14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I lya, the Russian, Year 7

I stood at the stove, stirring the chicken soup I was making. Irini’s nurse had called me earlier, asking if I would come sit with my wife for a few hours. I didn’t have a problem with that, but I wanted to know what the situation was. I’d hired an experienced nurse, but she had told me she didn’t have the words to describe it. She had just asked that I come as quickly as possible and see for myself.

When I’d walked through the front door, I’d been told that Irini had retired to her room. The staff had checked on her, but she hadn’t moved from underneath the covers on her bed. I had thanked the nurse and given her the rest of the night off, promising to call if I needed her. I had figured I might get Irini to eat something.

It’d been a while since I’d cooked, but once the first ingredient hit the pot, it all came rushing back. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed being in the kitchen. There was something about making sure I had the perfect combination that satisfied the planner in me. When I was a kid, I had pretended I was the evil doctor coming up with poisons that would morph my family into monsters. That dream would fade when I was a teenager. Adrik and I had had to survive, and there was no time for such foolishness.

I was standing at the sink, washing my hands, when I heard feet shuffle into the kitchen behind me. It wasn’t a member of the staff. They normally didn’t seek me out unless they needed to discuss Irini’s condition. If I was here, they faded into the background unless called upon. Turning around, I had to grab a hold of the counter to make sure I didn’t fall over from shock.

Irini walked into the kitchen with her head held high, swinging her arms. I’d never seen her move fluidly before, which was why I always offered her my arm for stability. She’d always shuffled her feet before, never taking a full step. Something was definitely off as I watched Irini pull out a kitchen barstool and easily sit down unassisted. The nurse hadn’t told me what to expect, but when Irini raised her head, my jaw dropped. Her eyes were bright and full of life. Has her catatonic state broken? What the fuck am I going to do if it has?

“Hey,” I whispered, not sure where to start or what to do.

I’d never seen her lips move beyond a twitch, so when she smiled at me, I gripped the counter even tighter. I had been through plenty of near-death experiences, but she was scaring me.

“Hello,” she answered, with a slight wave. Her voice was no higher than a whisper. Kat was notorious for telling family stories, and I had heard enough to know this was the real Irini.

“Are you alright? The nurse said you weren’t feeling well, but I can call the doctor, if you prefer.” I should call the doctor, anyway. One of us is going to need him.

“I’m fine. There’s no need.” She shifted in her chair. “My time has come, and I’m alright with that, but I wanted to speak to you first.” She crossed her arms and rested them on the kitchen island .

“Are you sure I shouldn’t call the doctor? I’ll pay extra to get him here quicker,” I tried again. Her time had come? Is she dying, and this is goodbye?

She laughed, the sound floating around her. “No, Ilya. I don’t want to waste the doctor’s time when I already know what he’ll say.”

“You know my name?” I didn’t know why it surprised me. People had addressed me by name in her presence, but I hadn’t thought she was having conscious thoughts then.

“Of course. You’ve always been Ilya to me, but my sisters have pet names for you.” Her smile turned mischievous, and I smiled back at her.

“I don’t want to know what Kat calls me.” I pretended to shudder, wanting to hear her laugh again. She didn’t disappoint me. Laughter is good medicine, right? She’ll be fine if I keep her giggling.

“No, probably not. Kat has a mind of her own, but it’s Toula I worry about.” She paused, making sure that we were eye-to-eye. “I think you do, too.”

“Go on,” I encouraged her. I wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading, but I wouldn’t disrespect my wife. I’d made the deal with Toula, and I would see it through, even if it meant that Irini was officially mine.

“You were my savior, but I remember you telling me that Toula sent you. I’ve had a few days of sporadic clarity, and it’s all making sense to me. You don’t look at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but if Toula’s in the room, the lights sparkle a little brighter. I would know; I had a husband once.”

I shifted so that I was leaning against the counter, no longer in danger of falling on my face. Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked her, “What happened to him?” I didn’t want her to stop talking. I was more concerned that she’d retreat into the chaos .

“My father happened. Markos never pushed me to be anything I wasn’t, and I loved him with my whole heart for that,” she said with a sigh. “I was eighteen, and the three years before the arranged marriage were supposed to be enough time to allow him to save enough money and get us new passports. He worked hard to make sure that we’d have a new life somewhere else. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Toula.” She wiped a few tears from her eyes and then shook herself, as if she was clearing away the memories.

“I thought we should have left sooner, and I begged him to listen to me. As long as we were together, everything else would fall into place. My father might have sent men after us, but Old Man Lombardo wouldn’t have cared. A few days before my twenty-first birthday, Markos paid off the priest to marry us, and then we were supposed to hit the road, but my father called. He gave Markos orders that he couldn’t ignore, so we waited. Fate intervened. The priest must have turned us in, and my father made Markos disappear.”

“I’m sorry.” I offered my condolences.

“It’s alright. He’s waiting for me.” She smiled again before continuing. “I’m telling you this because my father is pushing Toula to her breaking point. Running’s not the answer when she should be with you.”

“What makes you think this?” I didn’t like any of this. It was the second time she had mentioned dying without explicitly saying so.

“Toula needs her Markos. Someone who will love and appreciate her for the way she is. You don’t hide it very well, and she won’t believe you as long as I’m here.”

“You’re my wife…” I said, but she held up her hand, stopping me.

“No, don’t lie to me. You’re not mine when you belong to someone else, and I love her too much to let her run from the future because she’s angry.” She stood and walked towards me. “May I hug you?”

I stood straight and held my arms out to her. She shuffled the last few steps and wrapped her arms around my waist, laying her head on my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

I held her tight, not wanting to pull away, but she broke the hold first. Turning back around, she walked towards the kitchen door, only looking over shoulder at me. It felt like it was the last time, and a chill crept down my spine. “She’ll want to name your daughter after me out of guilt, and I don’t want my niece to carry those expectations. Make sure you talk some sense into her.”

I stood in the same spot she’d left me, watching her walk away until I couldn’t see her shadow anymore. I told myself I’d check on her in an hour, and if she was still functional, I’d call the doctor, no matter what she said. Finishing the soup, I went over every detail, from the time she’d walked in to the time she’d left. I wanted to rehash everything, looking for any clues that I’d missed. I’d been too stunned watching her to pay attention.

I didn’t make it an hour. Some intuition told me I needed to go check on her immediately. Knocking at her bedroom door, I waited to see if there was a response. When there wasn’t any, I knocked again while turning the door handle quietly.

“Irini?” I whispered, in case she was honestly sleeping. Opening the door completely, my eyes instantly found her under the covers. “Hey.” I walked over and shook her shoulder gently. “I’m checking to make sure you’re alright.” There was no movement, and her body was cold. I checked her pulse, but I didn’t need to confirm my suspicions.

Irini had rallied enough to say her piece, and now she was gone.

** *

T oula, Age 21

The sun was glowing, and the birds were singing on the day we buried Irini. They were welcoming her home, but all I felt was extremely cold. Why is the cemetery always ten degrees cooler, no matter what time of year it is?

The Russian had made the funeral arrangements before calling my father. It hadn’t sat well with my parents. They believed they had deserved to be informed earlier, even though only a few hours had passed since Irini’s death. My father had even had my mother make her own arrangements, but the Russian had instantly shut that down. He had claimed Irini was his wife, and he would give her the proper burial she deserved.

We walked into our church, surprised when the Russian priest stepped up to perform the rituals. My father hid his temper, but the blood vessel at the top of his forehead throbbed. He was angry the Russian hadn’t respected our culture.

It seemed like there were better battles to fight. Irini’s death had placed a wedge between our families. The Russians stood on one side, and we stood on the other. The Italians were the buffer in the middle.

I was numb. I thanked the guests for their condolences, but their faces were a blur. There were too many people that I had to excuse myself from before I made a scene. They either wanted to network at a funeral or talk about anecdotes they remembered. I wished I could have screamed that she was too good for any of them to speak of, but I maintained my aloof expression, hiding my rage.

We sat on the plush chairs provided by the funeral home at the burial site, listening to the priest give a final blessing. The Russian stood off to the side, but I could feel his eyes shift to me every so often. Mine never left the casket. I barely held it together as they lowered Irini into her final resting place. The pulley gears made a grinding sound I was sure I would never forget.

It was tradition for the guests to pay one last respect to Irini as they threw dirt over the casket. They could then say something to the family before leaving for the luncheon. The Russians were first. They nodded towards my parents and then embraced the Russian. His brother stood behind him, making sure no one said anything inappropriate. I should have shown the same courtesy to my sisters, but I was too emotionally exhausted. It was hard enough to sit here, nodding every so often like I was paying attention. When the Russians finished, the Italians took their place.

The line finished, but I still sat in the plush chair, staring at the casket in the ground.

“Toula,” my mother snapped at me.

“Any day but today,” I said, quietly. I couldn’t cope with her aggressiveness, and I didn’t want to speak a truth that should have remained unsaid.

“It’s time to go. Your father’s arranged for our ride. We need to arrive as one.” She stomped her foot, and I almost wanted to stick my stiletto in it. My sister, her daughter, was gone. Does she not have any respect, or are we all expendable?

“I’d like a few minutes by myself, and then I’ll head to the luncheon with Angelo.”

She huffed, but whatever she was going to say died on her lips as my father called her over. “Don’t make a scene,” she said, before leaving.

I wouldn’t, but I wanted to break in private before I had to smile and nod again.

I was still sitting in the plush chair when a large body sat next to me. “You’re the last person I expected. ”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan, but you looked like you could use a friend,” Adrik said, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“We’re not friends.” We weren’t really enemies, but he’d be the last person I confided in.

“No, but I’ve been here too many times to count. Right now, you want to murder the next person who tells you they’re sorry. They don’t understand that you’re irrevocably changed while they’re happily eating their chicken cordon bleu.”

“When does the performance ever stop?” I asked him, not really expecting an answer.

“Never. It’s disrespectful to the dead, but the living only think about themselves. They’re looking for their next opportunity, and you would give anything to have another moment with the one no longer here.” He shifted in the chair, turning his neck so that he faced me. “What do you need?”

“What do you mean?” I was skeptical.

“What do you need me to do? Clear out these people? Make Angelo sit in the car? Too bad I don’t have a pipe to run from the exhaust. It could be a two-for-one deal.”

I couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled out of my chest. “You don’t like Angelo either, I take it.”

“No. He doesn’t do his job, and I have no time for laziness.” He turned back to face the casket. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting these people to leave. They didn’t understand Irini like you did, and they don’t deserve to trample on whatever light she had left.”

“Can you clear them out, please?” I asked. There was a quiver in my voice, but he didn’t mention it as he stood from his chair and began guiding people toward their cars. It wasn’t long before the only people at the burial site were the two of us and the Russian. Someone had told Angelo to sit in his car with the windows up .

“Come on.” He grabbed the Russian’s shoulder and tried to turn him toward the gravel road that ran through the cemetery.

“No, I am going to stay for a minute,” I heard him say.

“No, you’re going to the luncheon to give the people what they want: the grieving husband.” The Russian tried to shake his brother’s hand off of his shoulder, but Adrik gripped it tighter. “Let her be. She needs a moment, and you remember what it was like at your father’s funeral.” An understanding passed between them, and the Russian let Adrik lead him towards their car.

Finally, I was alone.

“I don’t know what to say to you. It’s hard to imagine that you’re gone, and I’m never going to see your smiling face again.” It wasn’t a windy day, but the leaves on the trees blew in the breeze. “I need you to believe me when I tell you everything I did was out of love. The deal, the arranged marriage, everything.” The wind picked up strands of my hair and made them dance.

I let go of the sobs that I’d been holding in for most of the day. “Please forgive me,” I cried, covering my face with my hands. “Please,” I begged.

The funeral home had made a poster of Irini’s high school graduation picture. It was seven years old, and Irini hated how it had turned out. They had posed her for the picture, but she had thought it looked too stilted. She often laughed that her smile looked too wide and belonged to one of those possessed dolls.

The wind blew the poster off the easel, as if Irini was still here, and had knocked it over herself. The poster landed at my feet, and I took it as a sign. Irini had forgiven me.