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The Memory Keeper of Kyiv(78)

Author:Erin Litteken

This was happening too fast.

She snatched her hand away and cleared her throat. “Let’s start.”

An hour later, Cassie couldn’t breathe.

“Stop. Please, I need a break.”

She could smell the coppery scent of blood and hear Pavlo’s last shuddering breaths as Katya held him. The terror was palpable. And familiar.

Except she hadn’t gotten to hold Henry as he died.

Nick reached out as if to touch her arm, then pulled back, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”

Guilt over her earlier reaction to his touch mingled with her grief. “No, I’m sorry. This is harder to hear than I anticipated.”

“Hi, Mommy. Hi, Nick.” Birdie blinked as she meandered into the kitchen. Her tousled hair stood out from her head in a tangle of knots. “Who’s Katya?”

Cassie swallowed hard and pasted on a smile. “You didn’t nap long. Where did you hear that name, sweetie?”

Birdie scratched her elbow. “I think Alina told me.”

Nick pointed to the name written in clear Cyrillic script inside the cover of the journal. “Kateryna Viktorivna,” he translated. “Katya is a diminutive of Kateryna. It’s your grandmother’s name. Or, at least, it’s the name she went by in Ukraine. And Viktorivna is her patronymic name, meaning daughter of Viktor. She’d have a family name too, but she didn’t write it here.”

Cassie stared at him, stunned. “I didn’t know any of that.”

“So is Katya Bobby?” Birdie tugged at Cassie’s sleeve.

“Yes, I guess so,” Cassie murmured. Her mind raced.

After a few beats of silence, Nick stood. “Birdie, how about we take a walk with Harvey and get some fresh air?”

“Yes! Can we, Mommy?”

Grateful for the distraction, Cassie nodded. “All right, but just up and down the block in case Bobby wakes up from her nap.”

Nick grabbed the dog’s leash and the three of them set off, Harvey trotting happily alongside them.

“You looked a little pale back there. You’ve really never heard the name Katya until now?” Nick asked as Birdie skipped ahead.

“No. I know her as Katherine. Birdie said Alina was talking about a Katya, but I don’t know how she could know that name if I didn’t.”

“Your Bobby probably told her,” Nick said. “Maybe she and Birdie have talked about Alina more than you realize.”

“I’m sure. She and Birdie do spend a lot of time together,” Cassie agreed, but a niggling feeling in the back of her head made her question the veracity of the statement.

“You know, I’m not saying this is what’s happening, but in the old world, it was very common to “speak” to the dead,” said Nick. “I remember when my aunt died, my Baba set out a glass of water every day until the funeral for her to drink. She didn’t consider her sister gone, just in another place where she could still be reached. There are a lot of Ukrainian customs around death that we might think are strange, but for them, it’s part of the culture.”

“Bobby mentioned speaking to Henry. She said I should ask him to come to me.” Cassie forced a laugh at the absurdity of it. “It sounds so bizarre to say it out loud.”

Nick slowed his pace, and she could feel his eyes boring into her. “Not at all. Did it work?”

“I dreamed about him.” She clenched her hand, remembering the feeling of his grip. Of him letting go. Be happy. Live your life.

“I hope it helped you, Cassie. I mean that. I can’t imagine losing someone you loved that much.”

They passed a neighbor’s honeysuckle arbor, and Birdie paused to sniff the flowers. Nick’s blue eyes crinkled into a smile when Birdie squealed with delight at the intoxicating aroma, and warmth flooded through Cassie.

“I think it did help.” She bent close to Birdie. “They smell amazing, don’t they? It’s honeysuckle.”

“Yes, but they’re not as pretty as sunflowers,” Birdie said.

Nick broke off a small branch and wound it into a circle. He plucked a few violets and dandelions growing up along the sidewalk and tucked them into the vine. Birdie giggled as he placed it on her head like a crown.

“Beautiful.” Nick said. “Now you have a vinok like a proper young Ukrainian girl.”

“Look, Mommy!” Birdie twirled around, holding the flower wreath to her head. “I have a vinok!”

“It’s lovely, sweetie. Bobby used to make those for me when I was your age.”

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