The Woman with the Blue Star, Pam Jenoff [highly recommended books txt] 📗

Krys more times than I could count over the past few years. Occasionally, I had even thought that I caught a glimpse of him on a passing trolley or in a busy crowd. Of course, it was never him. I did not see Krys now either, and I wondered if his father was mistaken. Or perhaps Krys had been here and I had missed him.

I walked inside the café and the warm smell of coffee and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. I weaved my way between the close-set tables. At last, I spotted a familiar figure seated in the very back, facing away from me. It was Krys. My heart rose and then quickly fell again. Seated across from Krys was a stunning, dark-haired woman a few years older than me, watching him with a rapt expression as he spoke.

I stared at him, as if facing an apparition. How was it possible? I had dreamed and thought of him endlessly. At first, I had pictured him off fighting. As his letters slowed, I imagined him dead or wounded. But here he was, sitting in a café, a cup of coffee before him and another woman by his side, as if none of it had ever happened. As if we had not happened.

For a second, I was relieved, even glad to see him here and safe. But as the reality of the situation crashed down upon me, my anger flared. I marched across the café. Then I stopped, floundering momentarily, unsure what to say. The woman who was with Krys noticed me approaching and her expression turned to confusion. Krys turned, and our eyes met. The entire room seemed to stand still. Krys whispered something to the woman across from him, then stood, coming toward me. I started away and made it outside, feeling as though I was gasping for air. I kept going.

Krys quickly followed. “Ella, wait!” I wanted to run, but he caught me quickly with his long-legged gait, reaching for me before I could dodge. His fingers wrapped warm around my forearm, stopping me in his sure but gentle way. His touch filled my heart and broke it again, all at the same time. I looked up, awash in anger and hurt and happiness. Standing so close, I wanted to reach for him, to lay my head upon his chest and have the whole world fade away as it always had before. Then over his shoulder I saw the woman he’d been sitting with looking at us quizzically through the café window. My warm feelings faded.

“Ella,” Krys said again. He leaned in toward me. But the kiss he attempted was aimed at my cheek, worlds away from the passionate embrace we had shared when I last saw him. I pulled away. A hint of his familiar scent wafted by my nose and waves of painful memory rushed over me. An hour ago, the man I loved was still mine in my memories. But now he stood before me—really here yet a stranger.

“When did you return?” I asked.

“Just a few days ago.” I wondered if that was true. His father had said two weeks. It wasn’t like Krys to lie—but I never thought he would keep his return from me either. “I was coming to see you,” he added.

“After your date at the café?” I shot back in retort.

“It isn’t like that. I want to explain, but I can’t do it here. Will you meet me later?”

“What’s the point? It’s over between us, isn’t it?”

He looked back into my eyes, unable to lie. “Yes. It isn’t what you think, but it’s true. We can’t be together anymore. I’m sorry. I told you as much before the war.”

He had, I admitted silently. I recalled our last conversation before he left, me more certain than ever that we should be together, him pulling away. But I hadn’t wanted to hear it.

“You must believe that I would never do anything to hurt you.” His eyes were pleading. “That this is for the best.”

How could he possibly say that? I considered arguing with him. I wanted to remind him of all that we had been to one another and all that still could be between us. But my pride rose up, preventing me. I would not beg for someone who didn’t want me anymore. “Goodbye, then,” I said, managing not to let my voice quiver.

Without speaking further, I turned and started away, nearly colliding with a man unloading crates from a horse-drawn wagon. “Ella, wait!” Krys called, but I kept running, eager to put as much distance between myself and the pain of seeing Krys again yet realizing we could not be together.

When I was several blocks away, I turned back, half hoping that he had followed me. He had not. I continued onward, walking more slowly now, letting my tears fall. My relationship was over. My future was dead. I didn’t understand it. When I looked into Krys’ eyes, I felt the same as I always had. But he stared back at me stonily, as if we were strangers. How could he not remember? Even as I thought about him angrily, warm memories flooded my brain. There had been a kind of desperation when the war broke out, a sense that each time we were together might be the last. It made me feel heady, alive. But it also made me do things I would not otherwise have done. I had slept with Krys just once before he left, instead of waiting until our wedding or even until we were formally engaged, a desperate attempt to hold on to what we had a bit longer. I had assumed that it meant as much to him as to me. Only now he had left me for good.

A few minutes later, I looked up and saw my reflection in a butcher shop window. My eyes were red and swollen from crying, my face puffy. Pathetic, I scolded myself, wiping away my tears. Still, I