Chapter 5: Miss Pawlak

I woke at six with his arm across my waist and the sheet kicked to the floor.

He was asleep on his stomach with his face turned toward me, and he looked ten years younger.

I slid out from under his arm without waking him.

In his study I found the clinic folder, and I copied the pharmacy's address onto the back of my hand with a pen.

Then I put on my coat and left.

The bakery on Polish Hill opened at seven.

A bell rang over the door, and the woman behind the counter said, "Be right with you, hon," without looking up from a box of paczki.

The apartment door was around the side, up a wooden stair painted green.

At the top I stood with my hand raised for longer than I like to admit.

Then I knocked.

The door opened on its chain, and hazel eyes looked out at me over a patterned scarf.

"You're early," said Magda Pawlak.

"You were expecting me?" I asked.

"Ansel's mother told me you would come. She told me three days ago." She slid the chain off. "Come in. It's cold on the landing."

The apartment was two rooms and a kitchen with a window onto the church.

Everything in it was small and clean and arranged by someone who did not own much.

A weekly pill organizer sat open on the table, with fourteen little compartments, half of them full.

Beside it lay a blue folder with a hospital logo and a cup of cold tea.

"Sit," said Magda. "I'll make fresh."

She filled the kettle and stood with one hand on the counter while it heated.

She had to stand still for a moment after the stairs.

She did not hide it, and she did not apologize for it.

"You want to know what I am to your husband," she said.

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