeared.
“There aren’t a lot of entries, are there?” she asked, her accent subtle, far less apparent than Abby’s grandfather’s.
“Ten, to be exact,” Abby answered, allowing Anna time to take this in.
She nodded and continued to skim the pages in front of her until, at last, she lowered the book and settled her gaze on Abby.
Feeling the need to fill the silence, Abby gestured to the journal. “Since my grandfather survived and I believed the journal to be his, I assumed someone found it, or they were liberated before he was caught. I don’t know...” How did she convince this woman her grandfather was her Yoel Gutman?
“The journal was dangerous. His bravery cost him his life,” Anna said.
Abby cleared her throat, unsure of how to navigate these turbulent waters. “Ms. Gutman, my grandfather is the same Yoel Gutman as your cousin. The one who wrote this journal. He has to be. My grandmother found it among his things. If what I believe is true, then your cousin—my grandfather, Yoel—is alive. Whoever told you he was dead was wrong or confused or...”
“And were my eyes wrong, too?” Ms. Gutman stared at Abby, her face an impenetrable shield. “Many of us saw what happened.”
“Did you see his body, his tattoo?” Abby challenged.
“I didn’t need to.”
