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The bed is cold without you, little bird.
Grinning, she followed the line leaving the plane. She wished he could be there with her. Even though she was more comfortable now, in her homeland, where the language was familiar, the smells, the sounds. Another two hour flight to Penza, then a taxi to the hospital. It would’ve been a hundred times better with her Master by her side.
She spent the taxi ride texting with Konstantin, urging him to get some sleep, then giggling to herself when he made dirty jokes. Before she knew it, the taxi pulled up in front of the hospital.
Her dedushka’s room seemed so tiny with family packed in. Four adolescent boys did that to a place. He was sitting up against the bed, talking and laughing with her brothers. Despite the tubes under his nose and IV in his arm, he looked like his usual cheerful self.
He smiled when she walked in, spotting her before the rest of her family did. “Welcome home, Vnuchka!”
At that, the rest of her family descended upon her, kissing her cheeks and shouting with joy. When everyone calmed down, she looked at her dedushka, puzzled. She’d come here prepared to see him frail and unconscious. This was unexpected. It was a relief, of course, but the situation looked nowhere near as grim as her mother had suggested.
“You look well,” she said, smiling.
“Oh, I’m fine. There’s still more fight in me.”
He’d recovered so quickly? In only a day? She turned to her mama and looked at her in question.
Mama averted her gaze. She turned back to her dedushka. “Mama made it sound like you were much worse off. I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”
Her dedushka frowned, then looked at Mama. “Lyuda?”
The way she fiddled with her hands put Varushka on edge. Why did she look so guilty?
“Talk to your papa later,” she whispered.
She fought back the urge to demand answers. They’d brought her all the way to Russia under what seemed like false pretenses? And purposefully? What would bring them to do such a thing? She pushed it aside for now to spend time with her dedushka, but she would have to talk to her father later to find out what was going on.
Papa had shown up later with several cans of beer he’d snuck past the nurses. Mama had scolded him but he only chuckled and handed one to her dedushka.
After the visit, she insisted on riding home with Mama and Papa. Not one minute into the car ride, she asked Papa, “Why did Mama tell me Ded was on his deathbed?”
He sighed. “We needed you to come home. It wasn’t a lie exactly. He had a stroke and we didn’t know for certain he would recover at first.”
“That’s not something to exaggerate, Papa!” she cried. “I was worried sick!”
“I know.” He pulled out of the hospital and onto the main road. It would be a long drive home so she had plenty of time for answers. “But there was a good reason. Varushka, I think we’ve misjudged Konstantin.”
“What?” Exhausted from her trip, everything was starting to seem surreal. Trees flashed by outside the car, making the world a green blur.
“I asked around, dug for answers about his wealth—”
“Not this spying business again!” She flopped against the backseat, wishing she could sleep for a year.
“Varushka!” he barked. “He was in a gang. He stole cars. That’s how he got so rich. You cannot marry a criminal. I will not allow it.”
She snorted. “A gang? Of all the ridiculous things!” Her stomach tightened. Could it be true? Had Konstantin started out a criminal? Did it even matter?
“Think about it,” Papa growled. “His parents died when he was sixteen. How did he know how to start a business? How did he know about cars? Where did he get the money to start a business by himself?”
She swallowed hard but kept her confidence. “Many ways. Maybe his family left him money. Or Baba Nina gave him a loan.”
“I didn’t raise you to be so gullible.” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel and Mama shushed him. “Be sensible!”
“Sensible?” She was nearly hysterical now. “Calling me home to Russia, telling me my dedushka is dying is sensible? Then accusing my fiancé of being a criminal? Who is being insensible here?” Maybe Varushka was being rude, but it was hard to care about politeness when Papa was being so awful. She clung to her purse like it would save her, but it only made her fingers sore.
“Fiancé?” Mama questioned quietly.
Chyort! This wasn’t how she’d meant to tell them. “You will stay home now,” Papa commanded, in the tone he took when he meant business. “You will call Konstantin and break off the engagement.”
