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“I thought that was an exaggeration.” Scar’s voice is quiet, and he opens the passport studying the name. Hana slides her hand in the crook of his arm, and his brow furrows. “I still feel more like a Lourdnikov than a Petrovich.”
“Yet that is who you are.” Dmitri claps his knee. “You’re a very powerful man, and as such, you can tell everyone to leave you alone.”
Hana’s nose wrinkles, and she laughs. “Perfect.”
We spend the night at Dmitri’s estate, which is the size of a palace. We dine on borscht, which is a sour red soup made with beetroots, and beef stroganoff. We drink expensive vodka and look at pictures of his granddaughter, who’s a grown woman now. He takes time to walk Scar and Rainey through the details of their properties and holdings here and in the United States.
Most everything goes to Scar as the eldest son, but Rainey inherited a good bit of money stored in Swiss bank accounts. The investment group belongs to them along with interests in a few thoroughbreds and a certain club we’re all very familiar with.
“I’m not interested in keeping Gibson’s,” Scar says under his breath. “Hana has too many bad memories associated with that place.”
Rainey looks at me, and I shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever go back there.”
“I have no interest in the place,” she agrees.
We decide to cross that bridge when we return home, and the next day, we take another small plane from Minsk to Odesa, where a car is waiting to drive us to the house on the coast of the Black Sea.
It’s actually more of a small villa with a domed roof and a wrap-around porch. Dmitri says a caretaker has been managing the property, and it has remained virtually untouched following Zander’s death.
Entering the arched doorway, the interior is dark, lit only by sunlight shining through oversized windows. A large, rough-hewn table is in the kitchen with bench seats, and Rainey reaches for my hand as she takes her first steps into a painful past.
“I want to see my room.” Her voice is quiet, and I stay with her, following her through the silent halls to a small, pink bedroom.
Stepping inside, her breath catches. She walks around the space with her hands clasped at her chest, looking up at the wallpaper, the pictures, the bed. When she reaches a small, wooden dollhouse, she stops, dropping to her knees in front of it and opening the doors.
“It’s here,” she whispers, and her head bows. Her shoulders shake, and I rush to kneel beside her.
Hesitating a moment, I put my hand gently on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Turning to me, she takes my hand, opening my palm. In it she places a tiny painted object. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the smallest piece from one of those Russian nesting dolls.
“I thought Natasha threw it in the fire?”
“I had another one, left behind here in Papa’s house.” Our eyes meet, and hers are shining with tears and happiness. “I never thought I’d see it again.”
Pulling her into my arms, I hold her as she rests her face on my shoulder. Her hand clutches my shirt, and if only to retrieve this one, tiny object from her past, this fixture of her nightmares, I’m glad we came.
We stay at the house most of the day, collecting photographs and letters to take back with us. Scar holds his tiny son in his arms as he inspects his father’s tools and the furniture Rainey explains their father made.
Hana and I hang back, and she’s alternately smiling and wiping her eyes as she watches the two of them discover and rediscover their history.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Hana whispers, and I put my hand on her back.
“It’s pretty amazing.”
Our trip lasts five days, during which time we explore Odesa. Rainey takes us to all the local sights. She takes us to see the places she would play as a child and the places her father worked. We visit an outdoor market where stooped little ladies sell more of the beautifully painted nesting dolls along with other tapestries, blankets, and pottery. One shop in particular catches my eye, and I slip away while Rainey helps Pepper choose her favorite of the matryoshkas.
A special gift is hidden in my pocket when I return, and I find Pepper on the edge of her seat, listening as Rainey describes the underwater museum at the bottom of the Black Sea, the more than fifty exhibits, including statues of Lenin and Stalin and a replica of the Eiffel Tower. We make a note to include time for scuba diving on our next trip, and when we’re finally on the plane back to America, she seems content.
In our private sleeping quarters, her cheek rests on my chest, and I thread my fingers in her hair as we listen to the noise of the jet engines. “Did you get what you needed on this trip?”
She slides her arm around my waist. “I had what I needed before this trip, but coming here and seeing it all again, seeing his grave, gave me closure.”
Eleven hours later, we’re touching down in South Carolina. The drive to Hamiltown is quiet but content. It seems everyone got what they needed from the trip, except for Lourde, who’s fussy.
“He’s ready to be back with his things,” Pepper notes. “I know the feeling, little buddy!”
She takes him from Hana and bounces him on her hip as we stop by Hugh’s place, following a text from Blake asking us to meet them there.
