There was a crash somewhere and Gerald said, “Oops. Grandkids,” and ran from the room.
“We’re babysitting our son’s children this week. I’d forgotten how busy they are at that age. ” Stacey smiled. “I’ll be right back with tea. ” She hurried out of the room.
“Do you think Dr. Adamovich was confused? Or did Maksim get the address wrong?” Meredith said as soon as they were alone.
“Kind of coincidental that these people are Russian and that they knew the doctor,” Nina remarked.
Mom stood up so suddenly she hit the coffee table with her shin, but she didn’t seem to notice. She walked around the table and across the room, coming to a stop at the holy corner. From here, Meredith could see the usual decorations: an altarlike table, a couple of icons, a family photograph or two, and a few burning votives.
Stacey came back into the living room and set her tray down on the coffee table. She poured the tea and handed Meredith a cup. “Here you go. ”
“Do you know Dr. Adamovich?” Nina asked.
“I do,” Stacey said. “He and my father were great friends. I helped him with a research study for years. Not academic help, of course. Typing, copying. That sort of thing. ”
“The siege research?” Meredith asked.
“That’s right,” Stacey said.
“These are tapes,” Nina said, indicating the wrinkled paper sack at her feet. “Mom just told her story to Dr. Adamovich and he sent us here. ”
Stacey paused. “What do you mean, ‘her story’?”
“She was in Leningrad then. During the war,” Meredith said.
“And he sent you here?” Stacey turned to look at Mom, who stood so still and straight she seemed to be made of marble. "Why would he do that?"
Stacey went to Mom, stood beside her. Again the teacup rattled in its saucer. “Tea?” she asked, looking at Mom’s stern profile.
Meredith didn’t know why, but she stood up. Beside her, Nina did the same thing.
They came up behind Mom.
Meredith saw what had gotten her mother’s attention. There were two framed photographs on the corner table. One was a black and white picture of a young couple. In it, the woman was tall and slim, with jet-black hair and an oversized smile. The man was blond and gorgeous. There were pale white lines that quartered the picture, as if it had been folded for many years.
“Those are my parents,” Stacey said slowly. “On their wedding day. My mother was a beautiful woman. Her hair was so soft and black, and her eyes . . . I still remember her eyes. Isn’t that funny? They were so blue, with gold . . . ”
Mom turned slowly.
Stacey looked into Mom’s eyes and the teacup she was holding fell to the hardwood floor, spilling liquid and breaking into pieces.
Stacey’s plump hand was shaking as she reached for something on the table, but not once did she look away.
And then she was holding something out to Mom: a small jeweled butterfly.
Mom dropped to her knees on the floor, saying, “Oh, my God . . . ”
Meredith wanted to reach out and help her, but she and Nina both stood back.
It was Stacey who knelt in front of her. “I am Anastasia Aleksovna Marchenko Koontz, from Leningrad. Mama? Is it really you?”
Mom drew in a sharp breath and started to cry. “My Anya. . . . ”
Meredith’s heart felt as if it were breaking apart and swelling and overflowing all at once. Tears were streaming down her face. She thought of all that these two had been through, and all the lost years, and the miracle of this reunion was almost more than she could believe. She moved over to be with Nina. They put their arms around each other and watched their mother come alive. There was no other word for it. It was as if these tears—of joy perhaps for the first time decades—watered her parched soul.
“How?” Mom asked.
“Papa and I woke up on a medical train going east. He was so hurt. . . . Anyway, by the time we got back to Vologda . . . We waited,” Stacey said, wiping her eyes. “We never stopped looking. ”