Winter Garden

“I slept for a whole day? Shit. Promise me you won’t tell Meredith. ”

Mom looked at her sharply. “I do not make promises to children. ” At that, she went back to her knitting.

Nina left the bedroom and took a long, hot, only-in-America shower. Afterward, even though she was dressed in her crumpled, ancient khakis, she felt human.

Downstairs, she meandered around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to make for lunch.

In the freezer, she found dozens of containers of food, each one marked and dated in black ink. Her mother had always cooked for a platoon instead of a family, and nothing from the Whitson table was ever thrown away. Everything was packed up, dated, and frozen for later use. If Armageddon ever came, no one at Belye Nochi would go hungry.

Her eye went straight to the stroganoff and homemade noodles.

Comfort food. Exactly what they needed. She put some water on to boil for the noodles and popped the sauce in the microwave to thaw it. She was about to set the table when a blast of sunlight caught her attention. At the window, she looked down and saw the orchard in full bloom.

She ran for her camera bag, chose one, and went outside, where she immediately lost herself in the choices presented. She took pictures of everything, the trees, the blossoms, the smudge pots, and with every click of the shutter, she thought of her dad and how much he loved this time of year. When she finished, she covered her lens and walked idly back toward the house, passing her mother’s so-called winter garden.

On this surprisingly sunny day, the garden was a riot of white blossoms upheld by lush green stems and leaves. Something sweet-smelling was in bloom and its perfume mixed with the fecund smell of fertile soil. She sat down on the ironwork bench. She’d always thought of this garden as solely her mother’s domain, but just now, with the apple trees blooming all around her, she felt her father’s presence as keenly as if he were sitting beside her.

She picked up her camera again and began taking pictures: a pair of ants on a green leaf, a flawless, pearlescent magnolia blossom, the copper column that had always been center stage in this garden, with its blue-green patina—

Nina lowered the camera.

There were two columns now. The new one was bright, shiny copper, with an elegant scroll stamped into it.

She brought the camera to her eye again and focused on the new column. In the upper half there was an ornate etching. Scrollwork. Leaves, ivy, flowers.

And the letter E.

She turned slightly and faced the other column. Pushing the vines and flowers aside, she studied the scrollwork.

She’d seen it dozens of times in her life, but now, for the first time, she studied it closely. There were Russian letters entwined in the scrollwork. An A and what appeared to be the P symbol, a circle—which might be an O—and something that looked like a spider. There were also a few she didn’t recognize.

She was just about to reach for it when she remembered the water she’d put on to boil.

“Shit. ” Nina grabbed her camera and ran for the house.

Nine

Meredith came up with a plan and stuck to it. She’d decided that two afternoons and an evening with Mom would be enough time for Nina to understand the nursing home decision. Yes, Mom had gotten better in the past few weeks, but Meredith didn’t believe for a second that she was well enough to care for herself yet.

And it was important—crucial, even—that Nina understood the situation. Meredith didn’t want to carry the burden of this decision alone any longer. Mom had been in the home for almost six weeks and her ankle was fully healed. Soon a permanent choice would have to be made, and Meredith refused to do it alone.

At four-thirty, she left the office and drove to the nursing home. Once there, she waved at Sue Ellen, the receptionist, and sailed past, her head held high, her keys in one hand, her handbag in the other. At Mom’s room, she paused just long enough to tell herself she didn’t really have a headache, and then she opened the door.

Inside, a pair of blue-coverall-clad men were cleaning: one was mopping the floor, the other was wiping down the window. All of Mom’s personal items were gone. On the bed, instead of the brand-new bedding Meredith had bought, there was a plain blue mattress.

“Where’s Mrs. Whitson?”

“She moved out,” one of the men said without looking up. “Didn’t give us much warning. ”

Meredith blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Moved out. ”

Meredith spun on her heel and walked back to the front desk. “Sue Ellen,” she said, pressing two fingertips to her left temple. “Where is my mother?”

“She left with Nina. Moved out, just like that. No notice or nothing. ”

“Well. This is a mistake. My mother will be back—”