The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (57)

Katya hated herself for these thoughts, but she didn’t know how to stop them.

Now, she had to listen to Mama and Lena discuss her as if she couldn’t hear. As if she wasn’t there.

“She needs to nurse Halya before her milk dries up,” Mama said. “Alina’s milk production is low, and I’m afraid she will run dry and Halya will have nothing to eat. The baby already cries for more now.”

“It’s not a bad idea.” Lena nodded in agreement. “Katya’s milk is plentiful. It would be a shame to waste it.”

My milk was meant for Viktor! Katya wanted to scream at them. To shout and break things. To tell them all to leave her alone and let her waste away and die so she could be with Pavlo and Viktor.

But she didn’t. And when Alina approached timidly, tears in her eyes, holding sweet, hungry Halya in her arms, Katya held her hands out and took the baby. Alina was her sister. Halya, her niece. How could she not help them?

Halya’s tiny mouth latched on to Katya, quickly instigating the familiar pinpricks, the heaviness, as the milk let down. The life force of Katya’s body, the milk that hadn’t been enough for Viktor, flowed from her to Halya. Katya studied Halya’s face as she nursed greedily, uttering little grunts of satisfaction. The excess ran down the corner of the baby’s mouth and wet her blanket while Katya’s tears flowed down her cheeks and wet hers.





19





CASSIE





Illinois, June 2004





Cassie stared at the box. Now, more than ever, she needed to figure out what was going on with Bobby. She touched the worn leather journal and let her fingers follow the grooves, imagining a much younger Bobby secreted away, writing her innermost thoughts. What had Bobby seen to scar her so much that she felt the need to hide food in her backyard and pen repetitive apologies to a woman named Alina?

Nick was the only option if she wanted to finally get answers, but she was afraid to connect any further with the man who made her question her loyalties to Henry.

“How can that be a good excuse when you said yes to going out with him?” she said to herself. “Anyway, helping Bobby is what’s most important.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, she snatched up the phone and punched in the number he’d left with her.

He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

His smooth, deep voice sent shivers down Cassie’s spine, and, once again, her thoughts scattered like dandelion fluff in the wind.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Cassie? Is that you?”

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “Uh, yes. I have a favor to ask you.” Nice. Skip all the pleasantries and just ask him to do something for you. Real classy.

“Whatever you need,” he replied instantly.

His eagerness made her stomach somersault. “I have something written in Ukrainian, and I’d be grateful if you could translate it for me. Again. But this is a lot more than a note. It’s a whole journal. And some more notes. If you could. Please.” She bit her lip. Why was this so hard? And why did she suddenly have trouble speaking in complete sentences?

“Sure. I can swing by and take a look now if you’d like.” He laughed. “I’m just relieved you’re not canceling our date for this weekend.”

“No, of course not.” A date. I still can’t believe I have a date. Cassie glanced at the clock. “That would be great. Birdie and Bobby should both be napping for a while yet, so we could be alone.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. What kind of message was she trying to send him? Help, I’m widowed and lonely and need an afternoon visit from my single neighbor?

She could practically hear his grin through the phone, but to her eternal relief, he didn’t comment on her newfound brazenness. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Great. Meet me on the back patio. Don’t ring the doorbell.” Cassie set the phone down and ran to get her laptop. She paused in front of the mirror and smoothed her hair, then scowled at her reflection. “You’re being ridiculous on so many levels.”

She stacked the box on her laptop and stepped out onto the patio right as he came in the gate.

“Thanks for coming over at such short notice.” She set everything on the patio table and sat down.

“What’s all this?” Nick pulled a chair up next to her, so close she could smell the shampoo on his damp hair.

Her heart fluttered, and she took a deep breath. “It’s Bobby’s. A journal, letters, pictures. She never talks about her life before she came to America, but lately she’s been sleepwalking and having these odd flashbacks. She’s talking about getting ready to die and how she wants me to know everything, but she can’t bear to tell me herself.”

Nick frowned. “That’s pretty heavy. She’s okay with me going through all of this?”

Cassie nodded. “She suggested it.”

“This is all in Ukrainian?” Nick thumbed through some loose notebook pages, pausing to read a few lines here and there.

“Yes, and I’d like to transcribe it as you translate so I have a record I can read.”

His arm brushed against hers as he scooted his chair closer, and goosebumps popped up all over her body. She unwrapped the embroidered cloth, revealing the brown leather journal. Inside the scuffed cover was her grandmother’s life—a story Cassie had been waiting her whole life to discover. What had she seen? What had she survived? She opened the journal and more loose papers that had been tucked inside spilled out. Writing filled every available inch of blank space on all of them, front and back.