by Kelli Stuart
“Dima was our brother,” I whisper to the woman swimming in and out of my sight like a vision in the hot light of the desert sun. “He was our brother, and he loved us. He took care of us until the day that he vanished.”
Tanya shakes and disappears. My mouth opens. I reach into the air before me hoping to catch the vision, longing to touch her, to know she was real, but my hands come back empty, and I slump against the sink, the pain of those spoken words trickling down my weathered cheeks.
“Dima was my brother only until I turned fifteen years old,” I continue with a tremor. “And then he was the enemy. He was the escapee. He was the hunted. Dima was a traitor.”
I reach my hand up and cover my mouth, trying to trap the words before they can fill the room.
Nina
There is no dissonance quite so abrasive
as that of an unwelcomed secret discovered.
Nina closes her eyes and rubs her temple. A headache has formed behind her eyes, and she longs for a soft bed and a dark room so she can sleep away the stress of the afternoon.
“Mama?” she calls, leaning in toward the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”
Elizaveta pulls open the door and steps back into the room. She has smoothed her hair back with water, and her dark dress now hangs over her thick body instead of the hospital gown.
“I am fine,” she says, her voice shaking.
Nina guides her back toward the bed and lowers her down onto it. “I’m going to go find the doctor and see what we need to do before we leave, okay?” she says. She doesn’t look her mother in the eye.
“Khorosho,” Elizaveta responds, her voice just above a whisper.
Nina turns and walks into the hall outside her mother’s room. She blinks, adjusting her eyes to the bright, white lights and bustling noise that surrounds her. She turns toward the nurse’s station, then stops as her phone begins buzzing in her pocket.
“Yes?” she answers. Her voice comes out harder than she intended. She takes a deep breath to try and calm her frazzled nerves.
“Hello, is this the mother of Anastasia Abrams?” The voice on the other end is gentle, her thick, Tennessee accent dragging out the syllables of her words.
“Yes.” Nina presses the phone to her ear and steps to the side, leaning her shoulder against the wall.
“Ma’am, I am sorry to be calling with this news, but I’m afraid there has been a car accident, and your daughter was involved. Her injuries are not critical, but the young man who was driving the car sustained serious injuries. Your daughter has been taken to University of Tennessee Medical Center.”
Nina shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she replies. “I think that you are mistaken. My daughter rides the bus home from school. She does not ride in a car with a boy.” Nina grips the phone tighter to settle the trembling in her fingers.
“Ma’am, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I am afraid it was your daughter in the car this afternoon. Can you get to the hospital okay?”
Nina looks around at the bright lobby with its silver-white walls and floor to ceiling windows. Two doctors walk past her, discussing something in murmured tones. She pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head slightly.
“Yes, I can get to the hospital,” she says. “I will be right there.”
“Great,” the woman on the other end says. Her voice is warm, like fresh honey. “When you arrive, head to the Emergency Room, and we will direct you from there.”
Nina drops her phone into her purse and rushes down the hall, bursting into the lobby of the hospital. She pushes through the door that leads to the next wing and runs into Viktor.
“Oh!” she cries as he reaches out his hand to steady her.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Nina shakes her head.
“It’s not your fault.” She looks around him. The Emergency Room is across the roundabout outside the door.
“Is everything okay?” Viktor asks. His hand is still on her elbow.
“No, everything is not okay,” Nina replies. Her words are stiff and clipped. She purses her lips and looks at him. “I just got a phone call that my daughter, Annie, has been in a car accident. She was in a car. With a boy. And they had an accident, and she is at the Emergency Room right now.” Nina pushes past him and continues her walk toward the ER.
Viktor furrows his brow in concern and moves quickly to follow her. “I’m sorry,” he says, stepping up beside Nina. “What can I do to help you?”
“Nothing,” Nina replies, pushing through the hospital door into the bright, afternoon sunshine. Her hands shake as she makes her way toward the building that holds her only daughter, injured and alone. Viktor gently places his hand on her elbow.
“Why don’t I stay with your mother for a bit while you go to your daughter,” he says.
Nina glances at him from the corner of her eye and slows down. “Fine,” she answers, her voice a little softer. “That would be very helpful. Thank you. Could you get her and bring her to me?”
Viktor offers a kind smile and a nod. “How about I take her to get something to eat first so that you can have some time with Annie?”
Nina blinks. “That would be fine, yes,” she says, turning and walking more quickly now. Viktor slows and watches her go, her steps sharp and determined, the terrified gait of a mother fighting fear.
Nina pushes through the door and heads toward the front desk, her shoes squeaking across the freshly mopped floor.
“Hello, I am Nina Abrams. My daughter Anastasia was brought here after a car accident.”
Nina swallows hard over the words. What was Annie doing in a car, and who was this boy she was with?
“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist says. “I’m the one who called you. I can’t believe how quickly you got here!”
Nina considers offering an explanation but doesn’t feel like it, so she remains quiet, staring at the receptionist with impatient eyes. The woman behind the desk clears her throat.
“Yes, well,” she says glancing down at the manila folder in front of her. She opens it up and reads the paper inside. “Your daughter is in room 109,” she says. “It’s just down this hall, fourth door on the left.”
Nina nods and turns on her heel. She rushes down the hallway and throws open the door to room 109. Annie sits in a bed against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She has a bandage over her forearm and a thick Band-aid over her left eye. She looks small in that hospital bed.
“Privyet,” Nina says, suddenly feeling quite tired. She walks to Annie’s bedside and sits down gently. Reaching out, she runs the back of her hand over the bandage on Annie’s face, her fingertips barely brushing against her daughter’s skin. Annie looks away from her mom, staring down at the blanket that covers her legs.
“What happened?” Nina asks.
Annie shrugs. “I was in a car accident,” she says. Nina drops her hand and narrows her eyes, studying her daughter’s face. She waits for Annie to explain further.
Annie sighs. “I was in my friend Toby’s car,” she replies. “He pulled out onto the road quickly and didn’t see another car coming around the corner, and they hit us. He was hurt pretty badly.” Annie’s voice quivers. “He wasn’t conscious when the ambulance arrived,” she continues.
Nina nods. She runs her hand over the blanket that covers Annie’s legs. “And who was this boy?” she asks. “This Toby?”
Annie sighs. “He’s the...boy that I have been dating,” she mumbles.
Nina opens her mouth to reply, but stops when the door opens. A young doctor walks in, her light brown hair pulled back in a stiff ponytail. She is short and stout with a broad face and indifferent eyes.
“Hello, are you Mrs. Abrams?” she asks. Nina stands and nods.
“I’m Dr. Hewitt. Can I have a word with you out in the hall?”
Nina looks quizzically at the doctor, then glances back down at Annie who has turned her face to the window, avoiding any eye contact.
“Yes, of course,
” Nina murmurs, following the doctor out the door and into the hallway. Dr. Hewitt holds a chart in the crook of her elbow and turns to face Nina.
“Your daughter is lucky,” she begins. “The accident could have been much worse. She’ll need a few stiches in the cut on her arm, and we’ll put a liquid Band-aid over the cut on her forehead. Both should heal up fine. She likely will also experience some neck and back pain in the next few days. This is to be expected.”
A young man in blue scrubs walks past them carrying a metal tray in his hands. He pushes into Annie’s room as Nina watches, growing more agitated.
Nina nods. “And the boy who was driving the car?” she asks.
Dr. Hewitt nods. “Yes, his injuries were a little more severe, as the other car hit him directly. But he is awake and is being treated. He’s stable.”
Nina nods. “This is good,” she says. She straightens the purse on her shoulder. “So when can I take Annie home?” she asks.
Dr. Hewitt nods. “As soon as we finish stitching up her arm, she will be free to go. I just have a few papers for you to sign. But first, Mrs. Abrams, I need to tell you,” Dr. Hewitt pauses and turns so that she is facing Nina squarely. “When Annie arrived, she told us that she is pregnant,” she says.
Nina doesn’t register her words at first. They seem to bounce past her, and she stares at the young woman standing before her in a long, white coat.
“I’m sorry,” she responds with a shake of her head. “What did you say?”
“Annie is pregnant,” Dr. Hewitt repeats. “We ran an ultrasound right away, and she’s roughly 12 weeks along.” The doctor looks up at Nina. “She’ll need to start seeing a doctor regularly.”
Nina steps back and stares at Dr. Hewitt with wide eyes. She draws in a long, shaky breath and nods her head slowly. “Yes, of course,” she says.
Dr. Hewitt holds out her clipboard. “If you could just sign right here,” she says gently, “then you and Annie are free to leave as soon as they finish with her arm.”
Nina takes the pen and unevenly signs her name. Dr. Hewitt hands her a sheet of paper.
“I’ve written the name of several OB-GYNS that you can call if you need a recommendation,” she says. “I also gave Annie a picture of the ultrasound if you want to ask her about it.”
Nina nods and backs away. She turns and puts her hand on the doorknob to Annie’s room. Tears prick the corners of her eyes and her heart races. She bites her quivering lip and straightens her shoulders, then takes a deep breath and enters the room. Annie lay back on the bed, her long, thin legs stretched out in front of her. The young man in blue scrubs leans over her arm, working quickly to close the cut. Annie looks so young, like a little girl who can’t find her way back home.
“Oh, Nastia,” Nina whispers. A tremor pulses down her neck and through her shoulders, working it’s way out her fingertips. She stares at her only child, the little girl who was her whole world for so long. Nina does not know the girl lying before her in that bed. She is someone entirely different.
Annie turns toward her mother, and her face crumbles.
“Mama,” she whispers. Nina, heart tearing in two, rushes to her daughter’s side and engulfs her in a desperate embrace.
“Easy, easy,” the man in scrubs says, holding Annie’s partially sutured arm steady.
Annie buries her face in her mother’s neck and sobs. Nina strokes her daughter’s hair, small pieces of glass pricking at her fingertips, a reminder that love can cut deeply, and unexpectedly.
There are no words spoken between mother and daughter. Only the desperate embrace of two people who once depended on each other for everything, but who lost that dependence in the shuffle of life. Nina doesn’t know where to begin or what to say, nor does she trust her voice.
The young man finishes, gently washing Annie’s arm and wrapping a bandage around the wound as mother and daughter grip one another in pained silence. Annie’s tears subside, and she pulls away from her mother as the nurse pushes back and stands up.
“Alright,” he says, glancing from Annie to Nina and back again. “You’re good to go. Just keep that cut clean and change the bandage regularly, okay?”
Annie looks up at him and nods, swiping away the tears from her cheeks. He brushes past Nina who gives him the slightest nod of acknowledgement before he leaves the room. Her eyes shift back to her daughter.
“Annie,” she begins, voice breaking. Annie looks away. The moment of tenderness flees almost as quickly as it came. Nina watches her daughter retreat back into the shell she has constructed for herself. Annie draws in two long, jagged breaths, blinking hard and drying her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Can we not talk about this right now, Mom?” Annie asks. Her voice is flat, all emotion swallowed and tucked safely away. “Please?” She stares at her mom, fear and desperation mixed together in her bright eyes. Nina tilts her head to the side and blinks.
“If not now, then when?” Nina asks. She blinks away her own tears, and swallows against the exasperation that threatens to replace the compassion she had felt moments ago. Annie turns her face away from Nina’s, her mouth set in a stubborn line.
“You are pregnant.” The words tumble painfully off Nina’s tongue. “I assume this Toby is the father?”
Annie swings her legs to the side of the bed and stands up. “Mom,” she says, her voice now steady. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, okay? I just don’t.”
They lock eyes and stare at one another for a long moment. Just as Nina opens her mouth to speak, the door behind her flies open and Elizaveta walks in followed by Viktor.
“How is my granddaughter?” she asks. Her gaze shifts to Annie who stands awkwardly by the bed, cradling her bandaged arm in her hand.
“Oy, you are alive. This is good.” She turns to Nina. “And why was she in a car without you?” she asks. “Whose car was she in? How did this happen? You should know these things. She is your daughter.”
Nina shifts her gaze to Annie’s face, which has stiffened. Yes, Nina thinks, the lump once again burning her throat. I should know these things because she is my daughter.
Viktor steps to Nina’s side. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I tried to stall, to get her to come with me to the cafeteria, but she insisted that the food would kill her. She just wanted to be here with you.”
Nina shifts her gaze to him. “It’s alright,” she answers. Viktor takes in a deep breath.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asks.
Nina shakes her head. “No,” she replies. “Thank you but we will go home now. Annie is fine.”
She’s not fine, she’s pregnant.
Viktor nods. “I’ll call to check on you all later,” he says.
Nina offers one, quick nod. Viktor reaches out and gives her hand a gentle squeeze, then turns to Elizaveta.
“I will be leaving you now, Elizaveta Andreyevna,” he says. She turns to face him, squinting through the dim light.
“I’ll call with the results of your testing in the next few days.”
“Fine,” Elizaveta responds. “And I assume you will be calling Nina to take her to dinner?”
“Mama, not now,” Nina interjects, her voice cutting as she wars against all her pent up emotion. Elizaveta draws back her shoulders and glares at Nina.
“Goodbye,” Viktor says gently. He nods at Annie, then turns and leaves the room.
Nina stares at her mother and daughter, the space between all of them wide, like a chasm. “Come on,” she says with a sigh. “Let’s go home.”
Elizaveta
Much can be done to flee the memories,
but it’s the silence one cannot fight.
I watch the trees as they move past us, the fading sunlight peeking occasionally through the branches and kissing the center of my eyes. The sky is streaked in hues of red and gold, purple and yellow and vibrant orange all rolling together to give one a sense of majesty. I don’t remember seeing such sunsets as a child. Were th
ey there and I missed them, or did they simply not exist then?
I lean my head back and shift my eyes forward. Nina clutches the wheel beside me, her knuckles white. The radio, which usually plays all manner of nonsense that the Americans call music, is silent. I hear only the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires as we make our way back toward the place we call home—a place that doesn’t feel like home at all.
Nina glances repeatedly at Annie in the rearview mirror. What passed between mother and daughter is not known, but the tension I feel is something that is so familiar. I felt the same tension with my own mother so many years ago. I remember the way she studied me—the way her eyes searched mine, longing for some sense of understanding of who I was and what I was thinking. Nina searches Annie’s face the same way. She is a mother who longs to see into her daughter’s heart.
My eyelids grow heavy, but I fight the feeling. I cannot shake the visions of Dima and Tanya. If I close my eyes, they may come back, and I don’t know that I can handle seeing them again today.
Nina turns into the driveway and pulls up the small hill, slowing the car to a stop. We sit in silence for a very brief moment before she turns off the car. Annie pushes out of the car and slams the door behind her, causing me to jump.
“Bozhe moi,” I mutter. Nina sighs.
“I’ll help you inside, Mama,” she says. My daughter’s voice is weary, and there is a sadness there that I haven’t noticed before. I look at her, trying to make out her features in the dimming light, but my eyes fail me. I cannot see her eyes to read them.
Nina steps out of the car and walks around to my door, opening it and grabbing my elbow to steady me as I stand. Normally I would wave her off, but not today. Something tells me that right now she needs me to let her help. Somehow, in this brief moment, I know enough not to fight back.
We walk slowly inside, my legs feeling shaky beneath me. Age is an unforgiving foe and doesn’t ask permission before taking things from you from your looks to your sight—even the simplest act of standing on your own two feet.
