The day she visited Lula’s library Dawn felt like she’d hit the jackpot. Here were books handpicked by the lady Nathan was advising. Dawn had to stop herself from taking them all. The one she chose showed a pretty girlin a fifties-style poodle skirt and twinset standing on a bridge that spanned a canal. A handsome boy waved to her from a boat below.Buffy Halliday Goes to Europe!
Dawn started reading as soon as she got home. It wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting. The book’s narrator seemed a lot younger than the girl pictured on the cover. But she was smart and funny. She had parents who loved her, an older sister and friends. All the things Dawn used to pray for. As it turned out, her name was Anne. She lived in Amsterdam. And she was Jewish. Nobody in the book was named Buffy Halliday.
“What is that?” Nathan asked when he got home, snatching the book out of her hands.
Dawn held her breath while he studied the cover. She was enjoying the book more than anything she’d read in quite a while. “This looks like it’s a hundred years old.”
“I think it might be. I got it from Lula’s library.”
He set the book down on the counter with a grunt. “It’s Friday night. The boys are coming. You got the den ready?”
“I’ll do it right now,” she said, taking her book with her when she left the room. Before she headed downstairs, she slipped it behind the dresser in her bedroom. Just to be safe.
Dawn and Nate usually played Life on Friday nights. She got the game set up and made some popcorn. She was just about to take her first spin of the wheel when a shadow fell across the board. Nathan’s latest stray, Logan Walsh, had come up from the basement with a message for Nate.
“Your dad says it’s time for you to join us,” he told Dawn’s boy.
Nate rose from his seat as though he’d been summoned by God. Dawn didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want his father to have him. But she could feel Logan’s eyes boring a hole through her, so she said nothing. He was young, and most women would have called him handsome, with sandyblond curls that reminded her of a fairy-tale prince. She’d heard Nathan say he’d inherited a fortune. The men in her husband’s group were all a bit scary, but Logan was the one who made her squirm. She sensed something desperate about him. Like he was searching for something, but he didn’t know what. Whenever he looked at her, she could imagine him cutting her open to find it.
As soon as he was gone, Dawn took the popcorn to the bedroom, locked the door, and pulled her new book out of its secret spot.
That night, the tale took a very dark turn. Anne and her family had gone into hiding and were forced to stay indoors at all times. If the Nazis discovered the family, they would all be arrested. Much later, they heard that many of their friends had been loaded on trains and sent to concentration camps. Rumor had it, they’d all been gassed. Which meant executed. But that couldn’t be true, Dawn told herself. Why would the Nazis kill children? Maybe adults who could fight against them. But kids? It just didn’t make sense.
Shortly after eleven, Dawn heard boots on the stairs. Her husband’s friends were leaving. Heart racing, Dawn immediately slipped the book behind the dresser. Then she hurried down to the basement to clean up after the meeting. Usually, she paid no attention to the books on the shelves or the weapons in the cabinet. The blandly handsome mannequin who wore a black uniform and clutched an old pistol was in the same corner he’d stood in for years. But this time, Dawn felt him watching her as she gathered beer cans and picked stray potato chips off the carpet. She jumped out of her skin at the sound of someone bounding down the stairs. Seconds later, her son rushed into the room. He paused for a moment when he found Dawn frozen in terror. Then he grabbed a book off the couch and disappeared up the stairs to his room.
Sunday morning, while Nathan was off fishing, Dawn went to church and prayed for Anne’s family and her own. After the service, she stoppedby the grocery store. When she arrived home an unfamiliar car pulled in the drive after her. She was surprised to see Mr. Stempel behind the wheel. When she waved, he didn’t budge. He seemed uncertain of what to do next, so she left the groceries in the back of her car and walked round to greet him.
“Mr. Stempel,” she said when he finally opened his door. “It’s so good to see you!”
As he got out, Dawn was struck by how old he looked. His hair was no longer gray but white, and his shoulders curved inward.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Dawn,” he said. “Or do you prefer Mrs. Dugan now?”
She couldn’t understand why he was being so formal. “It’ll always be Dawn for you,” she told him.
“Thank you.” He sounded relieved. “Well, Dawn, I wish I was here for a friendly visit, but I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news. I woke up this morning to find the front door of my house had been vandalized.”
“Oh no!” Dawn cried. “I’m so sorry to hear that!”
“May I show you a picture?’ He pulled out his phone and scrolled through photos until he found the one he was looking for. Then he passed the phone to Dawn.
“That’s a swastika,” Dawn said. She’d seen the same symbol every week for the past fourteen years. She’d shaken dust from flags that bore it—and wiped off black-and-white pictures of men saluting it. She’d cleaned cases filled with hats and medals and documents with the very same icon. Dawn wasn’t dumb. She knew the Nazis were bad. But they were villains from a story so far removed from her own life that it might as well have beenStar Wars.
But now she knew what that sign meant and what it could do. And she knew why it had been drawn on Mr. Stempel’s front door—to hurt an old man who had been nothing but kind to her. And when she looked in his face and saw he was scared, she felt her heart break because she felt very certain she knew the person who’d done it.
“It is a swastika,” Mr. Stempel confirmed. “I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I saw one in person. I was hoping I never would again.”
“Do you know who did this?”
“I do. And that’s why I came here instead of going to the police.”
Dawn braced herself. It had to be one of her husband’s friends. At that moment, she knew in her heart it was Logan Walsh.
“One of my security cameras recorded the person responsible.” Mr. Stempel clicked on a video and passed the phone back to her. The film was so grainy it looked like it had been shot in a snowstorm. A male in a black hoodie approached the house. His hand emerged from the hoodie with a spray can. Five seconds later, he was sprinting back across the lawn.
Dawn hadn’t braced well enough. She felt her knees buckle. “Dear Lord. That’s my son.”
“I know,” Mr. Stempel said sadly.
