31. Andrey

31

ANDREY

Drogheda Psychiatric Institution doesn't look as bleak as it sounds.

I spent a huge amount of time and money making sure that the place I chose would be calm, comfortable, and most importantly, comfort ing . Still, some of the people who need this place are long past comfort.

"Mr. Kuznetsov!" The head nurse, Kathleen, greets me with a smile as soon as I enter the foyer. "How nice to see you again. It's been so long since your last visit."

Don't fucking remind me.

"How's she doing?"

"She has good and bad days," the nurse gushes. "But she eats well most days and she loves the gardens. I take her for a walk at least twice a day. You're just in time for that, actually. We're due for our evening stroll. She'll be so glad to see you."

Unlikely. It's been four months. I'll face some wrath for that.

Kathleen leads me across a lush courtyard full of lavender and honeysuckles and into a covered corridor on the far side. Tall, stained glass windows block the view of the highway at the bottom of the hill while splashing colored light down the hall.

"Third room on the right," Kathleen informs me. As though I could forget even if I tried. When I don't reach for the door immediately, she sighs and pushes the door open. "Look who's come to see you today, Arina! It's Andrey."

From the hallway, all I can see is the clean, white room, utterly devoid of sharp edges. The locked window looks towards the central courtyard, but when I walk into the room, my mother is staring at her feet.

"Hello, Mama," I greet, lingering in the doorway. "How are you?"

The woman sitting in the yellow armchair beside the bed barely looks like the Arina Kuznetsov I once knew. Her receding eyebrows pinch together as she drags her gaze up to squint at me. "You look… like someone I know…"

I know exactly who I remind her of. If she's forgotten who, that's a good thing.

"I know you," she concludes uncertainly. One bony finger quivers in my direction.

"Of course you know him," Kathleen chimes in. "He's your son. One of them, anyway."

Arina looks pleasantly surprised by this revelation. "I have a son?"

"Two of them. Good-looking boys." She fluffs the pillows and rearranges the fresh flowers in the vase, making things neat and tidy in the room. I stand still and gaze at my mother.

"Two sons," Arina repeats. "I don't remember them."

"How about we take a walk?" I suggest in an uncharacteristic croak.

"Wonderful idea!" agrees Kathleen. "Arina, doesn't that sound like a wonderful idea?"

My mother's hazy eyes rotate from me to Kathleen, then back to me. "Are you going to walk with me?"

"That's the plan."

She nods slowly in acceptance. Then, with Kathleen's help, she gets to her feet.

Her nightdress covers her from the base of her neck to her ankles. She looks so much older than her fifty-six years.

That's what marrying a Kuznetsov will do to you.

Natalia may hate me now, but if she saw what became of the women unlucky enough to land themselves a Kuznetsov man, she'd be happy I'm keeping myself at arm's length.

"Shall I accompany you?" Kathleen mutters to me as we move into the hall.

I shake my head. "I've got it."

She gives me an encouraging smile and disappears back the same way we came.

Arina looks after her and then her gaze flits to me. "Who did you say you were again?"

"Andrey," I tell her patiently. "Your son."

" Son ," she whispers softly. "My son."

She doesn't talk again for a long time. I accompany her through the gardens, down to the pond where a gaggle of ducks paddle along in the water, dipping their curved necks beneath the surface.

"How have you been?" I ask when the silence gets to be too much.

She looks at me with an irritated frown, as though she'd rather be watching ducks instead of answering stupid questions. "Can't remember."

"Fair enough."

Another five minutes before she turns to me with a start. "I know who you remind me of." She scowls. "My husband, Slavik. Do you know him?"

"We've met."

"I thought you were him for a moment. But then… you're younger."

And a very different man.

"Do you know him?" she asks again.

"Yes."

"How?"

I concentrate on two ducks venturing close to the bank. "He's my father."

She winces, and I almost laugh. Disease is chewing away at her brain, but she still knows enough to pity me for drawing that shitty card in life. "That must be hard for you."

"You have no idea."

"He's not a good man, that Slavik." Almost as soon as the words pass her lips, her face flushes with fear. "But don't tell him I said that! He'll beat me for it."

In her panic, she grabs my arm. I place a hand over hers, shocked at how papery-soft her skin feels. "I won't breathe a word."

"He has spies, you know?" she tells me conspiratorially. "They watch me wherever I go. He killed my favorite brother, too. He denies it, but I know he did." She looks around the garden with wide eyes as if she expects Slavik himself to jump out of the rose bushes. "He killed Leonid because he knew we were close. He doesn't want me to have anyone."

"You don't have to worry about Slavik," I assure her. "He's gone now."

Her eyes snap to mine. "Gone? Gone where?"

"Russia. He's not coming back."

"He left… He really left?" She sounds astonished. "If he left, he would have put me in a cage first. He always puts me in a cage when he leaves."

You are in a cage, Mama. An invisible one, but a cage nonetheless.

My throat is so dry, it's painful. "You're free now, Mama." She flinches when I call her that. "You don't have to worry about Slavik. He can't hurt you anymore."

She starts tugging at the ends of her long, gray hair. It used to be a luxurious chestnut brown. But in the last few years, it's gone thin and wispy. "… evil man. I'm glad he's gone. I'm glad!" she hisses, as if talking to someone standing directly in front of her. She turns suddenly and grabs my arm. "My boys! What about my boys? Did he take them with him?"

I stare into her eyes and for a moment—one solitary, heartbreaking moment—I see the woman who raised me. The woman who ran her fingers through my hair to wake me in the morning. The woman who sang out-of-tune songs to put me to bed at night.

"No, he didn't take the boys."

She sighs in relief. "Oh, thank God. At least they'll stand a chance now." She pauses, taken by a sudden realization. "Although, they must be bigger now? They must be men."

I nod. "Viktor is married."

She draws in a startled breath and her eyes fill with tears. "Oh, how wonderful. My baby, married!"

It's hard to look at her, but I refuse to turn away. This is the sanest I've seen her in a long time.

"And Andrey?" she demands in a rush. It's as if she's aware that her memory could slip away at any moment. Time is of the essence. "Has he found someone?"

The weight on my chest gets heavier. "He's… going to be a father."

Tears shine brightly in her dimmed eyes. "He'll be a wonderful father. He was always such a kind boy. So patient and thoughtful. So unlike his father." Her gaze drifts towards the ducks. "He looks the most like Slavik, you know. Sometimes, I was afraid…"

I wait for her to continue, but her voice trails away.

After a long stretch, she turns back to me, her face slowly creasing into a frown. "You look like my husband."

I get to my feet and resist the urge to offer her my hand.

"Come, Arina," I say gently. "Let me walk you back to your room."