And then her mother was pulling her to her feet, saying something in Russian. It was the gentlest voice she’d ever heard from her mother.
“I dropped it,” Nina said, wiping her face, smearing the grit across her cheek, and at the thought of that she started to cry.
“Do not cry,” Mom said. “Just think if he were here. He would say, What the hell did you expect, Anya, waiting until dark?”
Her mother actually smiled.
“We’ll call it an ash-tossing,” Meredith said, her mouth quirking up.
“Some families scatter. We fling,” Nina said.
Mom was the first to laugh. The sound was so totally foreign that Nina gasped, and then she started to laugh, too.
They stood there, the three of them, laughing together in the middle of the winter garden, with the apple trees all around them, and it was the best tribute to him they could have made. And later, when Mom and Meredith had gone inside, Nina stood there alone, in the quiet, staring down at a velvety white magnolia blossom dressed in gray ash. “Did you hear us laughing? We’ve never done that before, not the three of us, not together. We laughed for you, Dad. . . . ”
She would have sworn she felt him beside her then, heard his breathing in the wind. She knew what he would have said to her tonight. Nice trip, Neener Beaner. See you in the fall. “I love you, Dad,” she whispered as a single apple blossom floated on the breeze and landed at her feet.
Meredith took the chicken Kiev out of the oven and set the pan on the cold stove to cool.
Drying her hands on a plaid towel, she took a deep breath and went into the living room to be with her mom. “Hey,” she said, sitting down beside her on the sofa.
The look her mother gave her was staggering in its sadness.
It connected them for a moment, enough that Meredith reached out and touched her mother’s hand.
For once, her mother didn’t pull away.
Meredith wanted to say something—just the right thing to ease their pain, but of course there were no such words.
“We should eat now,” Mom said at last. “Go get your sister. ” Meredith nodded and went out to the winter garden, where Nina was photographing the ash-dusted magnolia blossom.
Meredith sat down on the bench beside her. The bronze sky had darkened so that all they could really see were white flowers, which looked silver in the fading light.
“How are you doing?” Nina asked.
“Shitty. You?”
Nina recapped her lens. “I’ve been better. How’s Mom?”
Meredith shrugged. “Who knows?”
“She’s better lately, though. I think it’s the fairy tale. ”
“You would think that. ” Meredith sighed. “How the hell would we know? I wish we could really talk to her. ”
“I don’t think she’s ever really talked to us. We don’t even know how old she is. ”
“How come we didn’t think that was weird when we were kids?”
“I guess you get used to what you’re raised with. Like those feral kids who actually think they’re dogs. ”
“Only you could find a way to work feral children into a conversation like this. Come on,” Meredith said.
They went back into the house and found Mom at the table, with dinner served. Chicken Kiev with au gratin potatoes and a green salad. There was a decanter of vodka and three shot glasses in the center of the table.
“That’s my kind of centerpiece,” Nina said, taking a seat while Mom poured three shots of vodka.
Meredith sat down beside her sister.