14. Berlin #2
It was still raining. They walked back the way they’d come, and when they turned the corner, they saw a man standing in front of the apartment building under a big black umbrella, looking up and down the street for them. When he spotted them—they were hard to miss, after all—he waved.
“Lucy? You finally made it,” he said.
“Mr. Lance,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Nice to meet you.”
His hair was mussed in a way that looked like he’d either spent a lot of time on it or none at all. “Adam, please,” he said. “Any friend of Greta’s…” He held his umbrella over her head. “I didn’t expect so many of you.”
“These are my kids,” Lucy said. “Jack, Zoe, and Alice.”
“Hey, guys,” he said. The guy had a terrific smile. “Rough trip?”
“We were delayed in Newark,” said Lucy, “for four hours.”
“Yeah, I figured when you didn’t show up this morning,” he said with a lift of his broad shoulders.
“So you’re the American neighbor,” she said.
“Expat,” he said. “I’ve been here about six months already, on my own.”
Divorced , Lucy thought. The “on my own” was so telling.
Zoe tapped her arm. “Can we go inside now?” she said.
“You guys are apartment four,” Adam said, “which is actually the fifth floor.” And he pointed up to a beautiful balcony.
He handed Lucy two keys, one of which she thought had to be a toy.
Or a joke. It was heavy and worn, and it looked like it unlocked the gates of a fourteenth-century fortress.
Or a prison. It had a deep red ribbon tied around a brass loop.
“Yeah, I know,” Adam said as she gawked at it. “Greta’s partial to antiques. Her apartment has the original door and lock because, you know, authenticity . It’s just so… her. And I mean that in the best possible way.” He handed her another key. “Here’s the key to the outside door.”
“Great,” Lucy said. “Thanks.”
“She asked me to remind you not to wear your shoes inside. They just had the floors redone.”
“Yeah, I got an email with some rules,” Lucy said, feeling like she could be open with him, one American to another. “They seem a little… uptight?”
“Otto, for sure,” said Adam. “But Greta’s a real sweetheart.”
“He actually reprimanded me for calling them by their first names.”
“Classic Otto,” he said, and shook his head with a laugh; he was not a bad-looking guy. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got to get back to the studio.” He looked at their luggage. “Can you guys manage all this? I hate to rush off—”
“We’re fine,” said Lucy, putting her heavy tote over her shoulder.
“It’s five flights up,” he said, and pointed up again, “just above mine.”
“Got it,” said Lucy.
“You’ve got my number,” he said. “Text if you need anything.” He waved and walked quickly away.
Lucy took the normal key, slipped it in the lock, and opened the door.
She and the kids wrestled their luggage into the entry. As soon as they were inside, Lucy began to feel hopeful; they had some kind of home base now, and there was just enough time for a rest and a quick shower before work.
Jack had already started up the stairs.
Lucy looked around the entry. “Where’s the elevator?”
“There isn’t one,” said Jack.
“Wait— What? ” Five flights and no elevator? Lucy dropped the handle of her suitcase and picked it up using both hands.
Zoe sat down on the second step, trying to drag her bag off the floor.
“Leave it,” said Lucy. “We’ll come back for it.”
They started up the creaking wood stairs, one flight and then another.
Each flight was split into two, with a wide landing in between.
On the second one, Lucy put her suitcase down to rest, looking out the window at the wet, leafy courtyard.
There were a couple of cars parked around the periphery, a classic VW bug among them, yellow with a convertible top, probably the car Herr Doktor Van Bossy Pants had forbidden her to drive.
They finally reached the top floor, where Jack was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.
Lucy put the large, brass key in the lock and turned it. She opened the door.
“Lovely,” she said, stepping into the foyer.
There was a coat rack in the corner, a velvet-covered antique bench, and a demilune table with a porcelain vase on it.
The floors were laid in a herringbone pattern with a gorgeous honey-colored finish.
“Now I get it,” she said, and stepped out of her sneakers.
The girls pulled off their shoes as well and wandered into the apartment.
“I’ll bring up the other suitcases,” Jack said, and he walked back out to the stairwell.
“Thank you!” Lucy called after him.
There was a door on their left that led to an office, cramped but with a tall window that faced the street. There was a couch and an antique desk, complete with a fountain pen and inkwell. Perfect; this is where Lucy would work every night. She put her tote bag on the desk chair.
The other doorway off the foyer opened to the kitchen, which was surprisingly modern given the age of the building.
A shiny glass cooktop disappeared into a stretch of black granite, and the refrigerator—absurdly small—had a sleek, cream-lacquered front that matched the cabinets.
On the counter there was an envelope with Lucy’s name written in thick cursive.
Through the kitchen, she went into the dining room, which had a round table with carved legs and a heavy base, encircled by straight-back antique chairs upholstered in black horsehair.
There were French doors opening to a living room with stiff sofas that Lucy would have to cover up with sheets to make sure the kids didn’t ruin them.
Ornately framed oil paintings hung on the walls and silk curtains pooled onto the floor.
Every surface had some decorative piece of porcelain or fragile crystal.
Everything looked museum-worthy, precious, and breakable.
Lucy thought of those perfectly preserved rooms in a palace, viewed from the other side of a red velvet rope.
This was a truly terrible place for eight-year-olds.
She went down the hallway and found a bathroom with a small floating vanity, a nicely tiled shower, and a bidet.
She followed the sound of the girls’ voices and found them across the hall in a room where Zoe was jumping on a big bed, a comforter tossed on the floor.
“No roughhousing,” Lucy said. “We have to treat this house gently.”
Jack came in the room and dropped the girls’ suitcases on the floor.
“Careful,” Lucy said. “And take off your shoes.”
“Fine,” Jack said, sighing with annoyance and stepping on the backs of his heels to take off his Vans. “Happy now?”
“Look, I don’t make the rules here,” Lucy said. “We’re all going to have to act like we’re living in the Dallas Museum of Art, okay?”
“We don’t take our shoes off at the museum,” Alice said.
“We’re going to have to be so careful,” Lucy said, “and no going out on the balcony unless I’m with you. And no touching… anything.”
Lucy went back to the hall and looked in the next room, which was likely Greta and Otto’s bedroom. It had a hard, tightly made bed, an armoire in a nook against one wall, and…
“Wait,” Lucy said, incredulous. “No, we’re all sharing one bathroom?”
Jack came up behind her. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Oh no,” she said. “No, no, no, no.” She walked back down the hall, hoping some additional room had gone unnoticed.
But there were only two bedrooms, meaning Jack would be sleeping on the couch in the little office, the office Lucy had planned to take over for work.
Back in the kitchen, she opened the envelope to find a long, detailed letter from Greta, written on expensive stationery.
Flipping through the pages, Lucy learned that the trash had to be separated into six separate recycling receptacles, the dryer came with a complicated instruction manual that involved emptying a water tank, and the apartment did not have air-conditioning.
There was a crashing sound from the bedroom, and Lucy ran down the hall to find Zoe holding the pieces of an antique plate, broken seashells and porcelain shards scattered around her bare feet.
“Uh-oh,” said Alice.
Zoe burst into tears.