Winter Garden

She nodded and shoved the hair out of her face. “Okay. ”

For the next hour, she got ready as if this were any ordinary day, but when she climbed into the driver’s seat of her big SUV, she suddenly lost the ability to pretend. The truth of her choice swept through her, chilling her.

In front of her, Jeff started up his truck, and together they drove in their separate cars to Belye Nochi.

Inside, she found Mom in the living room, standing at her Holy Corner. Dressed in a black woolen sheath, with a white silk scarf around her throat, she managed to look both elegant and strong. Her back was straight, her shoulders firm. Her snow-white hair had been drawn back from her face, and when she turned to look at Meredith, there wasn’t a drop of confusion in those arctic-blue eyes.

Meredith’s resolve slipped; doubt surged up in its place.

“I want the Holy Corner brought to my new room,” Mom said. “The candle must be kept burning. ” She reached over for the crutches Dr. Burns had brought her. Settling them in place under her arms, she limped slowly toward Meredith and Jeff.

“You need help,” Meredith said as she approached. “I can’t be here all the time. ”

If Mom heard, or cared, there was no sign of it. She limped past Meredith and went to the front door. “My bag is in the kitchen. ”

Meredith should have known better than to seek absolution from her mother. How well she knew that whatever she needed from Mom, she wouldn’t get it. Maybe this most of all. She walked past her mother and went into the kitchen.

It was the wrong bag. Meredith had packed the big red suitcase only last night. She bent down and opened this one.

Her mother had packed it full of butter and leather belts.

Eight

Nina woke to the sound of gunfire.

Rounds exploded just outside her window; the dingy, peeling walls of her hotel room shuddered. A shower of plaster and wattle rained down on the floor. Somewhere a window shattered and a woman screamed. Nina got out of bed and crawled over to the window.

Tanks were rolling down the rubble-strewn street. Men in uniforms—boys, really—walked alongside, shooting their machine guns, laughing as people tried to find shelter.

She turned around and leaned against the rough wall, then slid down to a sit on the powdery floor. A rat scurried along the floorboards and crept into the shadows along her so-called closet.

God, she was tired of this.

It was the end of April. Only a month ago she’d been in Sudan with Danny, but it felt like a lifetime.

Her cell phone rang.

She crawled across the dirty floor and sat against the side of the bed. Reaching up to the nightstand, she found the checkbook-sized phone and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Nina? Is that you? I can barely hear you. ”

“Gunfire. Hey, Sylvie, what’s up?”

“We’re not using your photos,” Sylvie said. “There’s no way to sugarcoat it. They’re not good enough. ”

She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Shit. You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m better on my worst day than most of the assholes you use. ”

“These are worse than your worst day, kiddo. What’s going on?”

Nina pushed the hair out of her eyes. She hadn’t had a haircut in weeks, and her hair was so dirty that when she pushed it aside, it stayed. The water in her hotel—in the whole block—had been out for days. Ever since the fighting had escalated. “I don’t know, Sylvie,” she finally said.

“You shouldn’t have gone back to work so quickly. I know how much you loved your father. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Getting the cover always makes me feel better. ”

Sylvie’s silence said it all. “A war zone is no place to grieve, Nina. Maybe you’ve lost your edge because there’s somewhere else you need to be. ”

“Yeah. Well . . . ”