The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (31)

Birdie beamed at the praise, then pointed at the empty plate.

“No more to make,” Bobby agreed. “Now, we put strawberries on top and eat them. Go wash your hands.”

Birdie ran to do as she was told, and Bobby leaned closer to Cassie. “She’s a good girl.” Bobby’s eyes angled toward where Birdie stood at the sink. Her slender legs poked out from another pair of too-small pajamas.

“I wish she could go back to the way she was before the accident.”

“She’ll come back to you,” Bobby said. “Give her time.”

“It’s been over a year.”

“There is no time limit on grief. You should know that.” She gave Cassie a shrewd look. “What about you? Are you back to normal? You used to carry a journal with you everywhere and write constantly. I don’t see you doing that anymore.”

Cassie swallowed the lump in her throat. Bobby had always been so perceptive. “I don’t have anything to write now.”

Bobby patted her hand. “When Birdie is ready, she will talk, and you will have her back. When you are ready, you will write. Now, eat some blintzes.”





Later that afternoon, after tucking Birdie in for a nap, Cassie walked down the hall to Bobby’s room. She clutched the old picture of the two girls that had fallen from the journal and the odd notes from under the flour canister and hoped that, despite the sudden end to their earlier conversation, her grandmother would be ready to talk. The way she’d been going on about all of her portents of death made Cassie worry.

“Bobby?” Cassie knocked and the door opened a few inches. Through the crack, she saw Bobby perched on the bed, oblivious to Cassie’s presence. The small candle on the nightstand flickered in the dim room. Anguish twisted Bobby’s face. She gripped a pencil tight in her good hand and pressed it into an open notebook, writing slowly and deliberately.

Cassie froze, unsure of how to proceed. Should she let Bobby know she was there? Or wait and see what she did next?

Before she could decide, Bobby ripped the sheet out of the notebook and shuffled over to her closet. She dug back behind some clothes on a shelf and shoved the note into a box. Then, she blew out the candle and climbed into bed. Her eyes closed immediately, as if the whole process had exhausted her.

Cassie looked down at the picture in her hand, and with a sudden burst of courage, took a step into the room.

Bobby shifted in her bed. “Alina? Is that you?”

“No, it’s Cassie. I wanted to check on you.” She walked over to her grandmother and straightened the blankets. “Who’s Alina?”

“Oh. Cassie.” The disappointment in Bobby’s voice punched Cassie in the gut. Bobby forced a wobbly smile and ignored the question. “I left something for you in your room.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Bobby turned away from Cassie. “I’m very tired now, and I’d like to be alone.”

“Okay.” Cassie turned, tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door, but not before she heard a muffled sob. She hesitated, her hand still on the doorknob, then went to her room. If she pushed any harder, Bobby might shut down completely.

On her nightstand, she found that Bobby had left her a notebook like the one she’d been using. Cassie smiled. She’d moved home to take care of Bobby, but so far, Bobby seemed to be far more in tune with what Cassie needed.

Cassie flipped through the blank pages, then ran her fingers over the wobbly English words Bobby had painstakingly penciled for her on the inside cover.

Just make it through today. Tomorrow will be better.





Bobby’s father’s advice. It was kind of bleak, but how many times had Cassie told herself to just make it through today? She’d have to work on believing the part about “Tomorrow will be better.”

She set the notebook down. Not yet. She wasn’t ready now, but maybe soon, she’d give journaling a try.

She took a deep breath and headed for the bathroom, eager to squeeze in the shower she’d missed that morning.

The bathroom, like everything else in the house, looked exactly the same as it had when Cassie was a kid. The matching avocado green bathtub, sink, and toilet still screamed out 1970, and the orange shag bath rug supported the theme.

Cassie turned on the faucet and opened the linen closet to grab a towel.

Instead of towels, toilet paper, and the other bathroom essentials, the narrow cabinet was filled with canned goods. Peas, green beans, corn, tuna, and spam, all stacked in tidy rows.

Cassie closed the door and checked under the bathroom sink. There, she found the towels and four canisters of oatmeal. A prickle of worry crept down her spine. Why were the kitchen cabinets bare and the bathroom cabinets full of food? This was definitely not the behavior of a person in their right mind.

As she rinsed shampoo out of her hair and tried to think of ways to broach the topic with Bobby, someone banged on the door.

Startled, she shut the water off. “I’ll be right there.”

When more banging was the only reply, Cassie grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it. “Birdie? Hold on, I’m coming!”

The banging grew more frantic. “Okay, okay!” Cassie glanced at her clothes lying in a pile on the sink, wrapped the towel closer, and threw open the door.