Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Do you want that?” she asks, her tone making it almost a forbidden question.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I always thought no, hell no, but now …” I see Mikhail, hair combed back, glasses perched on his nose as he looks down at our child. I can see our baby’s perfect face in the reflection of his glasses.
“It’s better not to think about it,” she says, standing up. “I’ll call Dimitri.”
Even in her tone, I can tell she’s not hopeful. Realistically—I’m starting to hate that word—what can Dimitri do, anyway? Declare war against my father? Send dozens of men into LA to scour the city, shoot up stores and barbershops and everyday places, and hurt civilians? All for my brother? Would I be able to live with that?
Lia leaves. I go to the library window, looking out at the basketball court. Ania is wearing a bright orange sweatsuit. She shoots, misses, jogs quickly over to the ball, then shoots again and repeats the process. I find something about her erratic and eccentric behavior endearing, almost like she’s my sister-in-law already.
I need to chill.
Lia returns, face bright red, breathing hard, and hurrying into the room. “Whoa. What’s up? What happened?”
“I just …” She looks around the library as though it’s a cage. “Look at all this!” She kicks at the newspaper she’s put under her easel to catch the paint. “Look at me. I should be able to handle myself, and now I have to beg to make something happen. I’m supposed to …”
She sits down at her easel, shoulders slumped. “The world’s not fair. We should be able to help your brother. We should be able to do some good.”
I go to her and gently lay my hand on her shoulder. She’s so consumed with her sadness that I don’t think she even realizes it.
“Maybe we can,” I say, but it sounds weak. “Maybe we’ll have our chance.”
“I always said I was going to be on my own,” she says bitterly, almost as though she misses those days, as though she wishes life could be simple again, even if it were colder. “… to myself because I didn’t speak to anybody else. I always promised myself that.”
“Why would you want to be alone?”
God, what a hypocritical question. She makes a slight scoffing noise. “Before, I thought it was easier that way.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to think when everything happens so fast. It feels like a fever dream.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I say, looking out the window, thinking of the brief looks in the computer room, remembering his lips pressed against my body, the protective strength I feel every time we hold each other.
We don’t talk for a while, and then I see another painting beneath the baby sketch. The corner of it shows where the paper has flipped back. I fold over the rest, revealing a sketch of a serious-looking woman.
“This is nice,” I say, hoping to change the subject. “Who is it?”
“Oh, just …” She gets all choked up. “… how I imagine my mom looked
before …”
She doesn’t have to say anything. Like with Mikhail and me in the cave, bringing all that misery into the light is sometimes impossible. “You haven’t had it easy, have you?”
She gives me a serious look. She probably doesn’t realize it, but she looks exactly like her sketched mother. “Neither of us has,” she says.
I force a smile onto my face. Judging how Lia looks at me—like I’ve lost my mind—it comes across as abrupt, but I don’t care. I need to focus on what I can do right now. When working on a complex math problem, you chunk it and make it manageable.
“Shall we get some fresh air? I saw Ania shooting some hoops.”
“Basketball?” Lia says doubtfully. “I’m not exactly the athletic type.”
“What, and I am?”
She raises her eyebrows, then nods and stands up. “Maybe it would be good to get some sun. I wanted to get some sleep, but then …”
“Feel too wired?”
“How did you guess?” she asks sarcastically, but not in a mean way.
I smile, wondering if this might be the start of a friendship that lasts years. Maybe one day, we’ll even be family. Again, I remind myself, Chill. I seriously need to relax and stop letting my thoughts skip ahead so quickly to the future.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ve just never been a sports person,” Lia says, bouncing the ball several times as she looks over at the hoop.
Ania stands at my side, looking small and fragile in her bright sweatsuit. She has delicate, youthful features. From how she’s constantly glancing around, seeming on edge, I wonder if she’s as anxious as I often get or worse.
“It’s not like there are any stakes,” Ania says. “Miss. Get it. It doesn’t matter.”