The Pieces Of Us (The Firebird Trilogy Book 3)

by Jennifer Loring

  How many people asked you the same thing about Stephanie? Every time.

  Alex propped his chin on his hand and gazed across the table at her while they waited for Hannah. If anything about her drove him nuts, it was her lack of punctuality. Stephanie had never been late for anything.

  Keep comparing her to your dead wife. That’ll end well.

  “What is it, baby?”

  She fiddled with the napkin ring, freed the linen cloth, and draped it over her lap. The bread had already arrived. She plucked a thick, crusty slice of country loaf from the basket and slathered it with a pat of butter the sight of which blocked Alex’s arteries. “I can’t tell you. You’ll get angry.”

  He bit his tongue. He’d tricked her into dinner; he supposed he’d earned a bit of payback. “I won’t. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “Well, I am. Come on. Talk to your papa.”

  Her chest heaved. Her eyes welled. She chomped the bread, leaving a smattering of crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “He’s gone.”

  Alex folded his hands on the starched white tablecloth. “Lucas?” The father in him rejoiced, but he was also well-versed in this agony. Wondering if you’d see them again, convincing yourself it must be more than ephemeral, accidental. Weeks stretching into months, then years. Hope fading like a candle burned to the last of its wick.

  And then…

  “I told you I was picking up my prescription, but I went to his apartment. And…some woman answered the door. She didn’t know who he was. He said a few months ago he was looking for a university job, but I assumed he was staying in Buffalo…” Anya slumped forward, head in hands, as tears spattered her bread plate. “I have no idea where he is. If he tried calling or texting me, or even emailing…”

  I’m the one who prevented them from saying goodbye. No point in keeping her phone blocked now. Alex took a measured sip of ice water. “Honey, I’m sorry—”

  “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.” Hannah frowned. “Everything okay?”

  Anya was still sniffling as she blotted her eyes with the napkin. “Hi,” she murmured.

  Alex stood up and kissed Hannah’s cheeks, then pulled out her chair at the other end of the table. “Da. Or will be, I hope.”

  “Are you sure this is a good time? We can raincheck this, you know.” She hadn’t committed yet to sitting and stood behind the chair, fingers drumming the back.

  Alex touched Anya’s wrist. “Up to you, milaya.”

  She looked up at him through glimmering lashes, eyebrows raised as if she couldn’t believe he’d put the choice in her hands. “We can stay.”

  He leaned over, said, “Thank you,” and squeezed her hand. “Mussels for the table to start? What’s everyone having to drink?”

  “A glass of Three Old Vines for me.” Hannah hung her purse from one side of the chair and scooted it closer to the table.

  “Iced tea,” Anya all but whispered.

  He placed the order. Anya chugged her water; Hannah stared out at the street.

  “Okay, you both know why we’re doing this. Let’s get on with it so we can enjoy dinner, shall we? Anya, I believe you have something to say.”

  She twisted the napkin back and forth. “I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. He cares about you, and you care about him, and…he needs someone like you.”

  Alex smiled and met her eyes, hoping she read in them his intended message: You’ll always be the most important woman in my life.

  “Thank you, Anya. I really want us to get along. It’s important to your father, but it’s important to me too. I’m divorced, so my kids know all about awkward family gatherings. I don’t want that between you and me.”

  Anya, her nose red, traced a path through the condensation on her glass. “When he found out Mom was sick, he stopped singing—except at night, when she asked him to sing her to sleep. You made him sing again.”

  Alex blinked. He stared at his plate, hoping neither she nor Hannah noticed the welling of tears.

  Sing that song, baby. The one you wrote for me just after we had Anya. Remember?

  How could I forget?

  Her skin an inferno on his lips. Her body firewood crumbling into ash before his eyes.

  You’ll sing for someone again someday. You’re made of music.

  I won’t. I sing because I love you. Only you.

  His breath, trapped in his lungs, wheezed out. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, pushing his lips against his teeth. The rings clacked together beneath his shirt. Together forever.

  “Alex?”

  Anya, wide-eyed, grasped at his other hand. “I used to listen at the door. It made her so happy. It makes everyone happy.” She burrowed her face into his shoulder as if to absorb their joint sorrow into herself, to relieve him of his burden once and for all. “I love you.”

  He bent to kiss her hair. “I love you too.”

  Hannah rooted through her purse until she produced a tissue. “Well”—she took a large swig of wine—“next time I have dinner with you two, I’ll wear the waterproof mascara.”

  Alex reached for her hand beneath the table, to assure her none of this reflected poorly on the future of their relationship. According to Stephanie’s journals, André Breton once wrote, “Tell me whom you haunt and I’ll tell you who you are.” The more accurate assessment of character, Alex thought, was in who haunted you. But that brittle ghost had grown tired of carrying him, and her presence lessened little by little now that he was cared for again.

  Cared for and, dare he say, happy. His wife, his devochka, his beautiful Stefania, had not been sadness. She had been sunshine and ocean, wildflowers and spring rain. Freedom and promise. An end and a beginning. The key that unlocked his secret heart and granted the creature inside permission to love not only her but also himself.

  And in doing so, when she could not stay, to love someone else.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anya

  As soon as the school declared her salutatorian of her class, Anya had begun working on her speech. She’d brainstormed a few topics with Dad but kept returning to the one with the most applicability to her own life: don’t let others define you. Appropriate for any eighteen-year-old about to embark on the journey into adulthood; of particular application to someone living in the shadow of her famous father. Not that it would resonate for more than a few hours, days if she was lucky, until everyone went back to doing what people did best—forcing one other into their predetermined, inflexible boxes. She would play hockey because, as much as she loved the sport, her father’s heart was set on it. She would break glass ceilings for women and crack someone’s starting lineup, even if it meant being a fourth-liner while she proved herself the way no man had to. Some people liked having their lives all planned out for them. Some people needed structure imposed on them. And maybe she would’ve too, if Lucas hadn’t flipped her whole script.

  Not a peep from him in two months. New job, a new girl. One who didn’t cost him so much. One he could be with.

  So she gave her speech on a hot stage, in an itchy polyester cap and gown. Dad and Hannah, now his—her brain choked on the word—“girlfriend,” sat in the front row. Dad’s gratified, gleaming smile lit up the edge of her vision, but she fixed her attention on the back wall. She’d memorized the speech, and everyone would think she was making the appropriate amount of eye contact with her audience while she focused on no one at all.

  Done. Cue the polite applause. They just wanted to hear the valedictorian’s speech anyway.

  Dad had promised not to embarrass her, but being at the end of the alphabet increased his excitement. As the lone Volynsky child, she represented each parenting landmark for him. More pressure. At the calling of her name and her walk across the stage to receive her diploma, Dad leapt up from his seat. She cringed at the force of his clapping, at his whistles and cheers. No one was going to tell him to wait until the end of the ceremony.

  She shook hands wi
th Principal Knost, whose counterfeit smile did nothing to conceal her distaste. Thank God, it was almost over. A couple more students, then the graduates finally dispersed to their family units for photo opps.

  “Congratulations, milaya. I’m so proud of you.” Dad crushed her to him. He did give the best hugs, and Hannah kept a respectful distance so as not to intrude on their moment. Aside from their compulsory dinner a couple months ago, Dad was allowing her and Hannah’s relationship to develop at its own pace. She’d accepted a few invitations to do things with them before she realized it was Dad’s scheme all along—let her feel as though she had some control, and thus encourage more receptiveness to Hannah’s existence in their lives.

  They were halfway to the restaurant where Dad had reserved a table for her celebratory dinner when her phone beeped. Probably Hailey checking in regarding the party at her house later on, about which Anya remained undecided. She’d regret not going, and Dad and Hannah would appreciate the alone time, but part of her wanted to spend time with him while she had the chance. You never knew when someone wouldn’t be there anymore.

  Lucas: Congrats.

  Her heart skidded to a stop.

  Anya: Thx.

  Lucas: School streamed ceremony. Good speech.

  Anya: Thx. What do u want?

  That halted communication for a good five minutes. He’d taken it the wrong way. She was unsure how she’d intended it to begin with.

  Lucas: In town til tmrw morning. Hoping we could talk. Have sumthin of urs.

  The ring? After all these months? She tried to swallow but clucked her dry tongue against the roof of her mouth. That couldn’t be it. You really want to do this? You were starting to put him behind you.

  Or so she told herself.

  Anya: Where?

  Lucas: Canalside. Boardwalk by Spirit of Buffalo. 8 pm?

  Dad glanced at her in the rearview. “You look like you swallowed a bug. Everything all right?”

  “Yeah. Just finalizing plans for tonight.”

  Dad reached behind his head and scratched his left ear with his right hand: Why so complicated? One of those Russian idiosyncrasies he hadn’t lost.

  Anya: See u then.

  She’d have to go straight to Hailey’s from there, not that anyone would show up before nine or ten. Rumor had it her parents were providing booze—better they drink under our supervision than God knows where and with whom, went the rationale. Everyone was going to do it anyway. Might as well make the conditions as safe as possible.

  “Need me to drop off and pick up?”

  “I’ll crash at Hailey’s if I have to. But thanks. Just enjoy your night with Hannah.”

  He winked and returned his attention to the road.

  Hannah was not so willfully gullible. She craned her head around and mouthed, “Lucas?”

  Anya half-nodded, not wanting to attract Dad’s attention. Hannah grinned, then pretended to zip her mouth shut.

  They might get along after all.

  ***

  Her stomach was in knots by the time Canalside emerged on the other side of the windshield. Since she’d changed into a sundress and sandals, Dad had assumed she was heading to Hailey’s to help set up for the party. Hannah distracted him with snacks and mocktails for their big night in, preventing one of his well-meaning interrogations and allowing Anya to escape. She’d gotten used to the idea that Dad was always going to see her a certain way, through the filter all parents possessed that rendered them incapable of viewing their grown children as adults.

  She was plotting another escape even as she locked the car behind her and advanced toward an occupied bench on the boardwalk. The crew of the red-sailed Spirit of Buffalo prepared to launch for its sunset tour. Anya sat at the other end of the bench, afraid to look at Lucas, to speak, definitely to touch. Anger boiled inside her; he had no right to show up like this, without warning, the same way he’d entered her life in the first place. She cleared her throat. “Hey.”

  Something had changed in Lucas. Brighter, clearer eyes and a smile no longer hesitant and closed off but big and welcoming. She was right. He’d met someone.

  He pulled her into a hug that lasted longer than it should have. “It’s good to see you.”

  She didn’t return the embrace, and Lucas got the message. Releasing her, he scooted a few inches away.

  “What the hell are you doing here? It’s been two months. I went to your apartment and you were gone, not a word…” Anya barred her arms over her chest. You will not enter.

  Lucas tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, a gesture also too affectionate for her liking. He was trying to placate her. Distract her so her anger seemed unreasonable. “I tried calling and texting after the hearing, but I couldn’t get through.”

  “The school suspended me for a week, so my father basically shut down my phone.” She pressed her trembling hands between her knees.

  “Anya, I’m sorry I hurt you. I was trying to do the right thing, which was obviously a total disaster.”

  “I know. It’s okay, really.” She waved the words off like mosquitoes despite the stinging in her eyes. This is where he tells you about his wonderful new girlfriend, who will never cost him his job. “I was being immature and just…stupid. I’m over it.”

  “Oh.” Lucas rolled his bottom lip into his mouth. “So…I never thanked you for encouraging me to swim again. I think I’m going to shoot for the Trials after all. I’ve got a couple years to get myself back into competitive shape.”

  His shape was on point from where she sat.

  He was rubbing his cheeks now. Nervous. “I have something to tell you. I didn’t know how you were going to take it; I guess that’s why I waited so long.”

  Here it comes. She braced herself, prepped the phony smile and the gushing Oh, I’m so happy for you. “Let me guess. You got a great job somewhere. Met a nice girl you can see yourself having a future with.” A breeze blew in off the lake, and she shivered.

  Lucas was trying not to laugh. “Yeah, but here’s the thing. My new job is with Tufts University. I’m an assistant athletic trainer.”

  Wait. “Isn’t that…”

  “In the Boston suburbs. So you’ll have a friendly face if you need one.”

  And see him with someone else? She might have been able to handle a random encounter months from now, established in her own life, the chances of it happening statistically improbable when the Greater Boston area boasted almost five million people. But not after this. Not when seeing him, talking to him, was so potent a reminder of why she wanted him.

  “I can even show you around town.”

  She let out an incredulous hoot. “You’ve been there, like, two months.”

  “Okay, so we might get a little lost. At least we can do it together.”

  Nothing like a third wheel. And how would he explain her to his girlfriend? This is the teenager I kissed multiple times who ended up getting me fired from my last job. Anya clenched her hands tighter between her knees and averted her gaze from his gleaming smile. A knife-edge of flaming light lingered over the water like forged metal, bleeding June’s warmth from the air. “I have to get to a party. You said you had something of mine?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Didn’t want to mail it and risk it getting lost.” Lucas poked around in his pocket and held up the ring. “This the one?”

  “Oh my God, yes.” Her eyes watered. “Thank you so much.”

  Lucas locked her grasping hand in his firm grip and laid it on his thigh. “It must’ve fallen into something. I found it in a box when I was unpacking.” He slid the band over her finger as though she’d just pledged herself to him. “There.”

  The sun disappeared behind the Canadian horizon and ignited all that its dying rays caressed into hues of fire. He was still holding her hand.

  “I have to go,” she whispered.

  Twilight provided enough light for her to see inexplicable disappointment harassing his features. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

&n
bsp; In a silence freighted with unasked and unanswered questions, Anya pressed the key fob. This was it. Everything she wanted or needed to say to him. Her final chance.

  Lucas spoke first. “Hey, uh, depending on how late you’re out…do you want to talk some more? Later? It’s just that I have to leave early and…”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Standing so close, with tension crackling around them, she thought he was going to kiss her. But the moment passed, squandered, and he pecked her cheek.

  “I’ll text you the hotel and room number. And if I don’t see you later, um…” Lucas glanced toward the asphalt and chafed his fist against his mouth. “Good luck with everything.” He opened the door for her. “Have fun at the party.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucas walked to the edge of the boardwalk as she started the Mercedes. Watching her as she drove away, the lake a wide, black band lustrous with ribbons of the city’s lights behind him.

  ***

  Eleven o’clock and the party was as lame as ever. Not that she blamed Hailey or anyone else; Hailey’s older brother tended bar beneath a white canopy, her parents had hired a competent DJ, and everyone Anya knew, with the delightful exception of Noah because Hailey would have never invited him, showed up. But Anya’s heart was in a downtown hotel room, her brain enmeshed in various scenarios—all involving abundant nudity and every sexual position known to humankind—and each minute ticking by brought her closer to the point of no return. Wait too long and he’d give up, go to bed, and drive back to Boston tomorrow, the past nine months unresolved. Maybe forever. The girlfriend would investigate his contacts list; girlfriends, new ones most of all, did it to assert their station in the boyfriend’s life. All unauthorized numbers deleted, all traces expunged from the criminal record of his pre-girlfriend past, as though they delivered a direct connection to his mind and would scrub his memories too. Time did that with cruel efficiency. So did tragedy. Already she feared the only images she’d remember of her mother on her own, without the aid of photos, would be the ones of Mom on her deathbed.