Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  There was a comforting moment when we returned and found not one but two letters from Clari waiting for us. She says she forgives me and wants to see me again. She says she’s sorry. Her letters are bittersweet for me—sweet because of her love and forgiveness, which I so desperately crave, but bitter because they tell of my mother’s death more than two years ago. No wonder Mother didn’t answer my letter! Clarissa’s letters are also bitter because now I will have to tell her of my loss. I can’t do it yet. I simply can’t. She didn’t know or love Lara—how could she possibly understand? I’ll put her letters away to answer later.

  Christian’s viewing and funeral were held late Wednesday morning. Liana stood numbly by his casket with the others as people offered their sympathies. She wasn’t surprised to see Austin. He had stayed at the hospital until she had left with her parents, and though she hadn’t seen him since, she had known he would come. He smiled at her, hugged her briefly.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I called your cell.”

  She didn’t know that. “It needs to be recharged.”

  “I stopped by.”

  “I’ve been staying at my parents’.”

  He looked as though he wanted to say more, but there was a line of people behind him and he had to move on.

  At the funeral Liana listened in a haze as people talked about Christian, painting his life as a saint. Several times Liana felt an overwhelming urge to remind everyone how hopeless he was with money, how he had sometimes teased with malice, and how he’d never had enough courage to pursue his dream of being an artist. That at least would have evened out all the sickly sweet stories. It would have made Christian real.

  Of course she didn’t say any of these things because he had done all of those good things, too—especially befriending a young orphan cousin. Who was she to bring to light Christian’s flaws when she had so many more? Most of all he had openly acknowledged his failures, while she hadn’t found it within herself even to admit what it was she wanted in life, much less take the risk of trying for it.

  After the funeral, the family went home, where well-wishers crowded, bringing more sympathy and food. Austin was there, too—sitting quietly, helping when needed, talking with Christian’s friends. Through the afternoon Liana and Bret and their parents stayed close. Liana found it ironic that she felt more a part of the family through Christian’s death than she ever had during his life.

  How can I go on without him? This thought kept recurring in her mind. Once she had thought she didn’t need him, didn’t need anyone, but now she knew that was a lie. She did need Christian and the others as well. It wasn’t only gratitude she’d felt toward them all these years but love. The realization frightened her. Love was beyond her control. It could not stop death; it left the survivors aching and empty. She detested that weakness. She had cried plenty under her blankets these past nights in her old room at her parents’ house, but most of her grief had been openly shared with her family.

  Her family? The very idea mocked her. She had read far enough in her mother’s journal to know that Karyn hadn’t quickly become pregnant again, that the tiny baby dresses she had found in India hadn’t belonged to her, only the larger outfits. The mystery around her origins was even deeper than before. She desperately hoped the journal held the answer and that soon she would feel up to reading more; each reading so far just further drained her grief-depleted strength.

  All their visitors had finally left, except Austin. He was in the kitchen with Clarissa and Travis, finding room for all the casseroles and desserts that rained on them from their caring neighbors and members of Clarissa’s church.

  With her parents and Austin in the kitchen and Bret somewhere with his fiancée, Liana found herself alone in her parents’ sitting room. It was one of the few times she had been alone since the accident. Rising quietly from the couch, she headed for the back door, which led out onto the patio next to the pool. The night was warm and cloudless, and the moon reflected in the still water where she had spent so much time in her youth.

  With Christian.

  She took a deep breath and held it, walking around the pool, remembering. “Catch me, Christian!” “Will you show me how?” “Come up! Come up! Don’t stay under so long. You’re scaring me!” “You’ll come back home soon, won’t you? You won’t leave forever?” “Stop tickling me!” Giggles rose and died on the wave of her memories, leaving a sorrow that cut through her with crystalline intensity.

  She slumped into a lawn chair. He died because of my picture, she thought, knowing that was ludicrous. Still, it made her feel better to take responsibility, as though to do so meant she maintained some control. Control over that which no one had ever succeeded in controlling.

  Voices came from the side of the house, the words indecipherable, but the angry tones were apparent. Britanni’s normally dulcet voice sharply answered Bret’s accusing one. The sounds grew louder.

  “You’ll regret this,” Britanni nearly screamed, full of venom. “Tomorrow or the day after you’ll be calling, begging me to come back.”

  “Maybe.” Bret’s deep voice was firm, unyielding. “But for now I think you should go.”

  Britanni uttered something that sounded like a curse. A few seconds later a car door slammed, the engine roared, and the wheels squealed into the night.

  Bret rounded the house and saw Liana sitting by the pool. “I guess you heard that,” he said, sitting in the chair next to her. Tears on his cheeks glistened in the moonlight like the water in the pool.

  She shrugged. “Some. I take it Britanni’s not too happy.” She waited a couple heartbeats before asking, “What happened?”

  Bret stared out over the water and was quiet for a long moment. The tears dried on his cheeks. “He wanted me to go with him,” he said finally.

  “He what?”

  “He asked if Britanni and I wanted to go with him and that girl from work. Sounded like a lot of fun, and I could have gotten off work—even at such short notice. We haven’t been very busy.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.” He bent over and picked up a small pebble lying at the foot of his chair, rolling it between his fingers. “I was upset at him for how Britanni acted that Sunday. You know, the jabs about my car and her flirting with him. I blamed him for being so charming. I didn’t want them together again.”

  Wallowing in her own guilt, Liana recognized where Bret was going with this admission. “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  He threw the pebble into the pool and watched the ripples spread over the water, making the moon dance. When he spoke, his voice was painful for Liana to hear. “I should have gone. I wanted to. And maybe if I had, I could have prevented it, or helped—something. At least I would have been there for him.”

  “He was getting pictures for me,” Liana said. “For a painting he was going to do for my birthday. Without me, he wouldn’t have been in those mountains at all. He would have picked some other place for the photographs he needed to paint from.”

  Bret’s eyes, black in the moonlight, glittered with new tears. “He loved painting and taking pictures. He would have been there anyway. If not last week, then next.”

  Liana had been telling herself the same thing, but hearing Bret say it aloud made her feel better. He didn’t blame her, an interloper into the family, for the death of his only blood sibling.

  Bret reached out suddenly and put his hand on hers where it lay on the armrest. “I know you and Christian were really close, and I never begrudged you that. He was everything a big brother should be—to both of us. But it’s just us now, Liana. Do you think . . .” He fought tears. “Do you think maybe we can be closer? I’d like to be the big brother now, your big brother.”

  Liana swallowed a cry in her throat, yet it still emerged as a whimper. “What we found out in India—I’m not really related.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” His h
and tightened over hers. “You’re my sister and were from the moment you stepped off that plane sucking your thumb. And even if that wasn’t true, you really became ours when you were adopted. What difference does it make who your birth parents were?”

  It made a difference to Liana—a big difference. All her life she’d at least had the knowledge of her roots to cling to when she hadn’t felt a part of the family. Now she had nothing. Yet she couldn’t tell that to Bret, not when he was looking so seriously at her, not when he was offering to be her big brother. She couldn’t have told even Christian.

  “The way I see it is that we need each other,” Bret con tinued. “The days ahead aren’t going to be easy. Only you and I know what it was like being raised by our parents. Only you and I know Christian the way siblings do. Only you and I are left to remember. We can keep it alive, be there for each other.”

  Warmth spread through Liana’s heart. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she still had something to cling to. She turned her hand into his and held on. After a long comfortable moment when the rawness of her emotions had abated, she said lightly, “You have a deal. But I do believe you’re just trying to distract yourself from losing your fiancée.”

  “I didn’t lose her. I sent her packing.” Bret gave a long sigh. “She was at it again earlier with your boyfriend—flirting, I mean. At least he doesn’t lead her on like Christian did or goad me about it.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Bret met her gaze steadily. “Then why is he here?”

  “He was Christian’s friend.”

  “Christian had a lot of friends, and they’ve all headed home. I think he’s here because of you.”

  “Well, he’s probably gone by now.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Liana let the subject drop because she suspected he was right, and she was glad when Bret—dependable Bret—let it go as well. Christian would have dug at the wound until it bled. Oh, how desperately she wished he was here to do that now!

  “We should go inside and see how they’re doing.” Bret stood, taking her with him. “It’s been a real shock for them.” Travis and Clarissa had aged ten years in the past few days, and Liana hoped that now with the funeral behind them they could begin to recover.

  They found their parents with Austin in the family room, an array of snacks and drinks on the coffee table. Austin sat in the easy chair, and Clarissa and Travis on the couch. When Austin saw Liana, he moved from the chair and let her have it, sitting on the floor next to her legs. Bret sat in one of the straight-backed chairs they’d brought from the table for the many visitors.

  Travis looked toward the back door. “Where’s Britanni?”

  Bret grimaced. “She went home. Uh, this may not be the right time to tell you, but I’m not getting married after all.”

  “Thank heavens!” Clarissa colored and added quickly, “I mean, I just don’t think she’s right for you, son.”

  Bret nodded. “I have to agree.”

  No one spoke for a long moment. Liana felt Austin’s presence acutely, as though electricity leapt the small space between his arm and her legs, joining them together.

  “That girl Christian worked with was sure nice,” Travis said into the silence. “What was her name?”

  “Tawnia,” Bret answered. “She was very nice. Pretty, too.” He frowned and shook his head. “Not that it matters. But Christian would have pointed it out.”

  Liana was amazed to feel her lips curving in the slightest of smiles.

  Clarissa set down her cup. “I’m glad she was with him in the ambulance before he lost consciousness.” She sniffed hard as her eyes threatened tears. “She told me at the funeral that Christian told her to tell us how much he loved us.” She turned to Travis, her face ashen and etched with pain. “Dear, I’m suddenly very tired. Let’s call it a night, okay?”

  Travis put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “That’s a good idea. Bret, Liana, if you’re staying, would you lock the doors when you’re ready?”

  “Actually, I was going home tonight,” Liana said. “I need some clothes and things. But I just realized I don’t have my car.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Austin offered, as she had known he would.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll lock up, Dad,” Bret said. “I’ll be staying over.”

  Keenly feeling Christian’s absence, Liana hugged her parents and brother goodnight and went outside with Austin, who was carrying the suitcase she had taken to India. Had Christian been here, he would have made them laugh—perhaps after making them angry, but in the end they would have been happy. Liana wouldn’t have felt such a huge part of herself missing.

  “How can I go on without him?” She didn’t know she’d said the words aloud until Austin replied.

  “Just one day at a time.”

  She whirled on him. “What do you know about it?”

  “I know that you loved your brother.”

  “He wasn’t my brother!” Anger drove the words. “Or even my cousin.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “You want to know what I found out in India? Well, I’ll tell you. I wasn’t born Lara Clari Schrader. Lara is buried in India next to the people I thought were my parents. She was only five months old.” Liana held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, she wasn’t a twin or an older sister. The ages are all wrong. I have absolutely no idea who I am or where I came from.”

  Austin glanced over to the neighbor’s house where a man stood smoking on his front porch, watching them with undisguised interest. “Let’s get in the truck and talk about it.”

  “You drive, I’ll talk.” Liana was suddenly anxious to get home. She wanted to light scented candles and soak in a nice hot bath and pretend the past week had never happened. Had it only been a week since she’d flown to India with hope in her heart? Now all hope was dead.

  Except for Bret and Clarissa and Travis. She couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist, not now that she knew she loved them, and they loved her—no matter that she wasn’t who they’d thought she was.

  On the drive to her condominium, Liana explained to Austin what she had read in Karyn’s journal, finishing as they pulled up at her place. Austin turned off the engine and faced her. “That’s amazing they would dedicate their lives like that to helping others. I’m sorry I never got to meet them.”

  Liana was silent. She felt the same, but her emotions were mixed. Their whole lives seemed to be a lie. What had she been to them? I did live with them, she thought. I did call them Mom and Dad. But how?

  “There has to be an answer, of course,” Austin said to her unspoken question. He placed his hand on her leg, and she could feel the warmth of him through the black silk dress Clarissa had somehow arranged for her.

  “Didn’t you tell me your birth father was Romanian?” he asked, looking thoughtful.

  “Half. His father was German. According to my mother’s—” No, it wasn’t really her mother’s journal. “According to the journal we found in India, he spoke several languages quite well.”

  “I know people in Ukraine who speak Russian.”

  Recalling the orphanages in his video, she shuddered. “I’m going to finish the journal soon. There aren’t a lot of entries left, but I have to read each one carefully so I don’t miss what I’m looking for—if the information is there at all.” She reached for the door.

  His hand tightened on her leg briefly before withdrawing. “I’ll stay if you want. I mean, if you don’t want to be alone.”

  For a moment Liana was tempted to accept, to subdue her sorrow and uncertainty in his company. Maybe for a while she could pretend that everything was normal. They could watch a movie and fall asleep in front of the TV, or maybe they could sit out on her patio and stare at the stars. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to feel anything but this all-consuming grief. Who cared if that was unfair to Austin? Yes, she would let him stay and make her forget.

  While Christian slept in the cold ear
th. Alone.

  “I think that’s exactly what I need—to be alone,” she said. “I’ve been with someone constantly since it happened.”

  “Liana,” Austin’s voice was low, “I want you to know how very sorry I am. Christian was a good man, a good friend. I will miss him. If you ever need anything—to talk, whatever, I’ll be here.”

  She looked at him with tears in her eyes, thinking again how Christian had died finding a picture to paint for her birthday. The film from his camera now lay deep in her bag next to Karyn’s journal, a constant reminder of her guilt. Why she had asked for it was beyond her comprehension. Its presence only made her grief more intense.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said, and before he could reply, she jumped from the truck, banging her arm painfully on the door in the process.

  “I’ll call you!” Austin shouted after her.

  She waved without slowing, and with a sigh opened her door, shutting it firmly behind her.

  CHAPTER 25

  Diary of Karyn Olsen Schrader

  Monday, March 27, 1978

  Guenter is making me go with him to Ukraine. He’s worried about me because I’ve lost weight and been sickly. He thinks we need a change of scenery. I’m furious at him for making me leave Lara’s grave, but some part of me agrees that something must be done. There is no joy in the world. I love Guenter, but even in him I can’t find peace. I still have not written Clari. I hope she somehow understands.

  We will be in Ukraine for one year, working at a hospital there. Guenter has been in contact with his cousin, Pavlo, and he has secured these volunteer positions for us. Basically, we will receive room and board, a bit of spending money, nothing more. Pretty much the same situation we have here. I have not worked since Lara’s birth, but I guess I will now. Pavlo said they need volunteers. It is difficult because Ukraine is under Soviet rule, and foreigners, especially Americans, are not welcome. But since Guenter is officially a Romanian citizen through his mother, and Pavlo is his cousin, we are allowed there.