by Kelli Stuart
Mama moves quickly, wrapping up the warmest clothes we have in a bed sheet and tying it into a katomka, a satchel to hang around Dima’s shoulders. She wipes off one of the towels as best she can and fills it with a few of the rags, then ties it around my shoulders.
“Keep this safe, dorogaya,” she whispers, her eyes shining. “We will need these to stay warm.”
She picks up Tanya, who sits whimpering in the doorway of the house, and she nods stoically at the men in our front yard. We follow them past our little home that stands in front of the field where the sunflowers will bloom, but we will not be there to greet them. We follow them past the fence that connects to the barn where our horse, Zvezdochka, watches us with sad eyes. I kiss my hand and hold it out to her, tears pricking my eyelids. She blinks and takes an unsteady step toward me, then stops and watches as we march past.
Our cow, Zorka, stands in the field behind the fence, her head turned toward us as though she is trying to figure out why we are walking away from her at this morning hour, rather than toward her. Her pointed ears flick back as she studies us.
Just as we pass the corner of the barn, Druzhok, Dima’s dog, comes bounding forward, his tongue flapping as his ears bounce up and down. His fur is matted, pinned to his sides from an early morning romp in the woods. Druzhok doesn’t need to fear Baba Yaga. She only likes to eat children, Dima told me, so dogs are safe. Dima kneels down and holds onto Druzhok, sobbing into his neck as the dog squirms in his arms, his tail tapping against the soft earth. He thinks we’re here to play.
“Leave the dog, boy!” the man with the yellow teeth demands. He grabs the katomka and pulls hard, yanking Dima to his feet. Druzhok crouches low, growling softly at the man who only grins in return. He turns to his comrades.
“What do you think about having dog for dinner tonight?” he asks. The men laugh, and before we can comprehend what’s happening, the man pulls a gun from his waist and shoots Druzhok. My eyes dart to Dima who stands mute, tears still streaking his dirty face, his eyes wide with horror and mouth open in a silent scream.
I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn’t real. This didn’t happen. This isn’t my past. A sound outside my door snaps me out of the hidden memory, and I jump, trying to pull myself back into the present moment. I blink several times, disoriented. I hear water running and want to sit up to see what’s making the sound, but my body doesn’t move quickly like it did before. Instead, I lick my lips and call out.
“Nina?”
The water turns off, the silence suddenly deafening.
“Ninochka?” I call again. I slowly push myself up in the bed, sliding back so my head rests on the headboard. My hands are shaking and I blink heavily, trying to push back the vision of Dima’s face. It is too much, this memory—too painful. I swallow hard and jump when my door opens. Nina pushes her head into the room.
“Are you okay, Mama?” she asks. I nod.
“I didn’t know who was out there,” I answer.
“I’m just getting a glass of water for Annie. Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. What’s wrong with Nastia?” I ask.
“It’s Annie, Mama,” Nina responds, her voice laced with fatigue. “She woke up with a cramp in her leg. I think she just needs some water.”
I narrow my eyes and take in the dim sight of the girl I raised—a girl who is now a woman. It’s quiet for a moment before she moves.
“I need to get this up to her,” she says softly. “You sure you don’t need anything while I’m up?”
I shake my head again. “I’m okay,” I answer, but the tremble in my words betrays me. Nina takes another step into the room. I hold up my hand, shaking fingers telling her to stop. “I am fine, dochka,” I whisper. “I just heard you out there and it startled me. I thought perhaps someone was breaking into the house.”
I can almost hear the soft smile that turns her lips upward. Nina thinks me paranoid. My fears humor her, and I let it be so. It’s a peace for me to know that she doesn’t fear the shadows like I do. As terrible as it was for me the day she left Moscow, I know it was the best thing. She was far away from the dangers, far from the darkness. She was safe.
“Okay, Mama,” she says gently. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Da,” I reply. “In the morning.”
Nina closes the door softly, and I listen as her feet pad up the stairs next to my room. The shadows on the wall are taunting me again, only this time with a different memory. They’re reminding me of the one thing I wish that I could truly forget—the most dangerous secret of them all. This is the truth I’ve tried to convince myself was a lie, because if I can believe this part of my story, then perhaps Nina will never find out.
She can never know she’s not really my daughter.
Annie
Annie sits down at the table and scans the room. She stares at her salad and the odd blob on the plate beside it that she thinks is supposed to be chicken, and she swallows hard. It’s getting a little easier every day to eat, although pregnant or not, she’s pretty certain this meal would turn her stomach.
Glancing up again, Annie looks around the room. She tries to do so discreetly, not wanting anyone to notice. With a disappointed sigh, she leans down and pulls the book out of her bag. Today, her Literature class will finish their unit on Catcher in the Rye, and not a moment too soon. This hasn’t been her favorite novel. She flips it open and leans over the book to read.
“’Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.’”
Annie looks up, and despite her efforts to play it cool, she feels a smile turn her mouth upward. James stands over her glancing at the page. He shifts his eyes to hers. “Sounds like that Holden Caulfield guy is on to something,” he says with a smile. He slides into the seat next to her and opens up a brown paper bag.
“You’re not really going to eat that stuff, are you?” he asks. Annie shrugs.
“I was planning on it,” she replies.
James shakes his head. “Sorry. Wrong answer. The food here is nasty, so I packed my own, and since it’s been grossing me out to see you sit here day after day pretending to eat that stuff, I packed enough for both of us.”
Annie feels her cheeks grow hot. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says.
“I know,” James answers. “I wanted to. So here’s your chicken salad sandwich and bag of potato chips.” He slides the sandwich and chips to her, and she smiles again.
“Isn’t this the same thing you ate yesterday?” she asks, pulling the sandwich out of the plastic bag.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” James deadpans. “And the day before that, and the day before that.”
“How do you eat the same thing over and over like that?”
James shrugs. “My dad hates to cook,” he begins. “So rather than get creative in the kitchen he has simply picked his five favorite foods and focused on those: spaghetti and meatballs, potato casserole, baked chicken and rice, hamburgers, and chicken salad. Every Sunday, he picks one of those meals and he makes enough for both of us to eat for the rest of the week. I either have to tolerate eating the same thing over and over, or I have to grocery shop and cook myself, and I haven’t gotten tired of it enough to take that drastic measure yet.”
Annie nods. “Well, if you could only eat five things, I suppose those are the best you could ask for.”
James smiles at her. “Yep,” he says. “And every once in a while, Dad will throw in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a box of macaroni and cheese just to mix things up a bit.”
Annie laughs. “I’ve only eaten macaroni and cheese once in my life,” she says. James stops mid-bite and looks at her, horrified.
“How is that possible?” he asks. “I thought you were American.”
Annie gives him a pointed look. “I am,” she retorts. “But my mother and grandmother are Russian, remember? And one of the few things they agree on is that eating American macaroni and cheese is basically the
same as dredging the bottom of a trash can for your meal. Their words, not mine.”
James shakes his head. “Is there a Russian macaroni and cheese?” he asks.
Annie shrugs. “Sure. We eat macaroni with cottage cheese and a little sugar mixed in. Or sometimes my mother puts a little milk and sugar in with the noodles. We like our macaroni sweet.” She offers him an embarrassed grin.
James sighs. “I am going to fix this problem of yours,” he says.
Annie shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t think I’ve really missed out on anything. I hardly need Kraft macaroni and cheese to function in life.”
James drops his sandwich and leans back, clutching his heart in mock shock. Annie rolls her eyes, chuckling at his overreaction.
“Okay, before I walk away from this table for good, let’s change the subject. What do you think of the book?” He thrusts his head toward Catcher in the Rye, still open beside her elbow. Annie glances at the book, and then back at him, her nose crinkled.
“I’m not a fan,” she replies.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Well, first of all I think it’s boring,” Annie replies. She pops a chip in her mouth and chews for a moment, studying James’ reaction to her statement. “You think I’m wrong,” she says after swallowing.
James shrugs. “No, I don’t think you’re wrong,” he replies. “You’re entitled to your opinion. I just don’t share the same opinion. I think the book is awesome.”
Annie bites down into her chicken salad sandwich and chews for a moment before responding. “Okay, so you think it’s awesome, and I think it’s boring. What am I missing?”
James smiles and leans forward. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth before speaking. “What’s the second reason you don’t like the book?” he asks.
“What?”
“You said ‘First of all, it’s boring.’ So what’s second?”
Annie puts her sandwich down and picks up the book, flipping through it slowly. “He’s whiny,” she answers. “He sounds like a brat just throwing a tantrum because life is hard.”
James nods and leans back. “I can see how you would think that,” he says.
“What does that mean?” Annie asks.
“You’re a realist,” James answers. “You see things in black and white. Things either are, or they aren’t. You’re not going to be the kind of person who concocts a fantasy to wish away a portion of her life.”
Annie swallows and brushes her palms against her jeans. She blinks hard for a minute, composing herself against his assessment of her. “What makes you think that?” she asks softly.
James smiles, and then shrugs his shoulders again. “I just have a sense,” he says. He takes another bite of his sandwich. “I could be wrong, though,” he says, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.
“So, what?” Annie asks after a moment of silence. “You’re not that way? Are you wishing away your life?” As soon as she says the words, Annie regrets them. She thinks of James’ mother and sister, and she wishes she could take her comment back.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. “That sounded really insensitive.”
James shakes his head. “No, it’s okay,” he says, but she can hear the tremor in his voice. “It’s true. I see Holden’s point. Growing up sucks. Facing reality sucks. I wouldn’t mind going back to childhood and staying there for a while.”
Annie thinks back to her childhood, to the years before her grandmother came when it was just her and mom. She tries to remember a time when she wasn’t self-conscious, wasn’t constantly afraid of being found a fraud. She can’t remember it, though, and this frustrates her.
“Yeah, well you’re not so wrong about me,” she says to James. She picks up her sandwich and forces herself to take another bite. James was right. Things simply are the way that they are. She glances back at the book and shakes her head. Perhaps she has more in common with Holden than she wants to admit.
They eat in silence for several minutes until they’re interrupted by Annie’s phone buzzing on the table.
TOBY
Annie snatches the phone, hoping James didn’t see the name. She stands up quickly. “I’m just going to take this call,” she says. He nods, but doesn’t look at her.
Stepping away from the table, she puts the phone up to her ear.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey yourself,” Toby answers. “You haven’t called me back. Everything cool?” Annie glances over her shoulder at James who is cleaning up his lunch mess. He nods his chin in her direction, and she raises her hand in a self-conscious goodbye.
“Annie?”
“Sorry,” she focuses back on the conversation with Toby. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you wanted me to come get you out of school?”
“Get me out of school?” She asks. She glances up at the clock. “I still have three hours left,” she says.
“I know,” he answers. Annie hears the smile in his voice. “I just thought it might be fun if I busted you out. We could drive up to Lookout Mountain and, you know...look out?”
Annie rolls her eyes at his innuendo.
“We haven’t really...you know...been together since that one time,” Toby continues. “Let’s just go have some fun, you know?”
Annie closes her eyes for a brief moment, and pulls in a deep breath. She prepares to tell Toby no, but then she opens her eyes and catches sight of her book on the table and she remembers James’ words. “You’re not the kind of person who concocts a fantasy to wish away a portion of her life.”
And in that split moment, Annie wills herself to imagine that life could be different—that she could be impulsive and fun...and not pregnant. She could be the girl who skips school and fools around with her boyfriend.
“Sure, why not,” she says. She forces herself to smile as she walks over to the table and gathers her things.
“Wow, really?” Toby asks, the surprise in his voice bringing a genuine smile to her face. “I did not think you’d say yes,” he says.
“Well, I did,” Annie replies. She throws her backpack over her shoulder and gasps as a wave of nausea rolls over her again. And just like that, she remembers what’s real. She’s pregnant.
“So I just need to clock out here at work, and I can come get you,” Toby says. “I’ll pick you up in the back parking lot behind the dumpsters?”
Annie takes a deep breath and forces herself to laugh. “Toby!” She says, her voice a little louder than she intended. “I was just kidding. I can’t leave. I have a test in 6th period that I can’t miss. Sorry, I thought you knew I was joking.”
“Oh,” Toby says. Annie can hear the frustration in his voice. “Yeah, sure. I knew you were kidding. I mean, God forbid you skip a test, right Annie?”
“Toby,” she begins, but he cuts her off.
“No, whatever. It’s fine,” he says. “It was stupid of me to ask. I knew you’d never go for it.”
With a sigh, Annie lowers the phone as the line goes quiet. The bell rings, and she rushes from the cafeteria toward her next class. She glances up at the stairs and notices James watching her from above. She smiles and he smiles back, and suddenly the world feels very, very complicated.
Nina
No silence is quite so profound
as that of unspoken words.
Nina lowers herself down and pulls her sweater tight around her shivering shoulders. “Why do they keep it so icy in here,” she murmurs as she slides the book toward her. She glances at the clock on the wall. She has forty-five minutes before she needs to head back to work. The library is quiet this time of day. Except for a young mother with her two children looking calmly at books on the oversized chair in the corner, there is no one here. Nina smiles at the little girl nestled close to her mother’s side. A trip to the library used to be Annie’s favorite thing as a small child. Every Saturday morning, Annie clamored into the car when Nina said it was time to go get new books, chattering all the way there. Whe
n they arrived, Nina reminded her to speak in whispers. Then the two of them would enter into what felt like a holy space and spend the morning wrapped in stories.
Nina loved reading to her daughter in those days. She filled Annie’s mind with every whimsical tale that she could find, thrilled at the vast selection available at their fingertips. Her own childhood had been spent reading Karllson on the Roof and Pinocchio, the only two storybooks her mother could get her hands on. In school, there were other books to read, but nothing like the selection she and Annie found at the local library where a new adventure waited for them every week.
Nina shakes off the memory and flips open the book before her. The trips to the library ended around the time Annie decided to change her name. A lot of things changed those days. Her once happy, excitable daughter had slowly morphed into a despondent, surly teenager. And perhaps it was normal. She knew that these teenage years were meant to be trying. But there seemed to be something more, something lying beneath the surface of it all. If she could just find her way to the source of Annie’s anger, perhaps she could find the girl who used to snuggle close and smile wide.
Nina focuses her eyes on the words of the book in front of her, forcing herself back into the present moment. “The years of terror under Stalin’s regime are forever etched in the minds of the men and women who survived them. For many, those are the years that dictated who they would become later on in life. They looked back on the horrors, the unknowns, the hunger and fear, and they determined never to be so vulnerable again. They learned to operate in quiet and communicate in code. They spoke in whispers, because that was the only thing that felt safe.”
Leaning back, Nina runs her fingers through her hair. She thinks back again to the years of her youth, to the many questions that she asked her mother. “Where are my grandparents? Did you have brothers and sisters? Why don’t we go to a dacha for the summer?”
