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He was right. He’s incoherent much of the time now, and he needs assistance with everyday basic tasks. I made a promise to him when I had him smuggled out of Russia six years ago to save him from what was sure to be a painful death. There was a high price on his head when he announced he wanted to atone for his crimes, because other powerful oligarchs knew he could easily take them down with him. I contacted a private security team, mostly consisting of former SEALs, to extract him and bring him to the United States. I swore to him that I’d always take care of him and that no one would see his decline.
No one but me and the small team I trust to keep him safe and comfortable.
“He doesn’t speak English,” Colby says to me.
We’re standing at the foot of the bed. Deda is accusing us of coming here to kill him, but Colby can’t understand him. The physician’s assistant who cares for him during the day, Kelly, stands up from the chair she was sitting in, tucked out of the way in a corner of the room.
“He’s having a rough day,” she says.
Deda is skin and bones now, but he still tugs on his wrist restraints as hard as he can, his eyes wild with panic.
I approach his side and speak to him in Russian, telling him he’s safe. For a while, when he stopped recognizing me, I’d tell him that I’m his granddaughter and he’d light up with happiness. As his condition worsened, he stopped believing me.
Kelly goes to his other side and tells him in broken Russian that everything is okay. He spits at her and I cringe. He has so little strength that the spit lands on his bedsheet.
As Kelly takes out a needle and injects medicine into his IV line, I reach into my bag and take out a small bundle wrapped in a scarf. As soon as Deda sees the blue Fabergé egg from his collection, he stops resisting.
Like the classical Sergei Rachmaninoff-composed music playing on a record player set up on one wall of the room right now, these priceless pieces of art always comfort him. I put it in his hands and he traces the gold lines that swirl around it, silent now.
We used to have dinner in the kitchen here several nights a week. Vlad, the son of one of my grandfather’s dearest friends, swore his allegiance to my grandfather decades ago and he refused to leave him when he was extracted, telling the SEAL team they’d have to shoot him. Instead, they brought him, too. He’d cook my grandfather’s favorite foods from home and the three of us would play cards at the little wood table in the kitchen. Deda wouldn’t talk much about his past, but he’d often tell me to disregard everything he’d ever told me about making sure I married a strong, powerful man.
Instead, he said, I needed to marry a kind one. I wish I could tell him the story of how Colby and I ended up married. The corners of his eyes would crinkle as he smiled and listened.
His eyes flick from the egg up to meet my gaze, the conflict he’s feeling obvious. He doesn’t know who I am or why I’m here, but he’s starting to suspect I’m not his enemy.
I tell him in Russian that I brought my husband to meet him, and that he’s kind. I can tell he doesn’t know what I’m saying, and it’s like an arrow to my heart.
Colby walks over, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around me. Deda’s medicine is starting to kick in, his eyelids drooping.
We stand there until he’s asleep, the egg still in his hand. Then I kiss his forehead and cover him up. Kelly gently takes the egg from his hand and sets it on a high shelf where other family photos and trinkets are displayed.
I take Colby’s hand and we walk upstairs.
“I have tea and coffee,” Vlad offers.
“Thanks, but I think we’re going to go,” I say.
Back in the car, Colby lets out a heavy sigh. “I feel so horrible. I fucked up again.”
“You apologized.”
He shakes his head, his expression tortured. “I shut you out for a full month over something I could have easily explained. And then right after we made up, I accused you of cheating when you were going to see your sick grandfather.”
“I shouldn’t have lied about it. And it’s not easy to talk about the things we’re ashamed of. My father said and did things in front of me that I’ve never told a soul about.”
I start the car and drive away, Colby staring out the car window.
“No one can know about him,” I say. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
