Page 106 of Engulfing Emma

“We can’t go to both tomorrow?” Evie asks.

Emma shakes her head. “Nuremberg is almost two hours away and Stuttgart is the other direction. We’ll only be able to do one each day.”

“Maybe we won’t have to,” I say. “Maybe the other Stefan in Munich is the one.”

Evie smiles in the rearview mirror. “See, Mom. Brett can be optimistic, too. How far away is he?”

Emma programs the address into Google maps. “Not that far. Go back to that main road, and we should be there in twenty minutes.”

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of Evie jotting in a notebook.

“Writing your memoirs?” I ask.

“Kind of. Every year when we go back to school, our teachers make us write a stupid essay on what we did over the summer. I’m getting a jump on it.”

“Essays aren’t stupid,” Emma says.

“Are you looking forward to going back to school?” I ask.

I’m asking Evie, but I’m watching Emma out of the corner of my eye to see if there’s any reaction. Nope. She seems relaxed, considering we’re on the hunt for her ex.

“I’m going into middle school, which means I’ll be ignored, teased, pushed around, and basically miserable for a year.”

“Is someone bullying you?” I ask.

She laughs. “No. It’s pretty much a rite of passage for all sixth-graders. Don’t worry, things like that don’t bother me.”

I shake my head. “Sometimes I forget how young you are, Evie. Especially when you say things like ‘rite of passage.’” I turn to Emma. “Did you know about this?”

“Who do you think told her? Wasn’t it like that for you when you went to middle school?”

“It wasn’t. You know, considering what had just happened.”

Emma covers her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you were almost exactly Evelyn’s age when …” She glances at Evie.

“I know all about Brett’s mom. He told me.”

“You told her?” Emma asks, surprised.

“We talked a lot over milk and cookies.”

“You know,” Evie says. “You guys have a lot in common. Way more than just living on the same street. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

“Look,” Emma says, pointing to a street sign. “Here we are.”

I wink at Evie in the mirror. I know what she’s doing. And I can’t say I don’t appreciate it.

We pull up in front of a mailbox with large block letters on it:SCHMIDT

The car in the driveway has the same ridiculous window clings as in America. But I don’t point it out. Because these particular clings indicate the person who drives the car has two children. I can’t imagine what Evie would feel, knowing her father went on to have other kids while he ignored her very existence.

“Here we go again,” I say, getting out of the car.

Evie knocks on the door, like last time. It opens almost immediately, and we look down at a boy of five or six.

“Is your father here?” Emma asks.

He runs away, and a woman comes in his place. “Ja?”

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