All the Lies We Tell (Quarry Road #1)(17)

“I’m sorry, Theresa,” Niko said. “You should definitely stay here if you want.”

Theresa looked from one of them to the other, before her gaze settled on Ilya. “It wasn’t your fault, either of you. It was our parents’ business, anyway. Not ours. And it was a long time ago. I saw some ice cream in the freezer. Anyone want some?”





CHAPTER NINE


Back in Niko’s adolescent bedroom, daylight cracked through the attic’s twin narrow windows in pale-golden stripes, exactly as it had done for all the years he’d lived there. The house was so quiet he couldn’t tell whether he was alone or whether Ilya and Theresa were still asleep, but he made sure not to make a lot of noise, anyway, when he went to the kitchen.

Someone had already been up. A plate of scrambled eggs covered in cheese, still warm, tempted him, and he noticed a stack of toast on a plate next to the toaster. He buttered some and made an egg sandwich, then took it into the living room to turn on the television. He didn’t have one at the kibbutz, and although there was a communal one, he hadn’t mindlessly watched anything stupid in a long time.

“The cable doesn’t work.” A low, husky voice came from the corner of the kitchen. “I guess your brother didn’t pay the bill on time.”

Nikolai had talked to his mother but hadn’t seen her in close to eight years. She had some silver in her hair and a few more lines around her eyes, but the persona . . . that hadn’t changed. Never would, as far as Nikolai was concerned—not unless she had a reason to become someone different, and why would she? Who she was had worked so well for her, all these years.

“Mom. Hi.” Awkwardly, Niko hugged his mother while trying not to drop the egg sandwich. It was a familiar feeling—most interactions with his mother felt like he was performing a strange sort of dance while struggling not to break something. “When did you get in?”

“About half an hour ago. I went first to see Babulya at the home, but she was sleeping. They said I could visit her later. But I suppose that’s good, yes? Means she’s not actively dying anymore. But what do I know? I only took care of people who’d gone under the knife. If I wanted to understand geriatric medicine, I’d have gone to work in a nursing home.”

He kept himself from flinching at the harshness of her words, a habit that hadn’t changed no matter how long it had been since he’d seen her.

“Come close to me. Give your mother a hug.” She opened her arms. Galina had never even visited Russia, but her own voice had always echoed Babulya’s. Turns of phrases, some pronunciations. She sounded like her mother now, but Nikolai knew she was putting it on like she would have tried on a hat.

Despite this, obediently he went. Also an old habit. She smelled the same. Cigarettes, an undertone of cloying perfume, the mints she ate constantly to cover up the smell of smoker’s breath. She felt smaller, though. More delicate. The bones of her shoulder blades jutted, sharp under his touch.

“Good, you found the food. I got here so early, but you weren’t awake yet. I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast.”

“Well, that’s sure different, isn’t it?” The words came out of him before he knew it but, once spoken, couldn’t be taken back.

His mother shrugged and took a seat on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. “So I wasn’t there to make you breakfast before you went to school, the way Sally Harrison was. I worked, Nikolai. I had to work to support you and your brother. This is an old discussion, isn’t it? Surely you’re too old now to hold on to those resentments anymore.”

His mother had done her share of twelve-step programs, of meditation, of meetings and assessments, and of making amends. She’d disappeared more than once to “communes” and had done a stint or two in both in-and outpatient mental-health facilities. Nikolai had never believed she was crazy, but she’d used it as an excuse for bad behavior more than once.

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s good to see you.” He bit into the sandwich, chewing quickly as he sat in the chair opposite her.

“You’ve grown so handsome. Such a handsome man. You look a lot like your father. Ilya, he’s your Babulya all through, but I thought you favored me, at least when you were a little boy. But now I see your father in you.” She shook a finger at him, but smiled. “He was a handsome man, too.”

Steven Stern had died in a car accident when Galina was pregnant with Niko. He’d seen pictures of his father but had never thought there was much of a resemblance. It wasn’t worth an argument, though.

With a sigh, Galina waved the remote and turned off the TV. “Nothing. Good eggs?”

“Yeah. Great.” His stomach had stopped protesting.

“Next time, I’ll have potatoes to make for the hash browns. Delicious for breakfast. Onions, garlic, the works.”

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” He licked a smear of butter from his fingers.

His mother waved the remote again. “I learned how to make them at the diner.”

“When did you work at a diner?” Niko asked, wary and aware of Galina’s propensity for telling stories that weren’t always true.

“Since last year.” She tossed the remote onto the coffee table.

He’d thought she would say the job had been from her youth, but this revelation totally stumped him. “You’re not working as an RN anymore?”