The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (33)

Nick glanced down at her. “Do you want me to keep reading?”

Birdie smiled and pointed at the book.

Cassie exhaled, her pulse racing as she reveled in the glimpse of the child her daughter had once been. Strong willed. Outspoken. A force of nature.

Nick looked at Cassie, his eyes seeking her permission, and she nodded.

“Okay. Well then, where was I?” Nick thumbed through the book, then resumed his silly, high-pitched voice.

Cassie could barely contain her joy as she watched Birdie giggle and squeal at his antics. Nick finished the book, then picked up a second book from the pile on the couch and started reading. Birdie crept closer and closer to him, until finally, she was leaning against his leg, smiling up at him. When he finished, she placed a third book in his hands. Without missing a beat, Nick read.

Enchanted at this change in her daughter, Cassie let it continue for two more books, but when Nick raised a sixth, she glanced at the clock and realized he’d been reading for thirty-five minutes. She jumped up.

“No, Bird, I’m sure Mr., uh… well, I’m sure Mr. Nick has places to go and things to do.”

Nick laughed. “It’s Koval. Nick Koval. And you sound a lot like Dr. Seuss yourself.”

Birdie giggled again, and Cassie shook her head, still in disbelief. She hadn’t seen her daughter act like this since before the accident. First, her happiness and determination that morning while making blintzes and now, her exuberance while listening to stories with Nick. They seemed like such simple, normal things for a little girl to enjoy, but Cassie hadn’t been providing them. Her throat constricted with guilt.

“I should probably get going, but maybe we could do one more short one?” He grinned hopefully at Cassie, and a small, frozen part of herself that she kept tucked away where no one could see it melted. Birdie jumped up and down in her seat and clasped her hands under her chin, her eyes begging despite her still silent mouth.

“Fine,” Cassie said, suddenly anxious to get away from Nick and the odd fluttering in her chest caused by his easy smile. “I can see I’m outnumbered. I’ll go get some lemonade for everyone.”

Cassie’s hand quaked as she poured the drinks. She set glasses and a plate of cookies on a tray, then gripped the counter and took a deep breath. Mumbled words poured out of her mouth like a soothing mantra. “There’s nothing special about him. This is Birdie getting excited over the attention. It’s not him. It’s the attention.”

What did that mean, though? Another pang of guilt torpedoed her. If attention was all Birdie really needed, why hadn’t Cassie given it to her? Was she so wrapped up in her grief that she’d been ignoring how much her daughter needed her to reach out and interact?

Obviously. Birdie needed someone to focus on her, and Cassie had to fix that. She couldn’t keep using Henry’s death as an excuse to shut everyone out, including her daughter. She took another deep breath, steeled herself, and went back in the living room.

Cassie set the tray down on the coffee table. “Please, have some refreshments. It’s the least we can do to pay you back for your rescuing and entertaining services.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Nick smiled, and two large dimples creased his cheeks.

Her guard back up, Cassie appraised him critically, but still, she had to admit, he was pretty attractive. With short, light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and tanned skin, he looked like he belonged in an outdoorsman commercial.

“I haven’t had such a captive audience since my sister and her boys were in town. They had me reading Dr. Seuss for hours,” he said.

Cassie realized she’d been staring. She shook her head and latched on to the most recent thing he’d said. “You’ve got nephews?”

“Yep, twin six-year-old boys. They’re a handful but a lot of fun. They live on the East Coast, though, so I don’t get to see them often.”

“That’s too bad.” She took a long drink of lemonade, and the book he’d just read caught her eye.

“Oh, I forgot all about this book!” She picked up the old Ukrainian picture book Bobby used to read to her as a child, her fingertips grazing the battered scene of a boy and a dog. She looked at him in disbelief. “You can read Ukrainian?”

Nick cocked his head in surprise. “Sure, can’t you?”

Cassie shook her head. “I never learned. And my mom was just telling me they didn’t have a Ukrainian school close to her, so she never learned.”

“It was really important to my Baba that I go,” Nick said. “Every Saturday morning, rain or shine. I hated it for a while, but it wasn’t so bad, really. I learned a lot about where she came from and my family history.”

Cassie frowned. “Bobby never really talks about Ukraine. Or her family. It’s always been a big mystery to us.”

“Well, there were some hard times in the old country, according to my Baba. It wasn’t an easy life. Maybe it’s painful for her to think about it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Cassie said, already distracted by a new idea that had popped into her mind. “Do you have a second to read something for me?”

“Sure,” Nick said.

Cassie ran to her room and opened her dresser drawer. She grabbed the notes and picture, walked back down the hall, and returned to the living room, setting them on the table in front of Nick. “I’d love to know what these say.”