by Sofia Tate
I reach the center of town and stop in front of the shop window, the same sign advertising its wares as it has for the past twenty-odd years—“Potraviny,” “groceries,” the store where I met Petra Benesova when I was a young boy and where I asked for her hand in marriage from her father when I was eighteen.
I take a deep breath and walk in. The same bell jingles when I push the door open.
Her father, Mr. Benes, is the first person I see.
“Dobry den.” I acknowledge him nervously with the customary morning greeting.
His eyes widen at the sight of me. His back straightens and his chest enlarges as he takes a deep breath to give the appearance of strength, going into protective mode for his daughter. “Hello, Tomas,” he replies in Czech. “I heard you were back in town. How are you?”
“I’m well. And Mrs. Benesova? You’re both fine, I hope?”
“We are, thank you.”
I swallow in my throat. “I was hoping I could speak to Petra. Do you know—”
Just as I’m about to ask where she is, a blonde head pops out of the curtain that separates the back room from the front. “I couldn’t find the—”
Time stands still as I look into the green eyes of my childhood sweetheart, the girl I thought I’d be with forever until the unspeakable happened.
I stand ramrod straight, trying to keep my breathing even.
You can do this. “Hello, Petra.”
“Tomas,” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping we could talk.”
“It’s been a long time,” she replies, a bit of steel and anger in her voice, which is completely understandable and expected, but I deserve it.
I sigh from embarrassment. “I know. I’m very sorry about that.”
We stare at each other for what seems like forever, taking in the sight of each other. I watch as she flips her thick hair over her shoulder, now longer. She seems taller. Her eyes are softer, wiser, as if she’s already lived an entire lifetime even though we’re both in our late twenties. But I still detect a note of sadness and vulnerability, which is not at all a surprise after what the both of us went through together.
She stands perfectly still as her own eyes take me in. “You look good, Tomas. Different. I hear you’re doing well in New York.”
“Thank you, I am.”
Silence permeates the store. This is so awkward, but I don’t look away from her as tempting as it is to make it easier on me. She deserves better from me after leaving her the way I did.
I swallow deep past the lump in my throat. “Would you take a walk with me?”
Her father places a hand on her arm. “Petra, you don’t have to…”
Her tall frame steps out from behind the curtain, placing her hand on her father’s arm. “It’s okay.”
She grabs her purse from a shelf behind the counter, leading the way to the door.
Outside on the sidewalk, we stop and stare at each other. “Do you want to see Oksana?” she asks.
I exhale a breath. The weight on my shoulders lessens. “Yes. I was hoping you’d say that. I’d like that very much.”
A small smile appears across her lips. “I take good care of her.”
I lift her hand and place it in the crook of my arm. “I know you do. Let’s get something for her.”
We begin to walk slowly along the cobblestone street, not just so we don’t trip, but also because it wouldn’t feel proper to rush. We need to take each other in, the feel of being in each other’s presence again after so many years. She holds on to my arm tightly, and I do the same with her hand so she won’t fall. I am here for her now, something I didn’t do when I should’ve before.
Something sharp bites my palm. I look down at her hand. A large diamond ring sits on the third finger of her left hand.
We begin walking. I rub my thumb over the sparkling jewel. “Congratulations. I heard you were engaged from my neighbors. Who’s the lucky man?”
“Andrej Benedikt. He’s a manager at the Škoda automobile factory. He’s a gentleman and treats me very well. I think you’d like him.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, my heart growing fuller for her. I grip her hand tighter to acknowledge how happy I am for her, because in addition to finding her happiness, it means that I can finally move on with mine without the guilt hanging over me.
I lean in to kiss her hair, and, thankfully, she doesn’t pull away. “I’m sure I would. That’s so nice to hear. I’m very happy for you.”
“Thank you, Tomas. I’m happy, too. Finally. I never thought I would be again.”
I release a long breath. “I know exactly how you feel.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” she whispers under her breath.
We turn right to head up the hill toward the church where we got married so many years ago.
“And you?” she asks. “Are you happy?”
I can’t help but smile at the question. “I am. Very. Her name is Luciana. She’s an opera singer too. Hopefully you’ll meet her one day.”
“I would like that very much.” She tugs on my elbow and stops walking. I come to a halt next to her. When I look at her, she takes her hand, placing it on my cheek. “It’s okay to move on, Tomas. If you need to hear it, then here it is…move on. Be happy. Believe me, it took some time until I accepted the fact that it was acceptable to be with Andrej. I felt all of it…the guilt, the worry that if I moved on, it meant I never loved you or Oksana. We’re not saying good-bye to the love, we’re just leaving behind the life we had and starting a new one.”
I shut my eyes from the overwhelming emotion, thankful for her words, my heart full of love and admiration for her, her strength, and her selflessness.
I open my eyes again to look at her, clearing my throat. “I hope you know how sorry I am for everything. I think what happened between us, after everything…what I’m trying to say is, we are where we’re meant to be now in our lives.”
Petra nods in return. “I know. There was just too much pain. I’m not angry, not anymore. There’s no point to carrying around so much hate and resentment where there’s so much life left for both of us. It took me a long time to realize that.”
“I know. I feel the same way.”
I hold her hand tighter as we reach the churchyard, stopping so we both can buy flowers from the vendor at the gate.
I grip her hand tighter as we make our way to the back of the church where the cemetery is. Quietly, we walk to the gravestone that sits in the shadow of a giant oak tree.
I smile at the sight of the flowers that Petra has planted at the foot of the stone. She wipes the dirt from the etched letters, spelling out our daughter’s name, OKSANA VERONIKA NOVOTNA, and the dates of her birth and her death, only seven days apart.
I kneel down on the soft grass as Petra begins to pull the errant weed here and there from between the flowers.
I trace the engraving of my daughter’s name with my fingers as a form of greeting. “Hello, my darling. I’m so sorry I haven’t visited you for so long. I needed to go away, but you never left my mind or my heart, and you never will. I hope one day you can meet a very nice woman named Luciana. She’s very funny and beautiful. Just know that I miss you and I love you. Daddy loves you very much.”
A warm hand settles onto my shoulder. “I miss her too. We’ll never know why, will we?”
I place my hand over hers, exhaling deeply. “No, we won’t. And I feel so badly for neglecting her.”
“It’s all right, Tomas. You’re here now. And one day, you’ll come here with Luciana and I’ll bring Andrej so she can meet them both.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I would like that very much. The flowers are so beautiful, Petra. Thank you.”
She squeezes my shoulder in gratitude. I slowly rise to my feet, stretching my legs. I lean over and kiss the cold marble of my daughter’s grave. I watch as Petra does the same.
Then I tuck her hand once more into the crook of my elbow.
“Let’s go home.”
We turn and walk to the gate, turning left to head back down the hill as the sun sets behind us. Petra is now holding my hand at our sides instead of leaving it in the crook of my elbow, looser and lighter in feel. We glance at each other and unexpectedly give each other warm smiles. We pick up the pace down the hill, my head held high, my shoulders back, determined to get home as soon as I can so I can book my flight home to New York City. And it is home for me now, because that’s where Luciana is. I just hope she’ll forgive me and take me back, because if she doesn’t…I can’t even fathom the thought.
* * *
Lucy
At home
Two weeks later…
With my head on my mother’s shoulder, she smooths back my hair soothingly over and over. I hum contentedly, the first time all day when I don’t feel nauseous. The term “morning sickness” is a total misnomer. I’ve been sick every day since I found out I was pregnant.
We’re sitting on the couch getting ready to watch Downton Abbey. My father sits on the other side of me reading a magazine, his left hand holding my right. He’s not keen on the show, but he’s been very protective of me ever since I told them I was pregnant.
I was truly blown away by their reaction to my news. Not that I really needed to say the words. A parent can guess something’s up when their daughter pukes up her guts into the toilet morning, noon, and night. They even asked me if I really wanted the baby, being the open-minded parents they’ve always been. But I told them with one-hundred-percent knowledge that yes, I want this baby, even though I’m only twenty-five.
I lean over to grab the glass of my ginger ale from the coffee table.
“I’ll get it, sweetheart,” my father says, reaching for my phone.
“No, Daddy, I actually wanted the ginger ale.”
“Oh, um…of course,” he stumbles. He takes the glass and hands it to me.
I take a few small sips and give it back to him, watching him placing it on the table.
I know why my father stammered. Basically, Tomas Novotny is persona non grata in the Gibbons house. It slipped his mind that I’ve stopped checking my phone every ten seconds for any texts or emails from Tomas. I ended the madness a week after he left. I haven’t heard from him since he took off. I don’t know where he is, if he’s still in the Czech Republic or if he’s back in New York.
Just as the familiar Masterpiece theme music fills the room, the intercom buzzes.
“Who the bloody hell can that be?” my father asks, very annoyed.
“I’ll get it,” my mother offers.
“No, love, stay. You watch your program. I’ll go,” my father declares.
He slowly rises from the couch and walks out of the living room. Because we live in an open loft, it’s hard not to eavesdrop.
So when I hear my father start to argue with someone over the intercom, and the person on the other end has a foreign accent, I immediately jump to conclusions, that it could be Tomas waiting downstairs at the front door asking to be let in.
And then I hear the accented voice say, “Mistehr Gibbons, please. I vahnt to talk to Luciana.”
Fuck. It is Tomas.
“Are you mad? There’s no way I’m letting you up, you bastard!” he shouts back.
I jump to my feet as my mother starts to plead with me. “Honey, don’t. Let Daddy handle this.”
But I ignore her and slowly make way to the door. I grab my father’s arm. “It’s okay, Daddy. Please let him up. I just want to get this over with.”
He stares at me for a full minute, and then presses the buzzer.
We wait together, listening for the elevator. Once we hear the footsteps, my father opens the door, revealing Tomas in a black crewneck sweater under a leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers.
He looks my father straight in the eye. “Hallo, sir. Thank you for letting me up.” I can tell he’s been in his home country with his accent noticeably stronger now.
Oh fuck me. The Wall…just as broad and strong as ever, maybe even more now since I haven’t seen it for so long.
“It wasn’t me. You can thank my daughter for that,” he snaps in return.
Finally, Tomas turns his eyes to me, soft and apologetic.
“Luciana, can I speak with you? Please.”
I give him a hard stare, letting him stew. It’s the very least I can do without resorting to physical violence. But at the same time, I want to jump into his arms and kiss him until I can’t breathe. The sight of him sends electrical pulses to every nerve ending in my body, my heart pumping faster from the raw need to have him hold me.
But being me, I put up a wall as a defense mechanism to let him know it won’t be that easy to get back into my good graces.
Be strong, Gibbons. Don’t look at The Wall. Look at his eyes. His brilliant blue eyes.
Oh hell, I’m so fucked.
“Fine,” I snap at him. “But you’ve only got two minutes. Downton Abbey is on and I’m missing it.”
“Yes, of course,” he replies sheepishly.
I lead him back to my room, my father calling out, “Luciana, we’ll be here if you need anything.”
I turn back and give him a simple nod. “It’s okay, Daddy. I’ve got this.”
I step into the doorway and take in the view of Tomas sitting in my desk chair. I shut the door behind me and sink onto my bed.
Sitting up straight? Check.
Hands clenched together in my lap? Check.
Eyes directly on him? Check.
Ready to give him hell? Oh fuck yes!
I take a deep breath. “You have exactly two minutes.”
He clears his throat. “I used to be married.”
My mouth drops, eyes widen like saucers, and my heart drops into my stomach from the shock.
What in the holy fuck…
Is he joking?
I dig my nails into my palms and close my eyes firmly, biting my lower lip to keep myself from crying.
I don’t understand. Any of this.
Finally, I open them again, release my hands, and exhale deeply. “Go on. Please.”
“Her name is Petra. She was my childhood love. We got married when we were eighteen. We were very happy. I was helping my father on our family farm, she was an assistant teacher in the school where my mother works. More than anything, we wanted to have children.”
I watch as he looks up to the ceiling and shuts his eyes. Then he reverts his gaze back to me.
“A year after we were married, Petra got pregnant. We were so excited.”
I’m stunned with surprise. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Oh God, he has a kid? I can’t…I don’t…this is just too fucking much.
Breathe. Just breathe and let him continue.
He pauses. “It was a girl. Oksana. She was so beautiful. Green eyes like her mother. My blonde hair.”
Tomas runs his hands over his face. His voice turns rough. “A week after she was born, she stopped breathing during the night.”
Oh, no…oh, Tomas…baby…
He shakes his head over and over, holding up his hands helplessly. I can hear his voice choking up. “No explanation, nothing. There was nothing wrong with Petra when she was pregnant. No signs that anything was wrong with Oksana. After she died, the police investigated us for everything including child abuse. It was horrible. It broke us. Petra and me. We couldn’t handle it. So we divorced and I left everything. My parents, my country. I just needed to escape.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth, pivoting my head to the side. I can’t look at him.
Oh my God. I am the biggest bitch on the planet.
I let the tears fall freely now, wiping them from my face. I still can’t look at him. “I am so sorry, Tomas,” I whisper.
He nods in acknowledgment. “After I left, I wandered. Found work where I could. I picked grapes on a vineyard in New Zealand. Learned how to shear sheep in Australia. I travelled the world running away from my past. Then, when I
lived in Kiev, I catalogued CDs and albums at a radio station that played classical music. I liked it there since the Czech and Ukrainian languages are both Slavic in nature, and I knew the Cyrillic alphabet already from learning Russian in school, so I got along fine.”
I leaned in closer to him. I didn’t know where this was going, but he captured my attention, and I wanted to hear more.
“One day, this older woman came in to be interviewed. She was a famous soprano back in the thirties and forties. Katerina reminded me of my grandmother, and she said I looked like her son who died from cancer. She took me under her wing. I lived in her house rent free and in return, I’d run errands for her, do some repair work around the house. Then one morning, she was playing a Puccini record and I started humming along with it when I was changing a lightbulb in her chandelier. She made me sing something, and I amazed myself when I heard how powerful my voice was. Then she had some professors from Kiev Conservatory train me, and when they thought I was ready, they helped me with my application to the Gotham Conservatory, and that’s how I ended up in New York City.”
I lean back on the bed, a bit calmer, but still anxious to hear what was next. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I appreciate it. But why did you leave me like that without any explanation?”
Tomas pulls my desk chair closer to me. “The reason I went back home was to give myself closure with Petra and Oksana. It’s been so many years and I just felt before I could move on with you, I needed to say good-bye to my past.”
I clench my fists, fighting the desire to be mad after what he’s just said to me. “I understand that. I just wish you’d told me all this. I didn’t know what to think. You never called or emailed. I was a fucking wreck.”
Suddenly, Tomas shoots up from the chair and falls to the floor at my knees, taking my hands in his. “Luciana, I am so sorry. I just needed to keep you separate from everything that was going on with me back home. I put you away in a box and kept you safe. I know that probably sounds ridiculous…”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t. In a weird way, it kind of makes sense. But would an email have killed you?”
