by Kate Hewitt
Nathan—it still felt funny, even in my own mind, to call him that—had told me his address, on Eighty-Third Street off Third Avenue. When I got off the bus, I felt disorientated for a second, unsure which way was which. The bus rattled off in a huff of fumes, and I turned around in a circle, clutching my daisies.
I started walking down the street, only to turn around when I realized I was going the wrong way. Finally, feeling a bit frazzled, I came to his building, set back from the street with a square of meticulously clipped lawn in front of it and several little white picket signs reading Please Keep Off the Grass.
A doorman wearing what looked like a Prussian military uniform opened the door for me as I stepped inside the foyer, breathing in the scents of leather and furniture polish, blinking in the slight gloom.
“Name?” the doorman asked a bit abruptly, and I blurted, “Maria Dzino.” He frowned. “I don’t think we have anyone by that name here…”
“Oh, I thought you meant my name.” I blushed, my bouquet of flowers pressed to my chest so I could feel their damp ends, even through my coat. “I’m here to see Nathan West.”
“Right.” He called up on the intercom phone, and I waited tensely, afraid even now that it might all be some sort of mistake. That Nathan West hadn’t really meant to invite me to his apartment, for a meal. Then the doorman turned and smiled at me. “Go right up—the elevator on the left, fourth floor. The Wests’ apartment is on the right side.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator was as elegant as the rest of the building, with a framed watercolor on the wall and a little leather bench. When the doors opened, I stepped out and saw that there were just two apartments on the floor—and Nathan was already standing in the doorway of the one on the right, Ruby poking her head out behind him.
“Maria.” He looked tired, but he smiled. “I’m so glad you could come.”
I thrust the flowers at him, a bit suddenly, because I couldn’t think of what to do. “For you—”
“How kind of you. Thank you.” He took the bouquet as he ushered me into the foyer. Although it was quite a large space, it was cluttered—with heaps of shoes and school bags, the one chair piled with coats, the side table covered with unopened mail. There was a burned smell in the air.
“Daddy burned dinner,” Ruby announced. “He doesn’t cook.”
I smiled down at her, taking in all the endearing features I remembered—the curly reddish hair, the freckles scattered across her nose, the gap between her two baby front teeth. “I’m sure it will taste nice all the same.”
“Unfortunately, I doubt it will,” Nathan said as he ushered me into the kitchen, a huge room of marble and oak, gleaming granite and stainless steel. “But I did buy some more, although it’s all ready-made. Ruby’s right; I don’t cook. Not yet, anyway.” He smiled, but I saw how weary he looked, with deep creases by his eyes and running from his nose to mouth, a haggard set to his features, the unthinking slump of his shoulders. It had been a little less than a month since his wife had died, and I could see every one of those days etched on his face.
Ruby came to stand in front of me, her hands on her hips as she gave me a thorough inspection. I smiled at her, my eyebrows raised, trying to hide my nervousness.
“What have you been doing today, Ruby?” I asked.
“Watching TV. All day.”
Nathan ducked his head. “I haven’t had the usual limits on screen time recently…” he half-mumbled, his gaze on the containers in front of him.
“That is understandable.”
“And Granny and Grandad left this morning,” Ruby continued. “They were cross.” This was said with something like relish, which I didn’t understand.
“Ruby…” Nathan shook his head, a slight flush on his cheeks. “Don’t…”
“You must miss them,” I said quickly, to cover any awkwardness. “Will they come back and visit soon?”
Ruby shrugged. “Granny made me eat broccoli. I hate broccoli.”
“But it’s so good for you. It helps you to grow big and strong.”
Her lower lip jutted out. “I don’t care.”
“It’s hard to eat things when you don’t like them,” I commiserated, changing tack. I felt out of my depth already. What did I know of children? “But I’m sure your granny only wanted what was best for you,” I added, feeling the need to stick up for vegetables, as well as her missing grandmother. Clearly there was a complicated dynamic there.
Ruby harrumphed and Nathan gave me a grateful smile. “Rubes, why don’t you get Ella and Alexa? Tell them Maria is here.”
“El-la! Al-exa!” Ruby bellowed, making me jump.
Nathan nudged her between her shoulder blades. “Go find them, Ruby.”
With another harrumph, she trotted out of the kitchen, in search of her sisters. I glanced around, noting the personal little touches all around that had to have been Laura’s: a wilted begonia on the windowsill, some photo magnets on the fridge—I recognized one, from the news. It was the same snap of Laura on the beach, but in this one I could see Alexa and Ella’s faces. I saw a mug by the sink with World’s Best Mom written on it in curly script, an inspirational quote taped to a cupboard, in what I suspected was Laura’s loopy handwriting: Start by doing what’s necessary; then doing what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.
“Would you like something to drink?” Nathan asked, startling me. I realized how nosy I must have seemed, craning my head around to look at everything. “A glass of wine?”
“Oh…” I hesitated, because this still felt so very strange. Were we friends? Acquaintances? Strangers? “Yes, thank you, that would be very nice.”
“Your English is very good,” Nathan remarked as he poured me a glass of red and handed it to me. I perched on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. “Did you learn it while you lived in Bosnia, or after you came here?”
“I learned some when I was young. Most schoolchildren do. But mostly here.” I took a cautious sip of the wine, enjoying the rich, velvety flavour. I drank alcohol sparingly, and I knew this one glass would go right to my head.
“Well, it’s very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
A silence stretched between us, and I wondered where the girls were. I felt as if I had nothing to say to Nathan, and yet there was so much I wanted to, if only I could find the words, as well as the courage. But twenty years of silence, of suppression, had taken their toll. I couldn’t even begin to try, and so I said nothing.
“You must be wondering about my in-laws,” Nathan said after a moment. “The cross grandparents Ruby mentioned. We had an argument and they left in a huff. Not ideal.”
“Emotions are strong in times like these,” I offered cautiously.
“Yes, I suppose, although the truth is we’ve never got along.” He let out a sigh, raking his fingers through his hair, which sprang up messily as he dropped his hand. “They’ve always resented me.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to such a statement, and so I just nodded and took a sip of my wine.
Nathan turned back to the containers whose foil lids he was easing off.
“Sorry. TMI.”
“TMI?” I was not familiar with the phrase.
“Too much information.” He smiled wryly. “I just didn’t want you to wonder.”
“It’s okay.” I smiled uncertainly back, wondering if he had people to talk to, friends to help. Surely a family like the Wests had a whole community around them, people to bring food, offer to babysit, listen when any of them needed to talk. All the things I didn’t have any longer, but I assumed everyone else did.
“Ella. Alexa.” Nathan’s voice took on an overly bright lilt as his two older daughters appeared in the doorway, Ruby pushing her way between them. Alexa was tall and leggy, her auburn hair loose about her shoulders and hanging forward to hide her face. Ella looked like a mini-Laura, with her near-golden hair, her round face and hazel eyes. She wore a dazed, distant e
xpression, not meeting anyone’s gaze, almost as if she were inhabiting some other emotional space.
I rose from the stool I’d been sitting on and smiled at them both. “My name is Maria. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Their gazes slid towards me without meeting my eyes and they both nodded their hellos, neither of them saying a word. I felt their grief like a palpable thing in the room, dark and heavy. It made me want to do something to relieve it, but how could I? I knew the weight of it. No one could take it away.
“I’m just going to blast everything in the oven for a sec,” Nathan said, “to warm it all up. Alexa, can you get the plates? Ella, silverware?”
The girls moved silently into the room and did as they were told without looking at anyone or saying anything. They reminded me of ghosts, of myself, drifting here and there, halfway to being invisible. Yet right now, to my own surprise and wariness, I did not feel invisible. I felt very much alive.
“Let me help,” I said, and I reached out to take a stack of plates from Alexa. For a second, as she handed them to me, she looked right into my eyes—her own were dark pools of pain before her expression smoothed over, turning blank.
I followed Ruby into the dining room, surprised at the difference between it and the kitchen. The walls were papered in cabbage rose wallpaper that was hanging off in peeling strips in some places, and the whole room had a musty, forgotten feel to it, cluttered with dark furniture, dusty velvet drapes in a dark green hiding the windows.
“We haven’t got around to decorating this room yet,” Nathan answered my silent question. “The apartment was a real mess when we bought it. We’re doing it up slowly.”
“If by slowly you mean not at all,” Alexa interjected. “You did the kitchen and then stopped.” There was a thread of anger running through her words, turning them into an accusation.
“Yes, well.” Nathan tried for a chuckle, but it sounded more like a rasp. His eyes were pained, his smile forced. “We’ll get there.”
I laid the plates on the dining room table, Ella following me with the forks and knives, her head bent low so I couldn’t see her expression, but I felt her sadness.
Oh, these children. They were burrowing into my deadened heart, slipping under its newly cracked shell, without even trying, and it scared me. Then I reminded myself that it could hardly matter, since, after tonight, I would most likely never see them again. That thought did not bring the relief it should have.
“I think we’re ready,” Nathan announced, as he brought in a tray with various containers of food—pasta and meat in sauce, vegetables with butter and cream, several salads. It was far too much, and his tone was too jolly, as if to make up for the girls’ silences, for the sorrow they all clearly felt, enshrouding them in a grey mist.
We sat down and Nathan started serving, the only sound the clink of the spoon against the plates as he dolloped portions around. The girls didn’t speak, not even Ruby, and as Nathan took his place the silence continued on, like a heavy, suffocating mantle draped over all of us, binding us together even as it kept us apart.
“Alexa, Ella.” Nathan spoke again in a slightly manic way, too determinedly upbeat, his voice too loud. “Maria knew Mom from her volunteering at the refugee center.”
Alexa glanced up, her dark gaze skewering me for a second before she looked away. Ella’s glance was a bit more friendly.
“Were you friends with her?” she asked shyly.
“Yes,” I said, feeling a bit like an impostor. Would she have called me a friend? And if she wouldn’t have, what was I doing here? “She was very nice. Very kind.” Ella’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded, looking down at her plate. “She talked about you so often,” I added. “She showed me photos. She was so proud of you all. I almost felt as if I knew you, just from the things she said.”
“What kinds of things?” Ella looked up again, her expression one of desperate hunger for knowledge.
I hesitated, trying to remember the details, wishing I hadn’t made it sound as if it had been more than it was. “Oh, lots of things. How you like swimming, Ella. You’re on a team, aren’t you? To race?”
“Not yet. Not till January.” But Ella was smiling, shyly, and I felt as if I’d given her a gift.
“What about me?” Alexa asked, an aggressive, challenging note in her voice. “Did she say anything about me?”
Panic constricted my throat as I racked my memory for some elusive fact about Alexa that she wanted to hear. All I could think of was Laura rolling her eyes, telling me how Alexa wanted the latest iPhone, and how she wasn’t going to get it. How difficult she could be, but how Laura was determined to wait it out.
“I’m sure she did,” I said after a moment, when the silence had stretched on too long. “You like math…”
Alexa let out a huff of derisive laughter. “No, I don’t.”
No, she didn’t, I recalled now. She struggled with it, and Laura was thinking about getting her a tutor. I cursed myself for the slip, wanting to try again, but Alexa had already dismissed me with a snort and a shrug of her shoulders, as if she’d just proved I was a liar. Perhaps I was.
I caught Nathan’s eye and he gave me a sympathetic smile. Teenagers, his smile seemed to say, just as Laura once had.
“What about me?” Ruby demanded. “What did she say about me?”
My hands grew slippery on my fork and knife as I tried to think. What had started out so wonderfully now felt like something disastrous. Why on earth had I tried to impress them all?
“That’s enough badgering Maria,” Nathan ordered. “She’s come here to be with us, not be asked tons of questions.”
“I don’t mind…” I began feebly, but Nathan was already giving his daughters a stern look in turns.
Everyone descended into a morose silence that felt worse than the questions they’d been asking me. As we continued to eat, I wondered if it would last the whole meal, and I realized I couldn’t bear it if it did. I’d had too much silence, too much sadness, in my life already, and these girls were so young, so innocent. I wanted to make them smile; I wanted to help them somehow.
So I did something I hadn’t done in years, decades. I turned to Ruby and asked, “Ruby, do you know the story of the boy who talked nonsense?”
Ruby looked at me with a mixture of interest and suspicion. “No…”
“It is a fairy tale from where I come from.” One my father had told me, and I had told to others, acting out the parts, relishing the attention, encouraged by his gentle laughter, my mother’s soft smile. Oh, Maria, koka…
“Where do you come from?” Ella asked, her voice so soft I strained to hear it.
“From a city called Sarajevo, in Bosnia. It’s in Europe, across the sea from Italy, near Romania.”
The girls all looked at me blankly, and determinedly, not knowing if I was being foolish, reckless, or worse.
I continued, “I thought of this story because it has three sons—just as you are three daughters. And the youngest son, Stefan, talked to animals as if they were people.” I paused to gauge their interest, waiting to see if I should go on. No one said anything, but I could tell they were all listening, even Alexa, despite the curtain of hair that hid her face. There was a tense alertness to her that emboldened me.
“Why did he talk to animals?” Ruby asked finally.
“Because he loved them, and he was such a friendly, funny boy. But his poor old father didn’t know what to do with Stefan. Such a silly boy, for who talks to animals as if they are people? And yet the animals loved him. When he came near, the horses whinnied and the pigs squealed and the cows rubbed their soft noses against his shoulder.”
“What about his brothers?” Ella asked in her soft voice. “What did they do? Were they special?”
“Ah, were they special!” Quickly I expanded the story for both her and Alexa’s sakes. “Mihailo, the oldest boy, was so clever and smart. The father decided he would be a priest. And Jakov, the second boy, well, if he want
ed a particular item you had, he would offer you something for it, and whatever you took from him would be worth less than what you had. He was…” I struggled to think of the word. “Vjest. Crafty. His father decided he would be a peddler.”
“What’s a peddler?” Ruby asked.
“Someone who sells things,” Alexa said, and then gave me a quick, darting look, as if seeking confirmation.
I nodded exuberantly, expanding to inhabit this role of childhood—the storyteller, the entertainer, the clown. It was like an old outfit I put on, only to find to my surprise that it fit me again, just as it always had, comfortable and worn in all the right places as I twirled about, stroking the fabric, savouring the fit. “Yes, you have it exactly. Someone who sells things. And what a profit he turned! He made money like a baker makes bread. His father was very proud of both of his sons.”
“Not Stefan?” Ruby sounded put out, and I turned to her with a smile, daring to gently chuck her under the chin; her skin was petal-soft.
“Ah, Stefan! Stefan worked as hard as two men, and his laugh was the jolliest sound in the whole village. Ha! Ha! Ha! But this nonsense he talked, to animals and everyone! No one understood it. What was the father to do about that?”
I could tell I had all their attention now, and so I continued the folk tale from my childhood, embroidering details, taking my time, finding and keeping the flow as naturally as I had as a child, with the same exuberance and energy, neither of which I’d felt in decades, but which filled me like air in a sail, expanding and expanding inside me, making me feel as if I could float.
I told them about silly Stefan and his joyful nonsense, and then the grumpy old tsar whose daughter had had too much of books and learning, and only wanted to laugh and enjoy life, as she should.
I pretended to be the tsar in his fusty outrage, blowing out my cheeks as I exclaimed, “Wow! Wow! Wow!” every time his daughter, the princess, made some complaint or misbehaved, because she was tired of being shut up with her books. When Alexa smiled faintly the second time I did it, my heart sang. The third time, Ruby laughed. I glanced at Nathan, and saw he was smiling too, watching his daughters’ reactions.