Harmel - The Room on Rue Amélie

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Gallery Books

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 by Kristin Harmel Lietz

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Gallery Books hardcover edition March 2018

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Interior design by Bryden Spevak

Jacket design by Chelsea McGuckin

Jacket image by Lee Avison/Trevillion, Sally Mundy/Arcangel

Author photograph by Wenona Christensen

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Harmel, Kristin, author.

Title: The room on Rue Amelie / Kristin Harmel.

Description: First Gallery Books hardcover edition. | New York : Gallery Books, 2018.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017047966| ISBN 9781501171406 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781501190544 (softcover) | ISBN 9781501171413 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939-1945--France--Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION /

Historical. | FICTION / Family Life. | FICTION / War & Military. | GSAFD:

Historical fiction. | War stories.

Classification: LCC PS3608.A745 R66 2018 | DDC 813/.6--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017047966

ISBN 978-1-5011-7140-6

ISBN 978-1-5011-7141-3 (ebook)

To Holly Root, Abby Zidle, and Kristin Dwyer.

All three of you recently made big career decisions and took on new challenges. Im so proud of youand so grateful for your professional support and wonderful friendship. Im so lucky to have you in my life.

And to all of you who have been strong enough to stand up for what you believe inin the small moments and the large ones. Making the world a better place begins with even the tiniest acts of personal bravery. May you forever hold fast to the courage to follow your heart.

March 2002

She sleeps beside me, her narrow chest rising and falling, and already I miss her.

The sand in the hourglass is running out, flowing relentlessly toward the end. Theres never enough time, not when a person has become a part of you. We were lucky to survive the war, my wife and I, and not a day passes that I dont think of those we lost. I know its greedy to want just one more week, one more month, one more year with her when we were already given so much time. The last half century has been a gift we never expected, perhaps a gift we never deserved.

Still, I cant let go. I cant imagine my world without her, for my life didnt really begin until the day we met. But Im as powerless to protect her in this moment as I was all those years ago in Paris, though both then and now I tried to fool myself into believing I had some control.

I rise quietly, careful not to disturb her. When she awakens, the pain will return, so while I yearn for her company, Im grateful that for now, shes at peace.

I shuffle into the kitchen, boil water in our electric kettle, steep some Earl Grey tea, and make my way to the front porch. Its March, so the air is crisp, as crisp as it gets here in Antelope Valley, some sixty miles north of Los Angeles. I stare into the misty morning, and my breath catches in my throat when I see it: the first bloom of the season. In the coming weeks, the fields will turn brilliant shades of yellow, orange, and red. My wife will almost certainly be gone by then, but at least shell have this, one last dawn to the poppy season.

Thank you, I say, looking upward to where I imagine God must be. Thank you for this.

Ive been talking to God a lot lately, which is strange because during the war I might have argued that He didnt exist. But in the years since, Ive surprised myself by slowly wending my way back to faith. It began with our daughter, Nadia, for theres no denying that she was a miracle. And when she had three healthy children of her own, I believed a little more. When our grandchildren gave us great-grandchildren, and my wife and I were still here, I had no choice but to acknowledge a higher power.

Then again, perhaps Id known on some level that He was there all along, because what other explanation could there have been for my wife and me finding each other in the midst of such chaos all those years ago?

As I gaze out at the rolling fields, I can see our lives unfolding here, our daughter twirling in the sunlight, our grandchildren chasing each other through the blooms. I sip my tea and blink a few times to clear my vision. Its embarrassing how emotional Ive grown lately. Men arent supposed to cry, especially men of my generation. But when it comes to the love of my life, Im powerless against the tide.

I finish my tea and head back into the house to check on her. She should still be sleeping, but I find her in bed with her eyes open, her head tilted toward the door. Shes still beautiful, even in old age, even as she succumbs to the cancer we caught too late. Good morning, my love, she says.

Good morning, my darling girl. I force a smile.

Have the poppies bloomed yet?

I nod, and her eyes fill with tears. I know theyre tears of happiness, and I share her joy. Just one for now, I reply. But the others wont be far behind.

What color, my love? What color is the first one?

Red. The first poppy of the season is red.

Of course. She lies back and smiles. Of course it is.

When she focuses on me again, we gaze at each other for a long time. Looking into her eyes always washes the decades away and takes me back to the day I first saw her.

I must ask something of you, she says softly.

Yes. I know what it is before she says the words.

I want to go to the top of the hill just once more. Please.

I will take you. My strength has waned with time; I had a heart attack last year, and I havent felt like myself since. But I knew this would be my darling girls last wish, and I will make it come true, whatever it takes. We can go when youre ready. But lets wait a few more days until the poppies are fully in bloom. Of course, the request is partially a selfish one; I want to give her a reason to hang on a little longer, to stay with me.