Charlotte lay on the floor, a cigarette in her right hand. She was on the rag, and the ginger tea she'd been drinking hadn't eased the pain in the slightest. Jan was away again. He was gone so often. She raised the cigarette to her lips and took a long drag. The nicotine helped calm her down and, most importantly, fought the feeling of uselessness. She couldn't stand staying at home every day. She needed to go out to direct the play she'd written. The play that Wichser (German insult) Rainer was in. It wasn't her best piece, not by far, but it had been fun to write. Most of the ideas for it she'd gotten from shagging Jan. He was so submissive in bed. She smiled weakly but almost instantly frowned; the short moment of amusement had passed quickly. Right around now Jan would be speaking with Franz in Strasburg. And if Jan had been mistaken about his friend then...
She'd been close to slapping him across the face. At first, he hadn't told her where he was going, but she'd squeezed it out of him. He was going to Strassvurg to pay Comrade Weiher a visit. As she'd inquired why he was driving so far to visit his comrade for only a few hours, he'd gone silent, then red in the face.
"Are you in a secret relationship or what?" She'd teased. Charlotte knew her husband like the back of her hand; he'd get defensive and then blunder and admit what he was truly doing there.
"No, of course not, don't be silly; Franz is a friend, and I-."
"A friend, not just a comrade?" she'd asked, as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. "And which friendly business is so important that you must drive such a long way to discuss. Wouldn't a telegram or a letter do the job?"
"No, it's...I trust him, Charlotte," he'd caved, and she'd smirked, knowing she'd gotten the information out of him. "I trust him, and I want to ask him if he can help us. In case your cover ever blows..." Charlotte's eyebrows had narrowed.
"You've known this man for a few months and are ready to trust him with our lives?"
"What other choice do we have? What if Rainer comes back again?"
"He won't, Jan. He was just curious, but I convinced him that his character and I aren't Jewish."
"Whatever," Jan had said. "I still feel we should have somewhere we could go if something did happen."
"And if Franz rats you out?"
"He won't."
"You don't know that." Her tone had been dead serious. Charlotte had a point, Jan knew that, but he also knew that Franz was against the Nazi Party.
"You didn't see how he acted in the camp, Charlotte." He had said softly, after a short pause, "If I weren't absolutely sure about him, I would never do this."
Charlotte hadn't answered.
"Ever since being there, I...you can't go there, Lotte. Neither can I."
"Alright. Do what you want. But if it backfires, I'm blaming you."
"Of course." He'd tried to kiss her on the lips, but she'd turned her head. So he'd pecker her goodbye on the cheek instead.
"He's probably getting stabbed as I lay here," she said out loud to herself. Out of nowhere, she started to laugh. It wasn't the pretty laugh she'd mastered for the theater or the loud, hearty laugh she'd copied from her father as a small child; it was a delirious laugh. She got a sudden cramp in her abdomen and immediately stopped laughing. After a second, her shoulders started to shake. She sobbed uncontrollably, bawling her eyes out. She had so many reasons to cry, but she couldn't name which one was causing the sudden fit of emotion. Maybe it was everything, or maybe it was nothing at all.
There was a knock at the door. Charlotte quickly sat up. Her tears had snuffed the cigarette out. She smushed the wet cancer stick into the floor; it left a grey ash trail. She stared at it for a second before slowly getting up. "I'm coming," she croaked.
Charlotte should have peered through the peephole instead of drawing her bathrobe more tightly around her. She should have made sure the door chain was still hooked tight instead of using the back of her left hand to wipe away the tears.
Because it wasn't her husband, neighbor, or postman at the door.
It was Rainer.