“Do you think about your mom a lot?” Aleksandr asked, interrupting the fake memory I’d conjured of his family. A memory that highlighted how American I was, even in fictional day dreams, since I doubted that Russians sat in Moscow’s city center eating hot dogs and potato chips.

“Probably more than I should,” I admitted, which was true. I was a pro at constructing grandiose memories about other people’s families because of how often I did it for myself. I’d imagined myself and my awesome mom on countless fictitious adventures over the years.

“What do you mean?” he asked, turning to face me, his head cocked to the side. Strands of hair had fallen out of his ponytail during the game and were now hanging over his eyes. It didn’t mute the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s been fourteen years and I still think about her all the time. I should get over it, but I can’t. I can’t let it go. I can’t stop thinking about how she left me.”

“She didn’t leave you, Audushka. She was taken from you.”

“I was with her in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Kids aren’t allowed, but I wouldn’t leave her, and I made her tell me she wouldn’t leave me. She promised me she wouldn’t leave me.” As I rambled on, tears I never expected to show him—or anyone—gushed over my cheeks. “I know she didn’t leave on purpose, but tell that to a six-year-old. All I’ve ever known, all I can remember, is being left.”

So much for comfortable silence.

Aleksandr jumped up, pulling me off my swing and into his arms. His breath was warm as he whispered “Shh” into my hair. A normal girl would snuggle into his strong, warm arms and let him hold her, but I wasn’t a normal girl. I was completely messed up. So messed up that I spilled my life story to a guy I liked but wouldn’t allow myself to get close to.

“And now I don’t remember her at all, Sasha. I don’t remember her voice or her smell, not even what she looked like. I don’t remember one single moment with her. It’s like my brain has blocked out my entire life with her.” My shoulders shook as the horrible thoughts that plagued me throughout my childhood spewed with no filter.

“It’s okay,” Aleksandr whispered as he rubbed large circles across my back with the palm of his hand.

“Have you ever seen that eighties movie Pretty in Pink?” I asked and lifted my eyes to his. He shook his head. “There’s one character who talks about a friend of hers who didn’t go to prom. She felt like something is missing. She checks her keys, counts her kids, then decides nothing is missing and blames it on the fact she didn’t go to prom.” I paused, imagining how stupid this comparison sounded to Aleksandr. “Some days I wake up and think something’s missing. I check my keys. I check my wallet. Nothing is missing. Except my mom. She will always be missing. And no one understands.”

“What about your grandparents?”

“Yeah, right. All I’ve been is a horrible burden to them. They should have been able to enjoy their retirement, but they couldn’t because they had to raise me.”

“Your grandparents knew what they were doing when they took you in.” He squeezed me tighter.

“But should a child have to feel like a burden?” I asked. “To live life believing that nothing is permanent? Believing everyone I love will leave me someday? Is that what my life is supposed to be like?”

I was relieved that my face was buried in his chest, so he couldn’t look at me.

“No, Audushka.” Aleksandr stroked my hair. “No one should ever have to live through what you have. You aren’t alone anymore. I know what you’re going through, what you’re feeling. Talk to me. Lean on me.”

“Oh geez! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking selfish.” I elbowed out of his arms and covered my face with my hands. Aleksandr pulled me back immediately, enveloping me in his safe, strong arms as I shook.

“You’re angry and lonely. It’s okay to show your feelings. It’s okay to be scared and upset. We’ll get through it,” he assured me, rubbing my back.

I willed myself to stay in the safety of his arms, but my confessional outburst and psycho water-works display embarrassed me so much that my body stiffened, and I wriggled myself out again. I stumbled away, covering my face with my hands and wiping away tears and snot. I had only gotten a few feet when I heard his footsteps running to catch up.

“I’ll take you home.” He put a warm, strong arm around my shoulders, giving me a slight squeeze.

I wanted to hug him back, but the tension refused to release its paralysis of my body.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, watching the leaves shrivel under my feet with every step I took.

Our ride was silent, with the exception of the directions I provided between snot sniffs and hiccups. When Aleksandr pulled into the driveway, he shifted the Jeep into park and killed the engine.

“I’m here if you want to talk. You can always call me.” Aleksandr rested his hand on my leg.

My body went rigid, and I grabbed the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

Just as I was about to escape from an emotionally intimate situation I wasn’t ready for, Aleksandr grabbed my forearm. My head snapped toward his and I met his eyes, but I held my tongue. He moved his hand to my face and stroked my temple with his thumb.

“Whenever I start the car, I see my parents’ accident,” he whispered. “I see it happening to me. Every time I turn the key something bad could happen, but I still drive.” Aleksandr removed his hand from my face and twisted the key in the ignition, revving the Jeep to life. “I can’t change the past. Can’t escape the fear. But I can’t let that fear paralyze me. Sometimes you have to take a chance.”

Chapter 7

After Aleksandr had dropped me off, I thought about the conversation we’d had. He’d seemed surprised that I didn’t know much about my mother’s murder or the investigation that followed. I’d been six years old at the time. How was I supposed to remember what had happened? My family never shared information with me even now, let alone at that age.

My grandparents raised me to accept what I was told and not ask questions. They viewed questions as outright defiance, rather than curiosity. As I got older and well read, accepting their unyielding perspectives proved difficult, resulting in constant head butting during my high school years.

My conversation with Aleksandr sparked a curiosity that I’d never felt before. If I wanted information, I needed to look in the only place where I might find some. Lucky for me, both of my grandparents were gone when I got home. Unaware of how much time I had until they returned, I had to be quick.

Taking two steps at a time, I bounded up the shag-carpeted steps to my grandparents’ attic bedroom. I almost fell as I slid across the slippery wood floors at the top of the staircase. I crossed the room, jumped onto the bed, and rolled to the floor on the opposite side. Very stealthy.

Behind the TV stand, a gray fire-safe cabinet sat up against the far wall of the room, directly under a window. My grandparents kept their important paperwork and valuable jewelry in the cabinet. I knelt in front of it and reached around the back of it, searching for the key. I swiped my hand across the back until I felt the small, magnetic box stuck to it. “Bingo.” I plucked the case off and slid the top open, scooping out a small key hidden inside.

The cabinet stored numerous treasures, tiny boxes and soft, black zippered cases. I knew the bronze satin box held Gram’s engagement ring, since she’d let me see it before. I tried it on, but it wouldn’t fit on any finger except my pinky. Another ring-sized box, this one made of white cardboard, held six silver charms from Western states. I recognized the charms because Gram had shown these to me as well. My mom had bought them for me on a trip we’d taken.

I’d been a year old at the time, so I didn’t remember the trip, but I’d seen pictures of myself in my mom’s arms at a Grand Canyon overlook and standing at the Four Corners, where Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah meet. I peeked into a few more boxes containing random pieces of jewelry belonging to my grandmother, before pushing them aside.