‘We don’t really do burgers,’ she says with another smile, but slightly more forced this time. ‘Have a look at our menu.’
‘What about a cheese sandwich?’
If she could roll her eyes and not lose her job she would have. ‘No, we don’t do that here either.’
‘Pasta?’
She looks at me as if for help or for some kind of female solidarity, but I can’t help her. I’m down for worse than just exasperation. I fork another potato and put it into my mouth.
‘Um … we mostly just do Russian food. It is a Russian café.’
‘What’s she eating?’ he asks, jerking his head in my direction.
‘Red potato salad,’ she says, glancing at my plate.
‘Hmmm … Nah. Bring me something closest to a burger, or a cheese sandwich, or even a good pasta.’
‘How about meat dumplings?’
‘Is that more like a burger or a cheese sandwich?’
The girl starts to look irritated. She turns to look meaningfully at the other tables that need her attention too. ‘It’s more like a meat filled pasta.’
He grins innocently. ‘Great. That’s what I’ll have.’
‘And what would you like to drink, Sir?’
‘I’ll have a Coke.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be back with it.’ She escapes quickly.
I put my fork down, wipe my mouth, and look up to find him watching me. He has watery gray eyes, and he blinks very often. I have a strong feeling that underneath this Columbo type bumbling exterior he affects, he is actually very sharp and intelligent.
‘Your father’s disappearance into thin air is a funny, funny case,’ he says, picking up the salt shaker and looking at the bottom of it as if there is something of vital importance there.
‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘Mostly because it just doesn’t make sense.’
‘Oh?’
He spears me with those watery eyes. ‘Unless it was an inside job.’
‘That’s an interesting idea.’
‘Yes, I think so. For instance, all the security cameras were running perfectly except for camera 9.’ He scratches his face, then pulls out a little notebook. He opens it and flicks to a page. ‘It stops rotating from 10.24pm to 10.33pm. At first I thought it was a glitch, but when I checked the camera I found some paint had been chipped off the sides of it. As if, you know, someone had jammed a stick, or a piece of wood to keep it from swinging around.’
I look at him with interest.
‘And the other thing is your grandmother got a call at,’ he refers to his notebook, ‘10.58pm from a pay as you go mobile. A bit of a strange timing, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Did you ask her who it was?’
He smiles. ‘Wrong number.’
I smile back. ‘There you go then.’
‘There is another anomaly. Your grandmother’s call logs show that the only person she normally gets calls from is you, but on that night she received a call from a gentleman named Noah Abramovich at about 11.30pm. Yes, she claimed he hit the wrong button. Then she got another call at 2am from the same pay as you go number from earlier. Another wrong number. What are the odds of that happening?’
‘Well, the odds of being hit by lightning in one’s lifetime is millions to one and yet there are people who have been hit by lightning more than once and survived to tell the tale. I think there is a guy in the U.S. who has been hit six times.’ I smile. ‘We live in a weird and wonderful world, Inspector.’
He looks pained.
I affect a concerned expression. ‘Surely you don’t think my grandmother had anything to do with my father’s disappearance?’
He ignores my question. ‘Aren’t you the sole heir of your father’s estate?’
‘I have no idea, and since I don’t believe my father is dead but is simply missing, we won’t know the contents of his will until either his body turns up, or the seven statutory years to get a declaration of presumed death is up.’
He leans forward. ‘Why are you so eager to believe your father is missing and not dead?’
‘I am his daughter. I prefer to believe that he is still alive and well somewhere. Is that so hard to understand, Mr. Stone?’
His Coke arrives. He grabs the straw between his lips and sips at it in a desultory fashion. It makes me almost feel sorry for him.
I gather my purse and my bags. ‘I should be going, but you will let me know if you find out anything at all, won’t you, Inspector?’
He smiles cynically. ‘You betcha.’
‘Well, I’ll wish you a good day then.’
‘And you’ll let me know if you find out anything at all, won’t you, Miss Evanoff?’
‘Of course. I’m just as eager to find my father as you are.’
He smiles. ‘One day, Miss Evanoff. One day you’ll make a mistake.’
I stand and smile slowly. He has no dead body and never will. He has nothing. ‘I believe in karma. If I have done anything wrong, then I will pay the full price.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Thank you, and the same to you.’ I walk away, knowing his eyes are on me and feeling no fear in my heart.
Tasha Abramovich
Ten Months Later
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tB54XUhA9_w
My First My Last My Everything
The nurse puts the tiny little body in my hands. I hold that tiny little life that I have created in my body and I am filled with a fierce love. Death and damnation to anyone who hurts a hair on his tiny head. As dictated by custom, Baba refused to let me talk about the name for the child. ‘It will bring the evil eye. Tell no one.’ Today is the first day I will be saying the name I have chosen for my son.
‘Oh, look how red you are, Sergei,’ I whisper. Not a day has gone by that I didn’t think, talk, or pray for my Sergei. He was ripped away from me too soon. Today I will do him the honor of naming my first born after him.
Sergei makes a tiny sound as if he recognizes his name.
The door bursts open and Noah rushes in. He stops after two steps into the room. He looks pale. His hair is mussed and his eyes are quite wild. ‘It’s all over. The baby is out. Are you all right?’ he asks urgently, his words running into each other.
‘I’m all right and it is all over,’ I say gently.
His face is a picture of guilt. ‘I missed it all.’
‘How’s your head?’ I ask, holding back the laughter.
‘It’s okay’ he replies sheepishly
I grin at him and pretend to snort. ‘Hrrmph … Big mafia hero. Hired killer. Faints at the first sight of blood.’
He stands at the doorway and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘They cut you. Nobody told me they were going to cut you. I never expected them to do that!’
My heart feels like it will burst with the love I feel for this man. ‘Come here, you big oaf, and meet your son,’ I say gruffly.
He comes forward eagerly.
‘Sit down,’ I say, and when he does I put Sergei into his large hands. It is a moment I will remember forever. Our baby fits into his cupped hands. Noah’s face softens as he looks at the magic we have created together.
‘He’s so small. Is this normal?’ he asks worriedly.
‘Excuse me. Try pushing him out of your cock then tell me he’s small,’ I retort.
He flushes a deep red.
Immediately my heart goes out to him. He is so Russian when it comes to pregnancies and babies. Utterly lost and baffled. ‘He is eight pounds and two ounces. That’s a good size,’ I tell him reassuringly.
Sergei moves his head and yawns a gummy, healthy yawn. Awwww, my son just yawned.
‘Did you see that? He yawned,’ Noah says excitedly.
We look at each other, both of us so deeply in love with the little person we have created we have become foolish with it.
He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I … er … fainted.’
I laugh. ‘Yes, how did that happen anywa
y?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I can look at my own blood and the blood of other men, but I can’t fucking see you spill blood. It just made my head spin, and before I knew it I was gone.’
‘Oh, Noah.’
He comes forward and kisses me gently. ‘You were just amazing. I’m so proud of you. I just can’t believe I missed it all.’
‘Never mind, next time—’
He frowns. ‘Next time? You want to go through this again?’ he asks incredulously.
‘Of course. Sergei needs brothers and sisters. I don’t want him to be an only child like me.’
‘No,’ he says decisively. ‘I think you suffered enough. I don’t think we will have any more kids. We can adopt. There are so many kids that need a good home.’
‘No way. We’re having at least four kids, maybe five, and if you want we can adopt a couple too, but the next time I go into labor you can stay close to my head.’
‘We’ll have to talk about this,’ he says darkly.
There is a knock on the door and Baba comes in holding a covered bowl of food. She frowns. ‘Why is that baby not swaddled?’ she demands immediately. ‘First you break custom by going out and buying clothes and toys for the child before it is born, now you don’t want to swaddle the baby?’ she tuts with displeasure.
I giggle. ‘Mama didn’t swaddle me and I turned out okay, didn’t I?’
‘That remains to be seen,’ she says, pretending to be sour but beaming with joy.
‘Where’s Mama anyway?’ I ask.
‘She’s coming. She met the doctor and decided to have a word with him.’
At that moment my mother comes into the room.
‘Oh darling, well done.’ She rushes to Noah’s side and peers at the baby.
‘Oh, my goodness me. He’s so beautiful.’
‘Yes, he is the most beautiful boy in the whole world.’
Epilogue
Noah Abramovich
Half A Century Later
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQop_qs4xV4
How Long Will I love You?
I press the soil around the tomato seedling, water it, and sit back on my haunches. It’s mid-morning and the Sicilian sun is already hot on my back. I pull the cowboy hat low on my brow and stand. Straightening my aching back I start walking back towards the house. Tasha should be home soon. Ivan, our second son, came over to take her to the market to buy crabs for lunch.
I pass by the olive grove where all Tasha’s dogs are buried. Every single one and there have been many. Even Sergei. She had his body exhumed and brought it here to be buried close to her.
As I walk, I see our daughter, Tatiana — who should be in her own home today — running towards me, and I immediately freeze. Then I start running towards her too. We meet near the wooden swing that Tasha and I sit on to watch the sunset while we eat and drink vodka.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask, catching her by her forearms. Her eyes are red. She has been crying.
‘It’s Mama,’ she pants breathlessly.
It feels as if my heart stops with fear.
‘What has happened?’ I demand.
‘Ivan has had to take her to the hospital. She slipped on a wet patch in the market and fell.’ Her eyes fill with tears. ‘Oh, Papa, Ivan had to carry her because she couldn’t walk. He’s been trying to call you, Papa, but no one answered the phone.’
‘I was working on the land.’ I pull her along with me. ‘Come on, let’s get to the hospital now.’
‘Your hands, Papa.’
I look at my hands. They are streaked with soil. I wash my hands in the kitchen then we get into her car and she drives us. The hospital is nearly forty minutes away. I try to call Ivan repeatedly, but his phone is shut off.
‘They probably don’t allow phones at the hospital,’ Tatiana says.
‘Can’t you drive faster?’ I ask my daughter.
‘I’m going as fast as I can, Papa.’
Inside I am cold. I start praying. Please, don’t let her be in pain. Give me that pain. I can bear it better than her.
In thirty minutes we reach the hospital and rush in. We ask at reception and they point us to where Ivan and Tasha are. We rush to the emergency ward and I see her lying on a gurney. She looks so small and vulnerable. I rush to her and she smiles at me through the pain.
‘My life, my life,’ I whisper.
‘It’s only a sprain, but I was trying to persuade them to give me some morphine anyway,’ she says with a grin.
Tears of relief come to my eyes. Oh, God! I cannot even begin to imagine my life without my Tasha. She used to tease me by calling me the strong and silent type. I don’t mean to be quiet, but when I speak she stops talking, and my ears ache for the sound of her voice.
‘I thought your leg was broken. Tatiana said Ivan had to carry you,’ I say.
‘You know what Ivan is like. He’s worse than you. I could have easily walked, but of course, he insisted on carrying me. It was embarrassing, actually.’ She scrunches up her nose. ‘People probably thought I was too old to walk on my own or something.’
I touch her face, running my fingertips on her cheeks. ‘You are the only seventy-year old woman I know without any wrinkles.’
‘Have you been looking at a whole pile of seventy-year old women again?’ she asks with a laugh.
‘I haven’t looked at another woman since the day you sneaked into my office in your sexy pink cardigan.’
‘Oh, you old flatterer, you.’ She laughs and it makes my heart beat slower. She’s fine. She’s fine.
‘It’s the truth. You were the most beautiful woman I ever saw and you still are.’
She smiles. ‘And you, Noah Abramovich, are the most good-looking fucker I ever saw.’
‘Are you being hot on purpose?’
She winks. ‘What do you think?’
‘We’ll see if you’re so cocky once I get you home, you saucy wench.’
‘Will someone wrap my damn ankle up quickly so I can get the hell home?’ she says grumpily, and then goes and spoils the effect by laughing that beautiful laugh of hers again.
The End
The Promise
Unedited
Cole
Her smell is in my nostrils, which is plum stupid because while it’s true she is back in town, but she’s miles away. Letty, who runs the Lake hotel called to tell that she arrived last night. From that moment on, I stopped being able to function. Damnit to hell all I want to do is hold her again.
My body feels like it is a tiny iron filling and there is a giant magnet pulling at it. The draw is so strong I have to clench my hands into fists to stop myself from grabbing my car keys and going to her. She fuckin’ hates you. Let it alone. You’ve survived all these years. Just damn well leave it alone, Cole Finley.
I glance at my watch for the hundredth time and pace the floor of my library restlessly. The funeral must surely be over by now.
A car comes up the driveway, and I stride over to the window. Impatiently, I watch my mother take her time getting out of her car and walk up to the door. She is still dressed in the black outfit she wore to the funeral. I turn away from the window, relax my hands, and wait while she travels through my house, and stands at the doorway.
“What does she look like?” My voice is hoarse and throbbing with need.
My mother’s eyes widen with surprise. Then, with a defeated sigh, she heads to the drinks cabinet. Barely able to control myself, I wait while she pours out a large measure of vodka. No chaser. She drinks it down as if she needs it and slams the glass down on the counter. “She looks like a star,” she says flatly.
I run my hands through my hair. “But does she look happy?”
My mother raises her eyebrows. “She was attending her stepmother’s funeral after all so one shouldn’t really expect cartwheels.”
I stare at her with frustration, my shoulders tense. “You know what I mean. Does she look like she is happy with her life? Like she mad
e the right decision to leave here?”
My mother shrugs delicately and walks over to a sofa. She settles herself and leans back on the leather. “It’s hard to say, but she looks like she no longer belongs in Black Rock.”
My chest tightens with pain. Even breathing hurts. “Was she there…alone?”
My mother’s eyes fill with pity. “Yes.”
That one word feels like fireworks exploding inside my body. “Ma.”
“Yes?”
“I need to see her again.”
My mother’s face tightens. “Don’t do that, Cole. She’ll be gone by tomorrow and your life will go back to what it was. Don’t spoil it. Don’t make it harder for yourself...and her.”
“I just want to see her for a moment.”
My mother leans forward. Dr. Westwood’s injections have made it impossible for her to frown, but I know that expression. She is trying to. “It’s a terrible idea Cole.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Oh, darling. She’ll destroy you.”
I start backing away from her. “I just want to see how she is. After all this time, no one can’t begrudge me that one thing. If she’s truly happy, I’ll walk away. I swear it.”
“Cole,” my mother calls, but I am already gone.
I get into my car and hit the accelerator hard. The wheels spin on the asphalt. All those years ago she broke me, and maybe she will again, but I don’t care. I have to see her one more time. There’s been no one since she left. Every woman leaves me cold. No matter what they do or say it is no good. My cock is numb.
It is waiting for only one woman. Her.
Taylor
A light spring breeze lifts the side-swept bangs off my forehead. The air smells clean with a hint of freshly dug earth. It makes a heavenly change from the smog of LA. I breathe it deeply into my lungs. Through the lenses of my dark glasses, I watch the priest say the last rites. His voice is gravelly and solemn.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
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