CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Emma
When I finish this entry of Grams’s diary, I’m a bit surprised when I look up to see she’s still awake, considering she’s been asleep each time I’ve read to her before. “You’re still awake?” I mention with a smile.
“Well, of course,” Grams says. “You’re getting close to the end.”
I notice that there are only a few pages left in the diary, which makes me sad because I don’t want their story to end.
“Grams, I want to help you find Charlie,” I tell her.
“Sweetie, I know we have technological resources now that can do incredible things, but I’m not very confident that you’ll be able to find him.”
“If I did, would you be happy?”
Grams grabs my hands firmly. “Emma Hill, if you find that man for me, I will forever be grateful. However, if you can’t find him, I will still die knowing how lucky I am to have such an incredibly loving granddaughter.”
“I’m going to find him, whether he’s dead or alive,” I tell her.
“Emma,” Grams says. “If you happen to read the last couple of entries without me…” Her hands loosen from around mine, and she places them over her heart. “Try not to be upset about the secrets I have held inside all these years. I had my reasons, and they were out of love and protection.”
“Secrets, Grams?”
Her lips turn down into a grimace I’ve never seen on her face before.
“I feel as though my life was built on lies, and the last thing I wanted to do was teach your mom, aunt, and of course, you, that lying is the only way to get through life. It may have been the only way back then, but honesty is what sets us free, Emma. Maybe if I had been honest sooner, I would have been freed from this emotional pain that I may die with.”
“Grams, you can talk to me,” I say, climbing into the bed with her. I lay my head on her shoulder and wrap my arm around her chest. “Please, tell me.”
She drapes her arms around my shoulders and sighs. “I just—it will hurt those people it involves.” I’m already hurting, and I can’t imagine what she’s holding back.
I rest beside her in silence as my brain pieces together the scattered parts of the puzzle. I’m not sure I’d be able to hold onto a secret for so long. I’ve been an open book most of my life, and secrets, even the small ones, hurt to keep inside. “I think we’re running out of time, Emma. If you think you can find Charlie for me, I would be very grateful.”
“I won’t stop until I find him,” I tell her.
“Go,” she says, turning her head to kiss me on the cheek. “Be my hero.”
I kiss her on the forehead and slide out of the bed. “Mom sent me a text and told me she’s on her way with Annie.” I’m not sure visiting hours have even begun yet, but Jackson obviously has a little pull with that. “I love you, Grams.”
“You’ll always be my sweetheart, Emma. Thank you.”
I relocate myself back into the waiting room and plug my laptop in. If I have to go through the records of every single Charlie Crane in this world, I will.
Before I’m through the second page of Charlie Cranes, Mom and Annie walk in, forcing me to pause my search. “Did you really sleep here all night?” Mom asks.
“Yes,” I say, leaving it simple and without the details of which room I slept in.
“How is she?” Annie asks.
“She seems okay,” I tell them. “I left her because she wanted to rest a bit before you got here.”
“Can we go in?” Mom asks.
I look down at my phone, seeing it’s nine o’clock. I’m not sure when visiting hours are, but I assume it would be around now. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You have your head buried in that laptop every time I see you. What in the world are you working so hard on?” Mom asks.
“I have lots of projects to get through. I’ve managed to reschedule most of my clients for next week to give myself a little breathing space, but even that takes time.”
With everything going on, it’s my number one priority to find Charlie. It would be so much easier to know what happened at the end of their story, but Grams doesn’t seem like she’s about to speak a word of it no matter how many times I ask. I wonder what she is so afraid to tell me.
“Okay, well, we’ll be with her if you need anything,” Annie says. The two of them look like the world is sitting on their shoulders, and I wish I could take some of their stress away, but I’m scared to say too much. I feel guilty about keeping this secret from them as it is. After all, they are her daughters, and they have even more of a right to know than I do.
For a reason I don’t understand, I feel like Grams is passing the torch to me, and that I will have to keep and protect her secret after she’s gone. However, if I’m able to find Charlie, I may be relieved of that burden since I think it would offer Grams the strength to tell all of us the truth. Charlie is the other half of her story. She needs him so she can reveal whatever these secrets are, and finally be free.
On the fifth page of my search, my focus locks on the headline: “Charlie Crane, former German soldier with an untold story of love and war, interviewed on NBC New York.”
A cool wave of sweat beads up on my forehead as I click the link. Please, let this be him. I scour the page for a date first, finding that the interview is from four years ago. Oh my gosh, this could be Grams’s Charlie.
I scroll down a bit, finding the subtitle to be: Seventy Years: The Personal Aftermath of World War II.
A still picture of Charlie stares back at me, and I wish Grams had a picture of him so I could find the similarities. In the picture, the man has a full head of white hair, perfectly combed to one side. His eyes are a watery light blue, and his face is lined with many small wrinkles, each one likely telling a story of his life. I zoom in on my screen to get a better look, and I notice what looks like faint scars lining both sides of his face. I remember Grams mentioning the way his face looked when he returned from war. The scars don’t look as bad as what Grams described, but seventy years of aging would likely soften scars such as those.
I hold my breath as I click play, but at the same time, Jackson walks in. “How are you doing?” I click pause. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you all right?” He lets the door close behind him, and takes the seat next to me. “Emma?”
“I think I may have found Charlie.”
He peeks over at my screen. “Charlie Crane, is that his full name?”
“Yes.”
“Seventy Years: The Personal Aftermath of World War II. Maybe it is him. Click play,” he says.
I hit the button again, feeling my heart skip a beat as it takes a moment for the feed to load.
Today, we have with us, Charlie Crane, an eighty-nine-year-old gentleman who has lived in Staten Island for the past sixty years. Charlie is one of the most well-known and adored residents of his neighborhood. After hearing bits and pieces of his story from his neighbors and friends, we reached out to Charlie with hope that he might share a part of his story and his past with us. We were quite honored when he agreed to do so. Charlie is a veteran of World War II and has a story that most of us can’t fathom. We’re incredibly grateful and humbled to introduce to you…Charlie Crane.
The video zooms out, showing not only the interviewer but the man in a chair across from her, as well.
A smile is etched unevenly across the man’s face as if he were unsure and nervous to be sitting through the interview. He’s dressed in a crisp-looking pair of gray slacks and a starched white shirt that’s neatly tucked into his pants. A man of his age must care a lot about his image to be so neatly dressed, but it’s admirable.
“Charlie, thank you so much for being here today,” the interviewer says.
“Thank you for having me,” Charlie responds.
This man has two arms, which makes my shoulders slump with disappointment. Charlie was left with one arm. “It’s not him,” I tell Jackson.
“Why do you say that?” he asks.
“He has two arms.”
“Just hold on for a minute. Let’s keep watching.”
“Now, Charlie, we’ve heard from some of your friends and neighbors that you have quite the story about how you ended up here in the United States. We’d love to hear more,” she encourages.
Charlie straightens his posture in the chair with a sense of discomfort before he begins to speak.
“Certainly, of course. I may sound like a foolish man, but—well, it was all for love.”
The interviewer purses her lips with curiosity and tilts her head to the side.
“Hmm. So, you’re saying it wasn’t for a chance at a better life, which is why so many people emigrated here during that time?”
Charlie shakes his head a bit, lifts his right hand from his lap, and scratches at his chin before relaxing back into the chair.
“For me, a better life was only about the love I had for one woman,” he says.
“And did you end up finding this woman?” The interviewer asks.
“I did,” Charlie answers immediately, bowing his head briefly.
I look over at Jackson with bewilderment. “I need to know if this is him,” I say.
“Shh, keep watching,” he tells me.
The interviewer clasps her hands together over her skirted lap before continuing.
“So, was it the classic happily ever after you were hoping for?”
Charlie doesn’t take much time to respond. It was as if he had pre-planned the answers to the questions she would be asking.
“It was a happily ever after,” he says.
My knee has been shaking for minutes, but it stops as I look back over at Jackson to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t say anything; he just continues watching.
“Are you two still together now?” she asks.
“Oh my goodness, no. We were never together again after we arrived here in the states.”
The woman chuckles nervously, making me wonder if maybe she didn’t have the answers to these questions before the interview.
“I’m not sure I understand, Charlie. How do you explain your happy ending if you didn’t end up with the love of your life?”
I notice Charlie fidgeting more in his seat. His right hand is tapping against his knee, and then he tugs at the collar of his shirt with the same hand.
“His left hand hasn’t moved an inch,” Jackson says. “It’s prosthetic.”
“What? How do you know that?”
Jackson cocks his head to the side. “I’m a doctor. Give me a little credit, will you?” Fair point. “When the human body is under stress, you don’t just have three out of four limbs moving around. He’s bounced both of his knees several times and has been tapping his right hand throughout the interview. His left hand and arm haven’t moved once.”
“But his story—”
“Love isn’t necessarily about being with that person. It’s about knowing that she’s safe and happy. My one and only love was both of those things, and it gave me the peace I needed to go on with my life,” Charlie says.
“Wow,” the interviewer replies, fanning herself a bit with her papers. “If only there were more men like you, this world might be a better place.”
Charlie leans forward, resting his good arm on his knee. “You know, love was different back then,” he continues, seeming more comfortable in his skin for the moment. “Finding safety and peace out of harm’s way was the ultimate act of love for the ones you cared about. Making sure your family had food to eat and shelter from the enemy meant that you were a decent human being. We lived through a scary time, and we had a hard road, escaping from the horrors of war in Czechoslovakia. It certainly wasn’t an easy feat to stay alive and end up the way we did.”
The interviewer places her fist beneath her chin. “Do you know where this woman you loved so deeply, is today?”
“Love,” Charlie corrects her. “And, I’d rather not say.”
“Understandable,” the woman continues. “So, Charlie, the most intriguing part of your story is that you were once referred to as a Nazi, and this woman is Jewish. Am I correct?”
“Yes, you’re correct,” Charlie states, simply, before swallowing hard, then bouncing his knees again.
It’s him. “It’s him!”
“It definitely is,” Jackson says.
“How in the world did you manage to get away with that?” the interviewer asks.
“With all due respect, some secrets are worth keeping as secrets,” Charlie answers.
“She’s alive because of you, isn’t she?” the woman continues.
Charlie stands from his seat and pulls the microphone off with his right hand as his left hand dangles by his side. “I apologize. I can’t continue.” Charlie quickly walks away from the cameras and off the set, leaving the interviewer stunned and visibly shaken as she tries to clean up the mess that must have been filmed live.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” I ask Jackson.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Jackson takes my laptop from my hands and types Charlie’s name into the search engine, followed by Staten Island. “He must be what, nine-three now?”
“I think he was a year older than my grandmother, so yes, I believe so.”
Two Charlie Cranes come up as residents in Staten Island. One is only forty-two, and it says the other is ninety-three. Jackson points to the second one. “That has to be him. Can I have your phone?”
I’m shaking as I reach for my phone in the front of my bag and hand it to Jackson, watching him with a frozen stare as he dials the number on the screen.
It’s hard to contain my emotions as I hear the muted sound of a ringtone.
“Hello, is this Charlie Crane?” Jackson asks. Everything stops, and it’s as if time stands still for a moment. I can’t breathe. I can’t blink. I can’t move. I can’t think. I’m just hoping for the response I’m praying for.
“My name is Jackson Beck. I’m a doctor at Mass General Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Amelia Baylin?” Jackson looks at me and places his hand over his mouth as he waits for the response. “I have her granddaughter here with me, and she’s been looking for you. Do you mind if I hand the phone over to her?”
Jackson nods his head at me to let me know that Charlie has agreed. I’m not sure I’ll know what to say, and I stifle a sob, still finding it difficult to breathe. Nevertheless, I try pulling in a deep inhale to compose myself before I take the phone from Jackson. I press the display up to my ear and blow out the pent-up air I’ve been holding in. “Charlie?” I question, my voice quavering. “My name is Emma.”
“Emma,” he says as if it’s a revelation. “Emma, is your grandmother still alive? My God, is she okay?”
“She—she’s alive, but she’s not well. Her heart is failing—she’s had two strokes. Charlie, sir, she’s been asking for you. I’ve read most of her diary per her request, and I wanted to find you—to see if you are able to come and see her.”
A long, silent pause makes me look down at my phone, checking to see if we were disconnected. “Charlie?”
“Oh, Emma, it’s just been so long, and—”
“Please, it would mean the world to her.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to beg me. You didn’t even need to ask. Of course, I’ll come. I’ll be on the first train out tomorrow morning.”
“You will?” I stand up, reaching my arm across my chest as body feels like it’s caving in on itself with relief and happiness—feelings I can’t even put into words. “Really?”
“Where shall I find you?” he asks. “You’re in Boston, correct?”
“Yes, she’s at Mass General, here in Boston.”
“I’ll find my way, and I will be there tomorrow.”
“Charlie?”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Have you known where my grandmother is living?”
“Yes, dear, I have.”
“Why didn’t you ever reach out?”
A heavy sigh scratches from within the speaker of my phone. “I would never dream of disturbing Amelia’s happiness, nor the wonderful life she made for herself.”
“Charlie, I think you are, and always have been her happiness.”
“I’ve waited a long time to hear that, Emma. Patience is a great asset, and it eventually gives back to those who unwearyingly wait. I was starting to give up hope, though. It has been quite a long road.”
While I pace back and forth, feeling Jackson's gaze burn against the side of my face, I try not to cry for the emptiness that Charlie has endured all these years, but even more so because of the irony. All they wanted was to be together, and if they find each other now, at the end of their lives, they will have such a short time to experience the life they deserved to have. “Charlie, I’m very much looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. Thank you for doing this for my grandmother. I only wish I had found you sooner.”
“The pleasure has always been mine, sweetheart, and I look forward to meeting you, as well.”
“Bye,” I whisper through an almost voiceless breath.
“Goodbye, dear.”
I hang up the phone and fall into the seat beside Jackson. “I don’t even know what to say right now,” I tell him.
“You should be proud of yourself. You did it,” he said.
“Well, with your help. I’m not sure I would have had the courage to pick up the phone and call him like you did.”
“You would have for your grandmother.”
“Do I tell her?” I know the answer, but I felt the need to ask the question out loud.
Jackson shakes his head with a smile. “No, just be there when he walks through that door tomorrow. Never in your lifetime will you experience another moment like that.”
“I have to finish the diary tonight,” I tell him. “I have to know everything there is to know first.”
“Mind if I join you? I feel like I’m invested in this romance as much as you are,” he says while running his fingers through his hair. He even looks stressed out like I am. It’s cute and amazing at the same.
“I want you to be with me when I read it, yes.”
Jackson leans in and cups his hand around the side of my face as he kisses me hard, forcing my heart to pound just a little harder than it already is.
The door to the waiting room opens and a gasp follows. Startled, I pull away from Jackson and drag the back of my hand under my lips as I face Mom and Annie. Oh no.
“Oh my, I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry that you’re kissing, but I’m sorry I walked in on you,” Mom says.
Jackson stands up, scratching at his brow with the back of his thumb. “Ladies, it was a pleasure to see you today. I’ll catch you later, Emma.”
“I think I’m going to get going too, actually,” I tell them.
“You sit here all day until we show up and then you have to leave?” Mom asks.
“Wouldn’t you if you were me?” I ask with a raised brow.
“If you even think for a second that your grandmother didn’t do the very same thing to us, you’re wrong,” Mom says.
“She forced you to marry Dad?”
“No, actually she tried to keep us apart. She told me it would never work out.”
What she’s trying to say is, Grams knows everything and has a sixth sense. “Well, if you had listened, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Emma, everything in life happens for a reason, and while we think we have control over it, the truth is, we don’t. Our life lessons shape us, our future, our kids’ futures, and so on,” Mom offers as her form of a lecture.
I know. I’ve heard it all before. “Okay, well on that note, I’m going to go get some fresh air. I think I at least have control over that,” I tell her with a snarky smile.
“Oh, by the way, did you ever find that book Grams was asking for?”
I don’t know what my face looks like right now, but I’m not so great at lying, especially when I’m being stared at by two pairs of eyes. “Uh, yes, I found it.”
“Well, what was it?”
“Just some old photos, nothing really,” I tell her as I place my laptop into my bag beside the diary.
“You’re lying. What was in the book?”
“It’s something Grams wants to keep private, I guess. I don’t know.”
I walk past the two of them, but Mom grabs my arm. “Emma Hill, at a time like this, we’re not keeping secrets.”
“Mom, please ask Grams yourself then. Don’t put me in the middle of you two. Not at a time like this.”
She releases my arm. “Fine, I’ll ask her myself.”
“That sounds good. I’ll see you in a bit,” I tell her, rushing out of the room before she continues pressing me for more information.
“Thank you for dinner,” I tell Jackson as I blot my lips with a napkin.
“I can order pizza like no one’s business,” he says.
“But, can you cook?” I ask, teasing him.
“Not to save my life,” he says.
“Well, if this whole plan of my grandmother’s works out, we’ll be eating out a lot because I can’t cook either.”
“There are plenty of good cookbooks out there. We may need to learn how to cook together,” he says.
“Maybe.”
“You know what we don’t need to learn how to do?” he whispers.
“What?” The look in his eyes makes me bite down on my bottom lip. He leans forward and pulls me from my stool at his kitchen’s bar table. His arms wrap tightly around me, and he leans down slowly as he seems to enjoy each time he’s stealing a kiss. It gives me a moment to take in the view. He’s slow with his movements when he touches his lips to mine. It's almost as if he wants to memorize the texture, the taste, and the way I return the gesture. It's like nothing else I've experienced, and it's just a kiss, but so much can be conveyed by the sensations, and it’s my favorite part of being with him.
As he pulls away and sweeps his knuckles down the side of my cheek, I notice a pink hue spreading across his face. “You make me feel things I haven't felt before—things I'm sure I've been missing out on.”
“You know, some people would call us crazy and insane, talking like this after only knowing each other a few days.”
“Some would call us lucky,” he argues.
“I'm one of those people. We are lucky. I hope this lasts, Jackson. I'm not afraid of going all in, even knowing I could end up with a broken heart, but I know I don’t want it to end that way.”
“Don't break my heart, Emma, and I won't break yours. How about that?”
“Sounds easy enough,” I tell him.
“I don’t understand why some people make it out to be so hard.”
“I suppose it’s like wearing a shoe that's two sizes too small,” I add in.
He chuckles. “Why do I have a feeling you've had experience in that department, Miss Shoe Addict?”
“Been there, not fun.”
“Em, I'm not sure I can focus on anything else until we finish reading the diary.”
“I've been thinking the same thing.” I rush over to where I left my bag near his couch and pull out the worn book. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this though.”
“Hang on then.” He jogs around the bar and into the kitchen where he pulls out two beers from the fridge. “This will help you relax.”
“Yes,” I agree with laughter. “Who knows what we might need after finishing this. It’s supposedly going to make me want to get married, so it has to be something pretty crazy.”
Jackson drops down beside me on the couch and lifts his feet up to rest them on the table, then hands me one of the beer bottles. “Okay, ready.”