From her bed, she could see Alina nursing her baby. She could see Alina’s husband come home from working at the collective and kiss her cheek. Katya could see all Alina had and remember all she’d lost.
She tried not to hate her sister, but a tiny part of her couldn’t help it. Why did Alina have both a husband and a child when she had nothing? Why must she suffer all the loss while Alina’s life went on as she’d always wanted?
Of course, the rational part of her knew this wasn’t completely true. They’d all lost their way of life as the collective and activists changed everything, and Alina had lost her father, just as Katya had. Even though they all held out hope that he would return to them, they still hadn’t heard a word from anyone about him.
Katya hated herself for these thoughts, but she didn’t know how to stop them.
Now, she had to listen to Mama and Lena discuss her as if she couldn’t hear. As if she wasn’t there.
“She needs to nurse Halya before her milk dries up,” Mama said. “Alina’s milk production is low, and I’m afraid she will run dry and Halya will have nothing to eat. The baby already cries for more now.”
“It’s not a bad idea.” Lena nodded in agreement. “Katya’s milk is plentiful. It would be a shame to waste it.”
My milk was meant for Viktor! Katya wanted to scream at them. To shout and break things. To tell them all to leave her alone and let her waste away and die so she could be with Pavlo and Viktor.
But she didn’t. And when Alina approached timidly, tears in her eyes, holding sweet, hungry Halya in her arms, Katya held her hands out and took the baby. Alina was her sister. Halya, her niece. How could she not help them?
Halya’s tiny mouth latched on to Katya, quickly instigating the familiar pinpricks, the heaviness, as the milk let down. The life force of Katya’s body, the milk that hadn’t been enough for Viktor, flowed from her to Halya. Katya studied Halya’s face as she nursed greedily, uttering little grunts of satisfaction. The excess ran down the corner of the baby’s mouth and wet her blanket while Katya’s tears flowed down her cheeks and wet hers.
19
CASSIE
Illinois, June 2004
Cassie stared at the box. Now, more than ever, she needed to figure out what was going on with Bobby. She touched the worn leather journal and let her fingers follow the grooves, imagining a much younger Bobby secreted away, writing her innermost thoughts. What had Bobby seen to scar her so much that she felt the need to hide food in her backyard and pen repetitive apologies to a woman named Alina?
Nick was the only option if she wanted to finally get answers, but she was afraid to connect any further with the man who made her question her loyalties to Henry.
“How can that be a good excuse when you said yes to going out with him?” she said to herself. “Anyway, helping Bobby is what’s most important.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, she snatched up the phone and punched in the number he’d left with her.
He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
His smooth, deep voice sent shivers down Cassie’s spine, and, once again, her thoughts scattered like dandelion fluff in the wind.
“Hi,” she breathed.
“Cassie? Is that you?”
She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “Uh, yes. I have a favor to ask you.” Nice. Skip all the pleasantries and just ask him to do something for you. Real classy.
“Whatever you need,” he replied instantly.
His eagerness made her stomach somersault. “I have something written in Ukrainian, and I’d be grateful if you could translate it for me. Again. But this is a lot more than a note. It’s a whole journal. And some more notes. If you could. Please.” She bit her lip. Why was this so hard? And why did she suddenly have trouble speaking in complete sentences?
“Sure. I can swing by and take a look now if you’d like.” He laughed. “I’m just relieved you’re not canceling our date for this weekend.”
“No, of course not.” A date. I still can’t believe I have a date. Cassie glanced at the clock. “That would be great. Birdie and Bobby should both be napping for a while yet, so we could be alone.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. What kind of message was she trying to send him? Help, I’m widowed and lonely and need an afternoon visit from my single neighbor?
She could practically hear his grin through the phone, but to her eternal relief, he didn’t comment on her newfound brazenness. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”