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I want to hold Misha more than it.
“Do you believe in an afterlife?” I ask abruptly.
There’s a long silence before Misha speaks, so softly that I almost miss it. “I believe in shooting stars.”
I tilt my head, inviting him to continue.
“I’m not sure what I believe in,” he corrects.
I want to press him to explain himself, but there’s something in his eyes that stops me. We can get attached to our pain. It’s personal and intimate. I don’t want to press.
“I like the idea of an afterlife,” I whisper when he continues to stonewall. “I want to believe it. I suppose because believing in it means I’ll get to see Clara again one day.”
“Maybe you will.” He’s saying it for my benefit. I know he doesn’t have that same hope.
“Maybe you’ll see Maksim again one day.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. He’ll be hard to track down. He’s going to be traveling through the universes.”
I frown, and then start to put the puzzle pieces together in my head. “Is Maksim a shooting star then?”
He actually chuckles a little under his breath with the barest hint of self-consciousness. The sound, so human and raw and real, goes a long way in helping to heal my bruised heart.
“I didn’t think you heard that.”
I prop my chin in my hand. “Clara would probably be a shooting star, too. She had that kind of spirit. She was a wanderer.”
“That’s fitting for the afterlife. No more schedules, no more places to be. Wanderers are happy there, I’m sure.”
“I hope that’s true. I’d hate to think that even in death she’s wandering around, aimless and unhappy.”
“Was it that bad?” he asks softly.
I’ve talked about Clara before, but somehow, this feels different. She spent so much time putting on a front, showing people what they wanted to see. I’ve rarely betrayed her by revealing the truth beneath it all.
“Sometimes, yes.” I pick at the mattress, twisting the sheet between my fingers nervously. “Sometimes, I could actually see the light in her eyes dim. She always put on a brave face for my benefit, but I knew her well enough that I could see the truth. She wanted to do so much with her life. We had a plan. We were going to graduate and hitchhike out of Corden Park. We’d get odd jobs along the way and save enough money to move to New York.”
“New York was the dream?”
“The dream was just getting out of Corden Park. It didn’t really matter where we went after that.”
I feel a trace of that old sadness again. I thought I threw it off, left that weight behind, but maybe we never really rid ourselves of our past. Maybe we just fool ourselves into thinking it doesn’t feel so heavy for a while.
Right now, though, I just want to move closer to him. There’s only a sliver of space between us, but it feels like a canyon.
Wanting him feels wrong. I feel horrible about Rose. Even more so for the little girl she’s left behind. But the thing about watching someone lose something is that it makes you feel grateful for what you have. It’s selfish, but undeniable.
When I lost Clara, I had nothing to be grateful for. But now, I have Misha. I have our babies.
I have, for the first time in a long time…
Hope.
4
MISHA
I remember calling Maksim a few months into his marriage, righteously pissed off.“Where the hell have you been, man?”I demanded.“You have a fucking Bratva to run.”I heard a giggle in the background.“For God’s sake, are you with Cyrille?”
