A Silver Willow by the Shore

by Kelli Stuart

  “I’m so sorry,” he says softly.

  Nina looks down and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I just...” She stops and takes in a ragged breath. “I don’t know what to do,” she says. “I don’t know what to say to her. She’s scared and she seems so...alone.” Nina looks back up, trying to ignore the look of concern in his eyes. “I spent my entire life alone,” Nina continues, her voice quaking. “I never felt connected to my mother, never knew if she loved me or wanted me around. And I never felt like I could confide in her, so I didn’t. I didn’t tell my mother anything growing up.”

  Nina crosses her arms over her chest again to stave off the cold that seems to constantly engulf her. “When Annie was born, I was determined that our relationship would be different. I wanted her to know every day that she was loved and safe with me.” Nina sighs. “There weren’t going to be secrets between me and my daughter like there were between my mother and I. But...” she covers her mouth and leans forward, trying to stifle a new wave of emotion.

  “I failed,” she cries, turning to Viktor. “I failed her. I did keep things from her. I didn’t tell her enough about her father. I thought I was protecting her by not sharing too much, but I only pushed her away like my mother pushed me away. My daughter has lived in the shadows for the last year. She hid everything from me, and it’s my fault. I didn’t fight hard enough for her. I just thought she needed space, but I should have been there. I failed.”

  Viktor stands up and walks around the table, pulling Nina out of her chair and engulfing her in his arms. She presses her face against his chest and takes in long, shaking breaths, forcing the tears back, chastising herself for being so weak in front of this man.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again. “This is more than you asked for when you asked me out.”

  Viktor runs his hand down the back of her head, then pushes her back a little and looks in her eyes.

  “Stop apologizing,” he says. “Just listen to me.”

  Nina searches his face, taken aback by the firmness in his eyes.

  “You did not fail,” he says, his voice strong. “Nina,” he puts his hands on her shoulders. Nina turns her face up, blinking hard. “I’m not a parent,” Viktor says. “But I know for certain you have not failed your daughter.”

  “But I have,” Nina interrupts. “Her life is ruined because I wasn’t there. She didn’t feel like she could talk to me. She had to run and hide, and that has to be my fault. Of course it’s my fault. I was just too good at keeping secrets, and because of that, so was she.”

  Viktor cocks his head to the side. “Why does it have to be your fault?” he asks.

  “Because I’m her mother!” Nina exclaims. She pushes away. “I should have known. I should have been there. She hid from me just like I used to hide from my mother, and that can only mean one thing.” She stops and turns to look at Viktor, eyes wide. “I am like my mother despite all those years trying to run from her.”

  Viktor is quiet, patiently waiting for her to continue. Nina takes in long, deep breaths. She glances at him and shakes her head.

  “You must think I’m crazy,” she says. “I’m not sure why you’d want to get involved with me after this. I’m carrying more baggage than you could have possibly imagined.”

  Viktor steps to her side and puts his arm around her shoulder. He leans down and kisses the top of her head gently. Nina closes her eyes and leans into him.

  “Lucky for you,” he murmurs, “I don’t spook easily.” Nina looks up at him, some of the tension in her shoulders releasing.

  “What am I going to do?” she whispers.

  “Have you and Annie talked?” Viktor asks. Nina nods.

  “We had our first real conversation in months a few weeks ago,” she replies. “But it’s still strained. We’re both uncomfortable.”

  “What does she want to do?” he asks.

  “She wants to put the baby up for adoption.” Nina shakes her head. “I told her I would help, but I don’t even know where to start,” she says, her voice muffled. “I don’t know what to do or who to call. What kind of mother am I?” Viktor turns to face her, smoothing her hair back off her forehead.

  “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself,” he says. “And, also, I know who you need to talk to. I’ve had pregnant mothers come into my clinic who wanted to go with adoption. I have a very good adoption agency that I send those women to. I’ll get you their number.”

  Nina blinks hard as fresh tears swell in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers. She swipes her hand over her eyes and gives him a small smile. “You know,” she says, “for someone who isn’t a parent, you seem like you’d be pretty good at it. You know better than I do how to handle this situation.”

  Viktor shrugs. “I don’t think that’s true,” he replies. “I’m just on the outside of all this, so it gives me a different perspective.”

  Nina nods and leans her head onto his chest. “I still have to tell my mother about Annie,” she says with a groan. Viktor smiles.

  “If I were you, I would wait awhile to talk to your Mama. Let some of the dust settle before you cross that road.”

  They stand silently for a few minutes before Viktor’s stomach growls causing Nina to push back with an embarrassed smile. “You’re hungry!” she exclaims.

  Viktor waves his hand in the air. “I’m okay,” he answers. His stomach rumbles again and Nina throws her head back, a genuine laugh filling the room and dusting off the heartache that had settled in the corners.

  “I think we should finish our dinner,” she says.

  As the two settle back into their seats, Nina glances over at Viktor, and she feels her heart skip a beat. She realizes in that one, quiet moment that she is falling for this man fully and completely, and as she takes in his appearance through the dimming candles, she finds herself wishing she could stay with him forever.

  Elizaveta

  The secret keeper is always to blame.

  I push myself up out of the chair and steady my body, one hand gripping my cane while the other leans against the wall. When I feel like my legs are prepared to hold my weight, I slide my hand off the wall and shuffle away from the table. With a sigh, I begin to make one slow, painful circle around the table, remembering Dr. Shevchenko’s urging to exercise more often. She comes floating into the room just as I finish my lap, and we both freeze, staring at one another through the haze of silence that always separates us.

  “Hello,” I say, the English word tasting strange on my tongue. She nods her head, a faint grimace washing over her delicate features.

  “Hi,” she says. She moves into the kitchen and walks to the counter. Opening up the box of Chinese food that a strange boy whose voice hadn’t even changed yet dropped at our door, she glances at me. “Did you eat?” she asks. She speaks the words slowly, as though I am a small child. She doesn’t know just how much of this language I actually understand. It’s never really been the understanding that gave me trouble—it was always the communicating.

  “Nyet,” I answer. “I am not hungry now. You eat.” I point to her, and she nods. I watch her closely as she scoops rice onto a plate, then covers it with what I believe is supposed to be some kind of meat swimming in a bright, orange sauce. She avoids my gaze, concentrating on filling her plate as quickly as possible.

  It’s a small motion that catches my eye—just a slight move of the hand over the top of her abdomen, but it’s enough to draw my observation in tighter. I watch as she pulls a paper towel off the holder hanging beneath the cabinet, and notice how her shirt stretches just a little tighter around her narrow hips. And then it all starts to come together, like a puzzle in my mind that just needed the first piece to set the picture into motion. Her flushed cheeks and fuller chest. The nervous way she glances around the room, as though she may be caught in a terrible lie. The heaviness that has surrounded Nina since the day of the accident. I put all the clues into a reasonable order, and just like that, I know her secret. I know what sh
e is hiding, and I feel my hand tremble, the cane quaking against the tile floor.

  She glances up at me, her head tilted to the side. Our eyes lock for only a moment, but she shifts them away again. She grabs a roll from the basket on the counter, and puts her plate of food on a tray with a glass of water.

  “Well,” she says, awkwardly turning toward me, “I’m going to go back upstairs and eat. I have a lot of work to do.” She turns and disappears into the stairwell as I sink down in the chair in front of me.

  I feel an uncomfortable fluttering in my heart that works its way through my arms and down my legs like an electrical current.

  “Beremena,” I whisper. Pregnant. My granddaughter is carrying a child, hiding it from everyone, and the thought of it sends me spiraling to a time so long ago, to another life when I was a young woman with a different name.

  And it is now that I know with certainty that I am partly to blame for her secret. If she knew my past, would she have made the same choices? My throat constricts at the thought, once again overcome by the memories of my past.

  Nina

  Ah! Pushkin. The words of my youth

  that sang the language of love.

  This transient life begs to bury

  the feelings, but the knowledge

  is firmly rooted.

  Nina fidgets nervously, twisting at her necklace as her legs bounce up and down in the stiff-backed seat. The room is quiet, the silence only broken by piano music playing faintly in the background. Annie sits next to her, staring stone faced at the wall across from them where a mural of pictures hangs in perfect symmetry. They are still-life photos of flowers and trees—nature scenes that Nina supposes are there to relax the mind.

  “Are you okay?” Nina asks. Annie nods, but she doesn’t speak. Her face is pale, hands clasped tight in her lap. Nina opens her mouth to speak again, but is interrupted when the door opens and a young woman walks out. Nina and Annie stand up slowly.

  “Hello there,” the woman says, her outstretched hand reaching for Annie as she looks gently into her eyes. “My name is Molly. I am the adoption specialist here. You must be Annie?”

  Annie nods and reaches out, offering a limp handshake. Molly turns to Nina. “And you’re Nina, Annie’s mother, right?” Nina nods and attempts a smile.

  “Please, won’t you both follow me?” Molly asks. She gestures Nina and Annie into the hallway and points to the open door on the right. “This is my office here,” she says. Her voice is warm.

  Nina and Annie enter the office and sink into two plush, blue chairs against the wall. Molly sits in a similar chair across from them and crosses her legs, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “I’m glad to meet both of you,” she begins. “Thanks for choosing Lifesong to facilitate your adoption.” She shifts her eyes to Annie who looks around nervously. Molly’s eyes soften.

  “Annie, can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?” she asks. Annie looks at her, then shifts her eyes to Nina. Her mouth opens and closes again. She shakes her head, blinking hard.

  Nina turns to Molly. “We aren’t quite sure what to expect out of this meeting,” she begins. Molly nods her head.

  “Of course,” she replies. She turns to Annie. “In this first meeting, I just want to get to know you,” she says. “I’ll ask you a few questions about your pregnancy and about your decision to place the baby for adoption. Is that okay?”

  Annie nods her head. Molly leans forward, meeting Annie’s eyes. “Annie, I know this is scary,” she says. Her voice is honey. “I want you to know that we’re here to help make it less scary. We’re going to answer all of your questions and walk you through each step of this process. You aren’t alone. You have your mom’s support, and that is such a gift. And you have all of us here in the office as well.”

  Nina blinks hard as she watches her daughter shift in her chair. She wants to reach out and scoop Annie up, to run back in time to the days when all it took was a hug to solve all the problems. Now, a hug isn’t enough, and Nina’s heart tears in two as she watches her daughter, a young woman now, straighten her back and jut out her trembling chin in determination.

  Molly pulls a clipboard off the table that stands between them and grabs the pen from the top. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” she asks. Annie shakes her head.

  “Okay, good. First can you give me your full name?”

  “Anastasia Elizabeth Abrams.”

  Nina blinks, remembering the day that she gave her daughter her name. She had been in the hospital for two days, and the nurses were preparing to discharge her but needed the baby’s name to put on the discharge papers. Nina’s friend and coworker, Jane, had come to help Nina get herself and her brand new daughter ready to go home.

  “Do you have a name picked out?” Jane had asked as she cuddled the sleeping bundle to her chest while Nina looked befuddled at all the paperwork.

  “I want to name her Anastasia,” Nina mumbled.

  “That’s lovely,” Jane answered. “And what about the middle name?”

  “I don’t know about a middle name,” Nina answered. “Why do Americans use the middle name for their children?”

  “Well, what’s the middle name for in Russia?” Jane asked.

  “In Russia, the child’s second name comes from the father. It is the patronymic, and it’s very significant. So a boy whose father’s name is Ivan would get the second name Ivanovich. This shows that he is the son of Ivan.”

  “And what would the girl’s patronymic name be?” Jane asked.

  “Again, if her father’s name is Ivan, then her middle name is Ivanovna.”

  Nina had looked at her newborn daughter in Jane’s arms, small and frail like a tiny bird. “Her father’s name was Richard. I do not know how to do the patronymic with a name like Richard.”

  Jane threw her head back and laughed heartily, startling the baby. She grimaced and rocked side to side before speaking again, this time more softly.

  “Well, the middle name has less significance in America, I suppose,” Jane said with a sigh. She walked to Nina’s bed and sat on the edge. “Oftentimes, people give their children middle names after family. Like after a grandmother, or a sister. Do you have someone close to you that you’d like this little cutie to share a name with?”

  Nina had thought carefully. “Well,” she began. “My mother is not close to me, but she is the only family that I have. Her name is Elizaveta.”

  Jane looked down and studied the sleeping baby in her arms. “Anastasia Elizaveta is kind of a mouthful,” she said, “but what about Anastasia Elizabeth?” Nina remembered looking at her daughter and repeating the name out loud, and it all suddenly made sense. As soon as she said the name, she recognized her daughter completely.

  “Mom?” Nina pulls herself back into the present and looks at Annie. “Molly asked you a question,” Annie mutters.

  Nina looks at Molly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Could you repeat the question?”

  “Of course,” Molly replies. “I need a little background information on you if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, of course,” Nina says, shifting in her seat.

  “Okay, what is your full name?” Molly asks.

  “Nina Igorevna Abrams.”

  “And what is your birthdate?”

  “January 17, 1965.”

  “What is your nationality?”

  Nina shifts slightly before answering. “I am Russian,” she answers.

  Molly smiles at her reassuringly.

  “Do you have any history of serious illness in your family?” she asks. “Cancer? Mental health disorders? Heart problems?”

  Nina stares at Molly, trying to make sense of the words. She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she answers. “I know that my mother does not have any of these serious issues. But I don’t know anything about the rest of my family.”

  Nina feels her cheeks grow warm at this confession to a woman who is a perfect stranger. She raises her chin and
pushes her shoulders back, masking her embarrassment with a look of pride. At fifty four years old she knows so very little, even about her father. She knows only that his name must have been Igor based on her patronymic.

  “It’s okay,” Molly tells her. “Knowing your medical history and your mother’s is good.” But somehow Nina knows it’s not enough. She has so little to offer her daughter. She can’t even complete a personal history.

  “Okay,” Molly says, putting her clipboard down and looking back at Nina and Annie. “Tell me, Annie, why you have chosen to place your baby for adoption?”

  Annie looks down at her hands and bites her lip. She’s silent for a few moments before finally speaking, her voice trembling.

  “I can’t do it,” she whispers. “I’m not ready to raise a child.” Molly nods and leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Her soft, brown hair is pulled into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, and her eyes swim with compassion.

  “It’s okay, Annie,” Molly says. “The choice you’re making is one of the bravest choices any woman can make.”

  “It feels selfish,” Annie confesses, swallowing hard. Molly shakes her head.

  “Oh no, Annie,” she says. She lowers her head to catch Annie’s eye. “This is the most selfless decision anyone could make. You are brave.”

  Nina reaches over and lays her hand on top of Annie’s. Annie flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away.

  “Do you have thoughts about the type of people you might like to raise your child?” Molly asks.

  Nina swivels her head toward Molly in surprise. The question feels bold and presumptuous, and Nina is ready to step in and stop the interview when Annie speaks.

  “I’ve thought about it,” she says. Her voice is steadier now. “I don’t have specific thoughts. I just want to make sure that the baby is going to be loved.”

  Molly nods, and smiles. “How do you feel about the baby being placed with a family that already has children?”