And there was plenty to be done.
A vast, sprawling home on the outskirts of London had to be furnished and decorated and filled with memories and babies and love.
‘I can see why she did it.’
They were lying on the grass—Sashar kicking on the rug between them. She watched the sky darken, feeling his hand on her soft stomach. They hadn’t even made it indoors yet since Levander had come home from work. Still in his suit, he lay beside her, chatting, yawning, lazy and utterly relaxed, enjoying the evening with their baby.
Sashar Levander Kolovsky.
She’d loved looking through Russian names, and had been completely unable to make a decision. But a couple of days before he was born Millie had stumbled on the name Sashar.
‘It means reward, I think,’ Levander had told her. ‘Or God remembers…’
Both meanings had seemed to fit, and now he was here, lying beside them—the absolute image of his father.
And his father’s father.
Sometimes Millie felt a stab of guilt—guilt that they were on the other side of the world when his father was so sick, that maybe if they’d stayed somehow bridges could have been built.
But somehow by leaving they had been. Sashar had brought them the most surprising gift of all—forgiveness, where Millie had thought there could never be.
‘I can see Nina felt she had no choice…’
Sometimes he spoke about it. Not often, but sometimes—just little snatches of stolen childhood—and she never cried on the outside. Just wept on the inside for all he’d seen and all that he’d never had.
‘She had to think of her unborn children. If she had told my father—if he had insisted they take me to Australia too—well, they may never have got there.’ He stared down at Sashar. ‘I think I understand now.’
‘And your father?’ Millie gulped, wishing she could understand too—could be as big as Levander and somehow find it in her to forgive.
‘He told me when I turned down his offer that I was like my mother—too strong willed and stubborn for my own good. But he was smiling when he said it. I guess he banked on how tough she was—convinced himself we would be okay. He couldn’t have known that I was in an orphanage, waiting for him to come. You know, a family would come sometimes—dressed in beautiful clothes, smelling of rich perfume. They would bring chocolate, or gifts. I never got one—too old, too angry looking, too much trouble…’
‘They didn’t give you a gift?’
‘The gift was for the child they would take—they were there to choose the child that would join their family. I wished that someone would choose me. Still, I got my wish in the end—you came back for me.’
He bent over and kissed her, and this time she did cry. Because, yes, he’d got his wish in the end, but it had been way, way too long in the coming. She cried not just for Levander but for all those little children who were too angry, too scared and too much trouble to be loved.
‘We could go back…’
‘Perhaps.’ Levander nodded. ‘Soon, I guess. For a holiday. I would like my father to see his grandson.’
‘I’m not talking about Australia.’ Millie smiled softly, and she felt his body still—so still even his heart seemed to stop for a beat or two.
‘I never want to go back. Never again will I set foot in that place. No.’ He shook his head, but she could feel his indecision—knew that this wasn’t the first time he had considered it.
It wasn’t the first time Millie had considered it either.
Seeing him hold his son—cherishing the little life they had created—she had caught the pensive look that dimmed his features now and then, seen the tightening of his jaw as he recalled all he had been through, and had known he was living it again, thinking about all the little ones who weren’t as lucky or as loved as Sashar.
‘Fine…’ Millie nodded, but didn’t quite leave it there. ‘If you ever change your mind…if you ever want to talk about it—’
‘It isn’t like choosing a pet,’ Levander insisted.
‘It wouldn’t be.’
‘You don’t understand, Millie—the damage that is done. These children are not cute, not easy to love, to live with—’
‘I know that, Levander,’ Millie broke in. ‘My own brother isn’t particularly cute or easy to live with. But he is very easy to love and, like my parents, I’d never turn my back on him.’
‘No, you never would, would you?’ It was a statement, not a question, and his voice faded. He stared down at her, seeing the infinite understanding in her eyes, and knew then that she didn’t want easy, that she understood completely what she was saying—knew from her own brother that miracles didn’t always happen, was fully aware of all she was prepared to take on.
Knew that he had her for ever.
‘Could we do it?’
‘One day,’ Millie answered softly. ‘When we’re ready—whenever you’re ready…’
And if love could travel, then it surely was travelling now—somewhere a piece of their hearts was already sold to the angriest, least loveable one. A child’s wish, sent out to the universe, was in the process of being answered…
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1234-7
EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD
First North American Publication 2008.
Copyright © 2007 by Carol Marinelli.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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