A Silver Willow by the Shore

by Kelli Stuart

  “Oh my darling,” Nina responds, leaning forward and putting her hand on Annie’s cheek. “I’m sorry, too.”

  Annie clasps her hands together in her lap and shifts her eyes away from the intensity of Nina’s gaze.

  “Mom,” she begins, “I can’t abort this baby. I just can’t do it.”

  Nina nods. “Of course you can’t. I wouldn’t expect you to do that.” She swallows hard, relief washing over her. Annie takes another deep breath.

  “But, I also can’t raise this baby. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I ever want to be a mom, but I know for sure I don’t want to be a mom right now.” Annie looks back at Nina. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes bright. “I want to put the baby up for adoption,” she says. The words fall out of her mouth quickly, and Nina takes a moment to put them in order and translate them properly.

  “Adoption?” she asks. Annie nods.

  Nina sits back on the couch and crosses her arms over her chest. She considers Annie’s words, knowing that her daughter needs a confirmation that this is the right decision. And though Nina doesn’t know how she really feels, she nods her head slowly and turns her lips up into a strained smile.

  “Okay,” she says. Her voice is tight despite her best efforts to sound neutral to the decision. “We will begin taking the necessary steps to take care of that.”

  Annie offers her mom a small smile and nods her head. “Thanks,” she whispers. She pushes to her feet and takes a few steps toward the stairs before turning back and gazing at Nina.

  “How was your evening?” she asks.

  Nina feels her pulse quicken as she thinks of the dinner she shared with Viktor. She isn’t ready to share this new development just yet. She takes in the sight of her only child, and swallows any notion of adding to her stress now.

  “It was very nice,” she lies. “I had a...productive dinner meeting.”

  Annie nods, then hesitates briefly before stepping forward.

  “I’ve missed you, Mom,” she says as she bends down and kisses Nina’s cheek. She turns and walks quickly up the stairs to her room, leaving Nina alone on the couch to deal with her own emotions.

  Nina leans her head back against the couch and thinks on the events of the last few days, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through her as she processes the newness of it all—of Viktor’s attention and Annie’s pregnancy. Of her mother’s hidden secrets, and her own quiet contemplation. It all swirls together so quickly that she begins to feel dizzy. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, and Annie’s words swim through her head.

  Adoption.

  Not ready.

  Nina draws in a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly as she focuses her thoughts on her daughter—the one person who has remained steady by her side for so many years. She whispers the word into the thin air.

  “Toska,” she breathes. And though a lump presses against the back of her throat, she refuses to let the tears fall.

  Elizaveta

  Sleep is the enemy of the haunted!

  It is sleep I fear the most. In the waking moments, I can better control the memories, pushing them around and stifling them in order to protect myself. But in sleep, I’m a slave to my mind and it terrifies me.

  I lean my head back on my chair, my legs still covered by the blanket Nastia draped over them. What a rare, thoughtful act from my granddaughter. I’ve always known she was a girl given to gentleness, but there’s a sadness that’s covered her like a cloud for many years now. She’s withdrawn, pulling into herself and away from the world. Nina doesn’t seem to see it, but I do. I see everything.

  My eyelids are heavy, and I fight the urge to let them fall. It’s no use, though. I am as much a slave to sleep as I am to the memories waiting for me on the other side, and soon I feel myself drifting off. Too tired to fight anymore, I let go of the conscious world and slip into the past that’s waiting.

  Today, I fall into the memory of the night that Nina didn’t come home. I remember the terror I felt, the cold that engulfed me when I imagined all the possible outcomes of her disappearance. But there was one possibility that had filled me with such dread that I became physically ill, heaving into a bucket in the corner usually meant for catching rain that dripped through the cracks in the ceiling above.

  What if she had left on purpose? What if her not returning had been permanent? What if my daughter had left me behind?

  The thought sent terror through my heart, and even now I feel it still. I sat in the darkened corner of our flat all night, hands shaking, imagining my life without the daughter who had been the only constant by my side. She was eighteen then, practically a woman, and distance had grown between us. But I had come to depend on her presence. It was a comfort, even in the quiet, tense moments.

  And so on that long, dark night when I did not know if she would ever return home, I thought of all the ways I had failed, and I fought off the memories of my youth that shaped and molded the reality of that present.

  Mostly, I thought of my mother. Perhaps that was the deepest pain of all, because in thinking of her I was confronted with a new truth that I had never considered.

  I had been the embodiment of my mother’s worst fear. I had done the unimaginable.

  “Toska,” I breathed into the stale air that night, and even now, in my slumber, I believe the word falls from parted lips. It was an unimaginable pain, the depth of anguish and fear pressing down on me until I felt heavy. But on that night, sleep would not come. I could only sit and stare at the door until the early morning sun turned the darkened night sky into a hazy grey.

  That’s when I heard her footsteps. The sound of her running up the stairs outside our door filled my soul with relief, but that relief was quickly replaced by an intense anger—a rage so deep I didn’t think I could contain it.

  She walked in, her hair mussed, lipstick smeared, and all my anguish and rage and terror rolled into a ball at the base of my throat. I hit her. It was one fast motion, happening before I even knew what I’d done. She stared back at me, her face hardened and defiant as the word escaped my lips once more.

  “Toska.”

  I wake with a start, my eyes blinking wildly at the room around me. The house is still now, the nighttime having swallowed us all into the good and bad of our sleepy dreams. Slowly, I push myself forward, rocking slightly against the stiffness in my lower back. I push to my feet and shuffle unsteadily to my waiting bed, the covers turned down, soft pillows waiting to welcome me.

  But there is no welcome in sleep.

  Annie

  Annie drops her tray on the table and slides into the seat across from James. He looks up from his book with raised eyebrows.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “I guess,” Annie mumbles. She looks at the food on her plate: Chicken, mashed potatoes with a watery grey substance that she thinks is gravy, and stringy, limp green beans. She looks back up at James who holds out a sandwich in her direction, his eyes back on the pages of his book. With a sigh, Annie grabs the sandwich and takes a bite.

  “So, what do you think about this book?” she asks, gesturing to the copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in his hand. He lays the book down and leans back in his chair.

  “I think it’s the best book ever written,” James answers. Annie smiles and cocks her head to the side.

  “The best book ever written?” she asks. “That’s kind of bold, isn’t it? Are you sure you’re not just speaking in hyperbole?”

  James shrugs. “Maybe,” he answers. “I mean, I haven’t read all the books ever written, so I guess there could be one or two other books that are better than this one.” He grins back at her. “This is the best book I’ve ever read. I’m on my second pass through.”

  “Your second pass?!” Annie exclaims. “But we just got the book on Monday!”

  “Yes,” James answers. He grins at her and Annie feels her stomach flip. “And that’s why I’m exhausted. I was up all night Wednesday. And here I am, starting it again.”
/>
  Annie shakes her head. She stares at James quizzically as she takes another bite of the sandwich.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You’re a strange person,” she answers. James snorts.

  “Trust me,” he replies. “You are not the first person to think that. My father is completely confused by me—the son who would rather curl up by the fire and read a book than march around in the woods shooting things.”

  Annie stops chewing and waits a beat, letting his confession sink in. “I’ve never really heard you talk like that about your dad,” she finally says. James shrugs. He puts down his sandwich and brushes his hands together.

  “Yeah, well, now that the shock of the last year’s event is wearing off, dad and I are falling back to some old habits. Unfortunately, we don’t have my mother here anymore to act as a buffer.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annie murmurs.

  The two eat in silence for several minutes before James speaks again. “So,” he says. “Have you read the book yet?”

  “Well, I’ve only done the assigned reading,” she answers. “I’m not quite as advanced as you are when it comes to all this literature stuff.”

  James smiles. He picks his book up and folds the page he’s on, then slides it into his book bag. James stands and walks around to Annie. He leans down so that his mouth is close to her ear, and Annie feels goose bumps tickle down her arms.

  “You remind me of Scout, you know,” he says. Annie thinks of the spunky lead character in the novel and furrows her brow.

  “I remind you of a six-year-old?” she asks. She shifts her head so that she can look directly at James. His face is close to hers, and she can see the light dancing through his eyes as he answers.

  “Scout is courageous. She marches to the beat of her own drum, and she does the right thing, even when it’s scary.”

  Annie searches his face, trying to discern if he’s kidding, but she sees only sincerity in his eyes.

  “I’m not that courageous,” she mumbles, turning her face away from his. He leans in again, and Annie fights a shiver.

  “You’re braver than you think, Annie,” he murmurs. He stands up and adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. “I gotta go early to class today,” he says. “See ya.”

  Annie sits alone at the table for a long minute before pushing to a stand. She walks to the trashcan and dumps the uneaten cafeteria food, then turns and walks slowly down the hall, the sound of James’ voice filling her head.

  “You’re braver than you think.”

  Nina

  Give me a man who speaks in verse;

  A man who tastes of treasured prose.

  His lips, barely parted, drip

  with the poetic language of love.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Nina looks up at Viktor in surprise, forcing herself to focus on his face. This dinner was a bit impromptu with Viktor calling her at work earlier and asking if she would join him at his house for a meal. It has been three weeks since their first date, and in that time they’ve managed to fit in several coffee dates, one lunch, and daily text messages and phone calls. But this is only the second dinner date, and it feels more intimate here in his apartment.

  At first Nina had tried to decline, but he had persisted, and truthfully she found that she really did enjoy spending time with him. After a few brief, conflicted moments, she finally conceded. She called and had Chinese take out delivered to the house for Annie and her mother, sent Annie a quick text telling her she had another late meeting, and drove to Viktor’s house before she could talk herself out of it.

  She pulls herself back into the present moment and offers him an apologetic smile. “Yes, sorry,” she lies. “Everything is just fine.” She picks up her glass and lets her eyes drift across the room.

  “Your house is exactly as I imagined it would be,” she says. She looks through the lit candles at Viktor’s face. He glances back at her curiously.

  “How do you mean?” he asks.

  Nina chuckles, and looks again at the small kitchen, which leads into a sitting area in front of a large plate window facing the backyard. The room is as orderly as any room she’s ever seen, meticulously decorated, though Nina suspects that Viktor doesn’t actually have an eye for decorating. It looks as though he saw a picture of a living room he liked, and he ordered every single piece from the picture and set it up accordingly. There isn’t a painting on the wall that hangs crooked or a throw pillow that isn’t evenly spaced from the next.

  “It’s very tidy,” she answers. Viktor smiles.

  “Yes, well, I do my best to impress,” he says.

  Nina takes a sip of the sweet, white wine then sets it back down. She leans forward and narrows her eyes. “So you’re telling me it doesn’t always look like this?” she asks.

  Viktor shakes his head solemnly. “No, and promise me you won’t go into the bedrooms. They are a nightmare. Mold everywhere, trash piled to the ceiling, all the junk I removed from this room shoved into the corners...” he smiles, and Nina grins.

  “I pictured you to be a neat freak,” she says.

  “Well ‘freak’ might be a harsh word,” Viktor replies with a grin, “But yes. I suppose your assessment wasn’t too far off. I live alone,” he says. “I don’t have anyone to mess things up after I leave the house.”

  Nina nods with a smile. She inhales deeply, the smell of chicken parmigiana filling the room.

  “It smells delicious,” she says. Viktor pushes away from the table and walks to the stove, opening it a crack to check on the meal he is preparing for her.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he says, “because it’s ready.”

  Several minutes later, the two of them settle into a comfortable silence as they eat the meal that Viktor prepared.

  “You’re a good cook,” Nina murmurs.

  “Thank you,” Viktor replies. “My mother was most alive when she was in the kitchen. I spent a lot of time there with her and picked up a thing or two.”

  “Your mother cooked chicken parmigiana?” Nina asks, eyebrows raised. Viktor chuckles.

  “Yes, I know,” he answers. “Not a very Russian dish.”

  Nina grabs her glass and leans back, waiting for him to continue.

  “When we moved to the States, my Mama was completely enamored with the variety of ingredients and foods available. I remember walking through the grocery store aisles with her as she blinked back tears at all the options. We didn’t have a lot of money then, so every week she bought new ingredients and just started experimenting in the kitchen. Some of the most defining moments of my early years in the States revolve around the dinner table. That was when my parents relaxed, and when we could all just unwind a little.”

  Nina smiles and puts down her glass. She cuts off a large piece of chicken and puts it in her mouth, chewing slowly as she fights back thoughts of her mother and daughter once more. Viktor watches her closely. He puts down his fork and knife and leans forward.

  “Nina,” he says softly. He looks steadily at her, searching her eyes as she swallows nervously.

  “Is everything alright?” he asks.

  “Yes! Of course!” Nina leans back and waves her hand in the air as if to brush away his tender gaze.

  “It’s just that...” Viktor’s voice trails off. “Well, you and I have spent a lot of time together over the last few months as I’ve looked over your mama, but it was never alone. And now that we’ve had some time together outside the office, I find that I enjoy being with you very much.” He clears his throat nervously. “But, I don’t want to be too forward,” he says. “I am afraid I’m coming on a little strong.”

  Nina tilts her head to the side and looks at him quizzically, assessing how much she should let this man in to her increasingly broken world. She nods slowly.

  “Yes,” she answers.

  “Yes?” Viktor replies. “Yes, I’m coming on strong?”

  “No!” Nina responds. She laughs a garbled laugh as all the emotion
s of the last few days begin to bubble slowly to the surface. “No, I didn’t mean you are coming on too strong,” she says, trying to still the quiver in her voice. “I meant...yes...I enjoy being with you, too.”

  The swelling emotion begins to crack her tough exterior, and she blinks hard against tears that prick her eyelids. Viktor looks at her steadily, his dark, brown eyes filled with concern.

  “I’m sorry,” Nina says as she takes in a deep breath. “I fear that I am just not very much fun to be with these days.” She wipes her mouth on her napkin. “There’s a lot going on at home,” she says. She shakes her head, blinking hard. Viktor reaches across the table and gently grabs her hands, engulfing them in his strong, warm palms.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Nina shakes her head. “No,” she finally answers. “I’m afraid I am alone on this journey.”

  Viktor squeezes her hand. “You don’t have to be,” he says. “I’m a good listener.”

  Nina is silent for a moment, wondering what she should say, when it suddenly occurs to her that she’s so very tired of trying to hide words. She pulls her hands from his grasp and sits back, crossing them over her chest to stop the tremors. Viktor waits quietly, allowing her space to think and process her emotions.

  Nina turns her head toward the window and looks out at the red sky, the sunset streaking the landscape with hues that pay homage to the fading autumn. It takes her breath away, the way the colors streak the horizon almost as if they’re sending out a signal of hope just for her. Nina closes her eyes.

  “Annie is pregnant,” she says. Toska.

  Viktor leans back in his chair with a long sigh. “Pregnant?” he asks. Nina nods and looks back at him, her eyes filling with tears. She blinks hard. Viktor looks at her carefully, his face so gentle and kind. She had forgotten what it felt like to be looked at like that.