The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (17)

Her cold hand twisted into his warm one, and he gave it a squeeze. “Of course.”

He led her inside and toward the horse stalls. They each grabbed a brush and, together, worked on grooming an old mare. Katya told him everything that had happened the day before, and he listened, his face growing darker with each word she spoke.





7





CASSIE





Illinois, May 2004





Silence engulfed the house. Bobby had been sleeping for an hour, and Birdie lay tucked in the bed Cassie had once snuggled into as a child.

“This is my new normal,” Cassie murmured to herself.

She opened the duffel bag with her clothes and toiletries and took a few minutes to hang up her shirts and put her other clothes in the dresser. Henry’s face grinned up at her from the family portrait she’d tucked in the bottom of the bag.

She set it on her nightstand and smiled, remembering how they’d laughed that day as the photographer had tried to put them in such awkward poses. The one in the frame had turned out to be the best shot, and Birdie’s little face wasn’t even looking at the camera. She stared adoringly up at her father.

How could she have imagined that two weeks later, their whole world would change when Henry took Birdie out for ice cream? She closed her eyes, remembering every word, every movement, like they were tattooed on her brain.

“I don’t know, it’s nearly bedtime,” Cassie had said, winking at Henry over Birdie’s head.

The little girl hopped off the bicycle and popped the kickstand out like she’d been doing it for years.

“Please, Mom? Pretty please!” she begged.

“Oh, come on, just this once, Cass! It’s not every day a girl learns how to ride a bike without training wheels!” Henry gave his daughter a high five.

“How can I argue with that logic?” she laughed.

Henry took her hand. “Come on, you should join us!”

“I can’t,” she said. “I have to get this article sent off to the editor tonight. You guys go. Bring me home something good.”

“All right, we’ll get you some to go. Come on, Birdie! Race you to the car!” Henry circled around Birdie and then took off toward their sedan.

Birdie squealed in delight. “Bye, Mom!”

Cassie watched as Henry tucked Birdie into her seat and fastened the buckles. Always safety conscious, he’d insisted on the very best car seat on the market when Birdie came along.

They backed out of the driveway and headed down the street to their favorite ice cream place two miles away. If Cassie hurried, she could get the article proofed and sent off before they got home.

But they never came home. Instead, a police officer knocked on her door, and her whole world changed.

Cassie tried to choke back the tears, but a sob escaped her. Henry had died on impact when the semi-truck blew through a red light. Birdie, buckled in on the other side of the car, had survived. Doctors put her into a medically induced coma so her brain swelling would go down and hopefully prevent brain damage. For five days, Cassie put mourning the loss of her husband off while holding her unconscious daughter’s hand in the hospital and funneling all her thoughts and energy into willing Birdie to wake up.

Birdie woke up on day six and impressed doctors with her recovery, but she wouldn’t talk. After a battery of tests, they all agreed it was a psychological issue and she would talk when she was ready.

Fourteen months later, she still wasn’t ready.

“Cassie?” Bobby’s voice and a knock broke through Cassie’s grief.

She blew her nose and put on her fake happy voice. “Come in.”

Bobby pushed open the bedroom door and made her way to the bed. Cassie slid over as Bobby sat next to her and pulled her close. “Come here, my sweet girl.”

Cassie pressed her cheek into the soft flannel of Bobby’s nightgown as Bobby rubbed her back. A wave of nostalgia washed over her and suddenly, she was nine years old again and Bobby could fix anything for her. A fresh flood of tears poured down her face as she wished that were really true, but nobody could make this better.

“There, now. It’s good to cry. Let the pain out.”

She clung to her grandmother, and Bobby smoothed her hair. As her tears slowed, she sat up and wiped her face with a tissue. “I miss him so much.”

“Of course you do,” Bobby said. “And you always will. But you have to find a way to go on without him.”

Cassie nodded. It was the same sentiment her mother had expressed, but for some reason, it felt less abrasive coming from Bobby. “I don’t know how.”

“It takes time. Do you ever talk to him?”

“What do you mean?”

Bobby gave a nonchalant shrug. “In the old world, we asked loved ones to come to us. Give us advice. Watch over us. You could ask Henry. Maybe a message from him will give you closure.”

Cassie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did that ever work for you?”

Bobby stiffened as she pulled away from Cassie. “Maybe long ago. Not anymore.” She stood, her shoulders drooping with weariness. “We should get some rest. Good night, Cassie.” She shuffled out of the room, mumbling in Ukrainian.

“What are you saying?” Cassie called after her.