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NATASHA
Dad?
Like a moth drawn to a flame, I walk toward him.
“Natasha, wait. Don’t.”
I ignore Nikolai, his voice fading to white noise. Wedding guests obstruct my path in every direction, but I continue, afraid to blink because, if I do, my father might just vanish.
Please don’t let him be a mirage…
As I inch my way toward him, so many splintered thoughts cycle through my mind.
He’s alive, thank God.
Relief bubbles in my chest and it’s immediately followed by panic.
Why is he by himself?
Where is my mother?
His face looks pinched and worn, his eyes sunken, the skin beneath them stained a faint purple.
He looks like he’s aged ten years in the past few days.
A fleeting thought grabs hold of my brain.
Has he come to get me back?
And just as quickly, a toxic one follows.
Why has it taken him this long to rescue me?
There are so many more unanswered questions I need to ask, if these people would just get the fuck out of my way.
A gentle tap on my arm startles me. I jerk my head around with a gasp to find a petite, elderly woman flashing a kind smile at me. “You teach music at the academy in Miami, don’t you?”
“The music academy…” My voice trails off, the lump in my throat choking out my reply.
She furrows her thin eyebrows. “I’m sorry, do I have the wrong person?”
I give my head a firm shake. “N-no, I do. Sorry, you just startled me.”
“I thought so. I knew you looked familiar. I believe you teach my grandson, Mason Gary. He adores his guitar and says Miss Natasha is the best teacher in the world.” She smiles. “He’s gotten quite good.”
My lips lift despite the heart palpitations assaulting my chest. “Mason is a great kid and a fast learner. He’s so enthusiastic and is always talking about how he wants to have his own band one day.”
I can’t keep the smile from widening when I talk about my students. The realization that I haven’t had the chance to do that lately makes my heart clench.
I miss the kids.
I miss their love of learning.
I miss my family, my life.
Oh my God, I miss so much!
“I am so glad to see you are feeling better, dear. The receptionist at the academy let us know you’d been ill.” The woman’s brows furrow.
