“Or maybe they would have been worse,” Cassie said.
Bobby shrugged one bony shoulder. “Maybe. But what’s done is done, and I can’t change it now. I can only say this: I made a mistake in thinking I could bury it all. Looking to the future doesn’t mean you have to forget the past. You can have both, Cassie, and be all the richer for it.”
“Do you think you’ll write the whole thing, like your Bobby wants?” Nick asked later that night when Cassie got home. “Or change any of it?”
“I wouldn’t change it. It’s an important story.” Cassie sat next to him, her imagination already running with ideas on how to execute the project.
“It is,” Nick said.
“I hope I can do it justice. You know, up until she started writing those short letters to Alina, if you could call them that, I’d never seen Bobby write. Maybe when she couldn’t fulfill that promise to Pavlo, she gave up. I’d love to help her rectify that.” As she spoke, Cassie fidgeted with the finger that used to hold her wedding ring. Ever since she’d taken it off, she found herself constantly touching the spot where it used to sit.
“And her request is helping you to fix the fact that you don’t write anymore. It’s like a full circle of healing,” Nick said.
Then why do I still feel broken?
She cleared the unsaid words out of her throat and forced out a smile. “Well, lucky you, I suppose. Now you won’t have to spend your free time over here deciphering old Ukrainian handwriting anymore.”
She meant to be flippant, but a hollow feeling settled in her stomach at the thought of not seeing him regularly.
“You’re right,” Nick agreed. He stared down at his hands. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to have me out of your hair.”
Cassie sagged in her chair. She shouldn’t have expected a different response. She’d told him she didn’t want a relationship, and, being the gentleman he was, he’d backed off.
Be happy. Live your life. Henry’s words pounded in her head. She closed her eyes and heard Bobby’s voice. Looking to the future doesn’t mean you have to forget the past. You can have both.
But what did she want? What choice did she want to set in motion?
Nick looked up. His deep blue eyes locked on hers, and warmth pulsed in her veins.
This. Choose to live.
The empty feeling in her stomach morphed into resolve. She stared at Nick so long and so intensely that he touched his mouth. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Awareness surged within Cassie and pushed her to her feet. “I’m only thirty-one!”
Nick folded his hands behind his head and grinned. “I would have guessed late twenties.”
She blushed. “That’s not the point. But thanks. The point is, I’m still young. Bobby lost so much more than me, but she found a way to go on. Maybe I can, too. I think… I think Henry would want me to live my life.”
A hopeful expression grew on Nick’s face, and his voice quieted. “Then you should.”
Before she could think or over–analyze the situation, she leaned over and kissed him. His soft lips moved against hers differently than Henry’s had, but their touch sent ripples of excitement surging through her and her heart soared above the ache of the loss she’d been trapped in for so long.
His arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in his warmth and strength. “Are you sure, Cassie?”
She nodded and spoke against his lips. “Yes.”
When they finally broke apart, a smile stretched across her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Whatever it was, I hope it’s a permanent condition,” Nick said, and he kissed her again.
36
KATYA
Sunflower Palace, July 2004
The legs running beneath her weren’t her own. Or, if they were, they were a much younger version. Far too nimble for her old body, they held her up, sure and strong, each step a leaping bound into the next. She looked down at her hands. Smooth and supple. The gnarled knuckles had disappeared. No pain or twisted fingers. She touched her face. Firm, young skin bounced back against her fingers. Around her, wheat stretched out in a golden, rippling blanket. She inhaled and the smell of rich earth and wheat kernels baking in the sun filled her soul. This was Ukraine. Home.
Sunflowers waved in the distance. Their tall stems bobbed and swayed over the wheat. She moved toward them, and heard her name being called. The voices sent shivers through her. Alina. Pavlo. Kolya.
They were waiting for her.