“He was in a war,” Tatiana said by way of explanation, relieved to be past him. “He ignores me when I’m alone.”

“Why do I doubt that?” said Alexander.

Flushing, Tatiana said, “He really does. He is bored with us because we ignore him.”

Leaning into her, Alexander said, “Isn’t communal living grand?”

That surprised her. “What else is there?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “This is what it’s going to take to reconstruct our selfish, bourgeois souls.”

“That’s what Comrade Stalin says!” Tatiana exclaimed.

“I know,” said Alexander, keeping a serious face. “I’m quoting him.”

Trying not to laugh, Tatiana led him to her front door. Before opening it, she glanced back at Alexander and Dimitri and said with an excited sigh, “All right. Home.” Opening the door, she said, smiling, “Come in, Alexander.”

“Can I come in, too?” Dimitri asked.

“Come in, Dimitri.”

Tatiana’s family were in Babushka and Deda’s room around the big dining table. Tatiana stuck her head in from the hallway. “I’m home!”

No one even looked up. Mama said blankly, “Where’ve you been?” She could have been saying, more bread?

“Mama, Papa! Look at the food I’ve bought.”

Papa looked up briefly from his glass of vodka. “Good, daughter,” he said. She could have returned empty-handed. With a small sigh, she glanced at Alexander standing in the hallway. What was that on his face? Sympathy? No, not quite. Warmer. She whispered to him, “Put the crates down and come in with me.”

“Mama, Papa, Babushka, Deda,” said Tatiana, walking into the room and trying to keep the thrill out of her voice for the imminent introduction, “I want you to meet Alexander—”

“And Dimitri,” said Dimitri quickly, as if Tatiana had forgotten him.

“And Dimitri,” Tatiana finished.

Everyone shook hands and stared incredulously at Alexander and then at Tatiana. Mama and Papa remained seated at the table with a bottle of vodka between them and two shot glasses. Deda and Babushka went to sit on the couch to give the soldiers more room at the table. Tatiana thought her parents looked sad. Were they drinking to Pasha and chasing him down with pickles?

Papa stood up. “You did very well, Tania. I’m proud of you.” He motioned to Alexander and Dimitri. “Come. Have some vodka.”

Alexander politely shook his head. “No, thank you. I have duty later.”

“Shake your head for yourself,” said Dimitri, stepping forward.

Papa poured, frowning at Alexander. What kind of man refused a drink of vodka? Alexander may have had his reasons for refusing her father’s hospitality, but Tatiana knew that because of that, her father was going to like Di-mitri better. Such a small act, yet the feelings that would follow would be so permanent. And yet because he refused, Tatiana liked Alexander better.

“Tania, I don’t suppose you bought any milk?” Mama asked her.

“Papa told me dry goods only.”

“Where are you from?” Tatiana’s father asked Alexander.

“Krasnodar region,” he said.

Papa shook his head. “I lived in Krasnodar in my youth. You don’t sound like you’re from there.”

“Well, I am,” said Alexander mildly.

To change the subject, Tatiana asked, “Alexander, would you prefer some tea instead? I can make you some tea.”

He moved closer to her, and she had to summon her breath. “No, thank you,” he said warmly. “I can’t stay long, Tania. I’ve got to get back.”

Tatiana took off her sandals. “Excuse me,” she said. “My feet are…” She smiled. She had tried hard to pretend they did not bother her, but the blisters on her big toe and little toe were bleeding.

Alexander glanced at her feet, shaking his head. Then he looked into her face. That expression seeped into his almond eyes again. “Barefoot is better,” he said very quietly.

Dasha came into the room. She stopped and stared at the two soldiers.

She looked healthy, radiant with the day, and Tatiana suddenly thought her sister looked too healthy and too radiant, but before she could utter a sound, Dasha exclaimed, her voice thick with pleasure, “Alexander! What are you doing here?” Dasha didn’t even glance at Tatiana, who, perplexed, looked at Alexander and said, “You know Dasha… ?” but then broke off in the middle of the question, seeing realization and conscience and unhappiness strike his mute, comprehending face.

Tatiana looked at Dasha, then back to Alexander. She felt herself paling from the inside out. Oh, no, she wanted to say. Oh, no, how can this be?

Alexander’s face became impassive. He smiled easily at Dasha and said, not looking at Tatiana, “Yes. Dasha and I have met.”

“You can say that again!” Dasha said with a laugh and a pinch of his arm. “Alexander, what are you doing here?”

Tatiana glanced around the room to see if anyone else had noticed what she had noticed. Dimitri was eating a pickle. Deda was reading the newspaper, his glasses on. Papa was having another drink. Mama was opening up some cookies, and Babushka had her eyes closed. No one else saw.

Mama said, “The soldiers just came back with Tatiana. Brought food.”

“Really?” Dasha said, her face turning up to Alexander, full of mild curiosity. “How do you know my sister?”

“I don’t,” said Alexander. “I ran into her on the bus.”

“You ran into my little sister?” said Dasha. “Incredible! It’s like destiny!” She tweaked him lightly on the arm again.

“Let’s go sit down,” said Alexander. “I think I will have that drink after all.” He moved to the table in the middle of the room by the wall, while Dasha and Tatiana remained by the door. Dasha leaned over and whispered, “He is the one I told you about!” Dasha must have thought she was whispering.

“One what?”

“This morning,” hissed Dasha.

“This morning?”

“Why are you being so dumb? He’s the one!”

Tatiana got it. She hadn’t been dumb. There was no morning. There was only waiting for the bus and meeting Alexander. “Oh,” she said, refusing to allow herself to feel anything. She was too stunned.

Dasha went to sit in the chair next to him. Glancing sadly at Alexander’s uniformed back, Tatiana went to put the food away.

“Tanechka,” Mama called after her, “put it away in the right place, not like usual.”

Tatiana heard Alexander say, “Don’t bother with shots. Pour mine straight into a glass.”

“Good man,” said Papa, pouring him a glass. “A toast. To new friends.”

“To new friends,” everyone chimed in.

Dimitri said, “Tania, come and have a toast with us,” and Tatiana came in, but Papa said, no, Tania was too young to drink, and Dimitri apologized, and Dasha said she would drink for herself and her sister, and Papa said like she didn’t already, and everyone laughed except Babushka, who was trying to nap, and Tatiana, who wanted the day to be instantly over.

From the hallway, as she picked up the crates and carried them one after the other into the kitchen, she heard tidbits of conversation.

“Work on the fortifications must be speeded up.”

“Troops must be moved to the frontiers.”

“Airports must be put in working order. Guns must be installed in forward positions. All of this must go ahead at fever pace.”

A little later she heard Papa say, “Oh, our Tania works at Kirov. She’s just graduated from school—a year early! She plans to go to Leningrad University next year when she turns eighteen. You’d never know it by looking at her—but she graduated a year early. Did I already say that?”

Tatiana smiled at her father.

“I don’t know why she wanted to work at Kirov,” said Mama. “It’s so far, it’s practically outside Leningrad. She can’t take care of herself,” she added.

“Why should she, when you’ve been doing everything for her all her life,” Papa snapped.

“Tania!” yelled Mama. “Wash our dishes from dinner while you’re out there, won’t you?”