All the Lies We Tell (Quarry Road #1)(21)

She nodded again, trying to keep her voice steady when she replied. She didn’t quite manage to erase the tremor. “You should go.”

With another groan, this one sounding more frustrated, Nikolai ran a hand through his hair again, scrubbing at his scalp as he turned away from her to pace. He threw out his hands, gesturing, speaking without looking at her. “This is crazy.”

“Totally crazy,” she agreed.

“Insane,” he muttered. He touched the drips of water plinking steadily out of the faucet. “You need a new washer.”

“Ilya promised to fix it, but . . .” She shrugged.

“He still takes care of things for you.” It sounded like an accusation.

Allie frowned. “Sometimes. Sometimes he only promises to.”

“Right.” Niko opened her cupboard and pulled out a glass to fill with water.

The fact he knew without hesitation where she kept her glasses sent a pang of memory through her. Oh, to go back to the days of juice boxes and bags of chips parceled out during long summer days, when their parents were all working, and Babulya had shooed them all out of the house to find whatever amusements they could. She drew in a small, hitching breath.

“You never used to knock,” she said.

Nikolai tipped the water glass to his lips and gulped, then put the glass on the counter. He put his hands on it, shoulders hunched, still not looking at her. “Huh?”

“You knocked,” Alicia pointed out. “You never used to. None of us did. “

He twisted his head to show her his profile. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You knocked this time,” she continued. “Like we were strangers.”

Nikolai turned, finally. The corners of his mouth turned down. “We’re not strangers. We could never be strangers.”

“You think so? I don’t know, Nikolai. It feels like maybe we are.” She lifted her chin and closed her mouth tight to keep her lips from trembling. For what felt like the hundredth time today, she felt very, very close to tears.

Something shifted and cracked in his expression; she hated the sight of him agreeing with her, but what could she expect? That he would stride across the room and take her in his arms and kiss her breathless again? That she would take him upstairs to her bedroom and let him undress her?

Is that what she really wanted?

“No. Never strangers. Family,” Nikolai said after a moment. Then, in a lower voice: “I should get back over there. Ilya’s probably shitfaced by now. And Galina . . .”

“Your mother hasn’t changed.” Those words came more easily. Lighter. Alicia shook off the lingering heat and gave him a smile. “It’s good she’s here, though.”

It was Nikolai’s turn to answer with a nod. He headed for the back door, and Alicia noted with a mixture of amusement and dismay that he took the long way around, keeping the kitchen table between them so he didn’t come close to touching her. He paused in the doorway.

“Thanks. For everything. It means a lot,” he said.

Alicia gave him a grim, polite smile. “She was my grandma, too, you know.”

“Right, right.” Nikolai’s gaze slid away from hers, and he shut the door behind him.

When he’d gone, Alicia put her hand to her mouth, feeling the place where only minutes ago his lips had pressed hers. Then the tears came, burning and hateful and repulsive, knowing that she should cry over this when she’d been unable to weep for the true loss. Still, she shook with them until she was exhausted, spent, her eyes swollen and throat raw. When her grief eased, she was able to go upstairs to sleep.





CHAPTER TWELVE


Then


This was not real. It couldn’t be. Just a few days ago, Jennilynn was yelling at Alicia about wearing her favorite sweater, the new one she’d gotten for Christmas, and now she was dead.

She would never come back.

Their parents were almost comatose with grief. Her father managed to get up and around, at least enough to make some arrangements, but her mother . . . she couldn’t even get out of bed. Alicia had looked in on her this morning. The room stank of sour breath and sweat and something darker underlying all that.

Her mother made it to the funeral. There was that. It would’ve been easier if she hadn’t. If Alicia could spend the rest of her life without ever again hearing sounds like the ones that had come from her mother’s throat, she would be grateful. The rasping, keening wails had made Alicia want to clap her hands over her ears. Her mother had embarrassed her with the full-on force of her unmitigated grief.

Alicia would never forget it or get over it. Never be able to look at her mother the same way, not after seeing her as a person who could shatter into such tiny shards. Alicia didn’t think she could ever forgive her mother for not being able to make all this disappear, the way she’d done with nightmares and scraped knees and fevers. For becoming so lost in her own sorrow that she couldn’t help anyone else with theirs.

There should’ve been a meal at the church catering hall, but neither of Alicia’s parents had arranged it. Babulya was hosting people across the street at the Sterns’. She was cooking, and everyone else was bringing potluck. Babulya sat with Alicia’s mother for a long, long time that morning and probably was the reason she was able to get out of the room at all—Alicia thought she wouldn’t be able to forgive her mother for that, either. That she could rally for the sake of the neighbor, but not her own child. The one who was still left.