Winter Garden

Nina knew then: her promise couldn’t be kept, no matter how hard she tried. There was simply no way to get to know her mother. There never had been.

Five

Meredith threw back the covers and got out of bed. Reaching for the robe on her bathroom door, she was careful to brush her teeth without looking in the mirror. Reflective surfaces would not be her friend today.

The minute she left her room, she heard noise: the dogs were jumping downstairs, barking, and a television was on somewhere. Meredith smiled. For the first time in months, it felt like home again.

Downstairs, she found Jillian in the kitchen, setting the table. The dogs were positioned beside her, waiting for breakfast scraps.

“Dad told me to let you sleep,” Jillian said.

“Thanks,” Meredith said. “Where’s your sister?”

“Still in bed. ”

Jeff handed Meredith a cup of coffee. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Rough night,” she said, looking at him above the rim of her cup. The fairy tale had stirred up a lot of old emotions, and that, combined with her worry about her dad’s weakness, had caused a restless night. “Did I keep you awake?”

“No. ”

She remembered how entwined they used to sleep. Lately, they slept far enough apart that one’s restless night didn’t affect the other.

“Mom?” Jillian said, putting down napkins. “Can we go see Grandpa and Baba again this morning?”

Meredith reached past Jeff to the stack of buttered toast on the counter. Tearing off a tiny piece, she said, “I’m going to go now. Why don’t you all come after breakfast?”

Jeff nodded. “We’ll take the dogs for a walk and be right down. ”

She nodded and took her coffee upstairs, where she exchanged her robe and pajamas for a pair of comfortable jeans and a cable-knit turtleneck sweater. Saying a last quick good-bye, she hurried out of the house.

It was a surprisingly sunny day. Her breath was visible as she walked the quarter mile downhill to her parents’ house. All night she’d dreamed about her dad. Maybe she’d been awake, really, and it had been memories that spiraled through her mind. Or maybe a combination of the two. All she really knew for sure was that she needed to sit beside him, let him tell her some stories from his life so she could hold that knowledge close and pass it on someday. They’d forgotten to do that—pass along family stories, put photographs in scrapbooks; that kind of thing. They knew a little about Dad’s relatives in Oklahoma and how the Great Depression had ruined them. They knew he’d joined the army and met Mom while on active duty, but that was pretty much it. Most of their family stories dated from the start of Belye Nochi, and Meredith, like many kids, had been more concerned with her own life than his.

Now she needed to rectify that mistake. And she wanted to apologize for running out after the fairy tale. She knew it had hurt his feelings and she hated that. This morning she’d give him a kiss and tell him how much she loved him and how sorry she was. If it mattered to him, she’d listen to every damn stupid story her mother had to tell.

At the front door, she knocked once and went inside.

“Mom?” She called out, closing the door behind her. She could tell immediately that coffee hadn’t been made.

“Nice, Nina,” she muttered.

She put the coffee on and went upstairs. At her parents’ closed bedroom door, she knocked. “Hey, guys. I’m here. Are you in there?” There was no answer, so she opened the door and found her parents cuddled together in bed.

“Morning. I’ve got coffee going downstairs, and I started the samovar. ” She went to the windows and threw open the heavy curtains. “The doctor said Dad should try to eat. How do poached eggs and toast sound?”

Sunlight shone through the huge bowed windows, illuminating the honeyed oak floors and landing on the ornate Eastern European bed that dominated the room. As with most of the house, there were few splashes of color in here. Just white bedding and dark wood. Even the chair and ottoman in the corner were upholstered in snowy white damask. Mom had done the decorating, and since she didn’t see color, she tended not to use it. The only art on the walls were Nina’s more famous photographs, all in black and white, framed in black walnut.

Turning, she looked at her parents again. They lay spooned together, with Dad on his left side, facing the dresser, and Mom tucked up against his back with her arms around him. She was whispering to him; it took Meredith a second to realize that Mom was speaking Russian.

“Mom?” Meredith said, frowning. For all of her mother’s Russianness, she never spoke that language in the house.

“I am trying to warm him up. He is so cold. ” Mom rubbed her hands vigorously along Dad’s arms, his sides. “So cold. ”

Meredith couldn’t make herself move. She thought she’d known pain before, but she hadn’t; not until this moment.

Her father lay too still in bed, his hair a mess, his mouth slack, his eyes closed. He looked peaceful, as if he were simply sleeping late, but a pale blue cast rimmed his lips; it was just barely there, but she, who had looked at this face so often, saw that the man she loved wasn’t there anymore. His skin was a terrible gray color. He’d never reach for her again and pull her into a bear hug and whisper, I love you, Meredoodle. At that, her knees buckled. She remained standing only by force of will.

She went to the bed, touched his pale, pale cheek.