I Must Betray You(38)

Luca and his mother brought coliva, spiced pudding made of boiled wheat that’s molded into the shape of a cake. Theirs was decorated with a cross.

Alex stepped toward Cici with the flowers. When he moved, I saw her.

Liliana.

Standing in my apartment, hair hiding her eyes.

Instead of being happy to see her, I was angry. My reaction made no sense. At that point, nothing made sense. I looked away, suddenly nervous. Why was she here? She couldn’t stand the sight of me but wanted to be seen as polite? Was that it? Or did her mother force her to come and cling to a wall?

But she didn’t cling to a wall. She greeted my parents and Cici. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her coming my way.

I felt her slide in near me. The painful house fire raged within. I took a breath and turned to her. “Why are you here?” I whispered.

She looked at me and lifted a shoulder. “I . . . don’t know,” she whispered. “But I wanted to come.”

Her reply was so genuine—and genuinely confusing. I didn’t know how to respond.

We stood together, looking at Bunu. I didn’t want her there, but suddenly I didn’t want her to leave. Did she notice his gloved hands? Generally, coins are placed in the hands of the deceased so they can pay tolls along the way. Cici was so distressed by the look of Bunu’s hands that she made pale, thin gloves for him to wear.

“I’m so sorry, Cristian,” whispered Liliana. She stepped in close. So close that our arms were touching. So close that it was distracting.

She was sorry. Did that mean she was sorry for Bunu? Or sorry that she accused me of informing on her? Or sorry that we were no longer together?

I nodded but said nothing.

Liliana was so close to me in that crowded room. I took a breath, trying to manage the sensation of heat flooding throughout my body. I swallowed and stood, desperately hoping she’d reach for my hand. If she reached for my hand, I’d wrap my arms around her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her.

“Lili, let’s go,” said Alex. He wedged in beside us.

I stared at him, remembering our last exchange. I wasn’t sorry, and clearly, he wasn’t either. He still looked like he wanted to punch me. A part of me hoped he would.

A soft touch swept across my hand. “Goodbye, Cristian,” said Liliana.

And then she was gone.

Luca stepped forward a few minutes later. “Hei, can I talk to you?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Cristian. Please?”

We exited the small space into the darkened hallway. Luca grabbed two wooden chairs. “Too crowded here.” He carried the chairs down to the third floor and tried to make small talk.

“I’m not in the mood for a chat, Luca.”

“You’ve been in a mood for weeks. I tried to give you space. But we need to resolve this. Should I let you sucker punch me again? If that’s what it’ll take, I’ll do it.”

“I didn’t sucker punch you.”

“Yeah, you did. You know I’m not a fighter. And you also know that I’m fair. But you’re so tight-lipped.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I had no idea that you liked Liliana. If you would have told me, I never would have tried.”

I turned to Luca. “You never would have tried what?”

“To spend time with her.”

“You’ve been spending time with Liliana?”

“Not recently,” said Luca. “But she’s smart and I liked her. She lives in my building, so I was trying to get to know her.”

I looked at Luca, running a mental timeframe. “You were trying to get close to Liliana?”

“Yeah, and you’re mad about it.”

Was this a sick joke? My best friend turns me in to the Securitate and tries to steal my girlfriend?

“Listen, Cristian, you have nothing to worry about. The last time I saw her, she said she only wanted to see you. I was disappointed, but you’re my friend. Just wish you would have told me.”

“You were disappointed? So disappointed that you ran to your Secu agent and informed on her? She thinks it was me, asshole.”

Luca’s gentle face pinched into anger. “Du-te dracu.” He stood up, kicking his chair back in the process. “You know what, Cristi? Go to hell,” he muttered, and walked down the stairs.

My fists tightened. The agent, Luca, Liliana, and now Bunu. Go to hell? I was already there. And there was no way out. I’d be chained at the ankles for the rest of my life. I grabbed Luca’s wooden chair and heaved it against the wall, smashing it to pieces.

An apartment door flew open. The woman from Boston ran to me and grabbed my arms.

“Stop,” she ordered. “Breathe.”

I hadn’t been able to breathe for weeks.

“Breathe, Cristian,” she whispered.

“You don’t understand. I can’t.” My voice caught in my throat. The words “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t” came sputtering from my mouth as tears appeared and streamed down my face. “I can’t!”

I slid down the cold cement wall of the hallway, crying.

“I can’t.”

She kneeled down and gripped me by the shoulders. “Yes, you can.” She leaned in close to whisper. “Listen to me. You are fine. You . . . are fine. The regime is sick, not you, okay? Don’t ever forget that.”