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“I’ll remember that.” She looks at me from the corner of her eyes. “I know I wasn’t gonna come home next weekend, but I was thinking, I dunno… maybe I could.”
“You know you can come home whenever you want.” I pause, then ask, “Is there a reason you have in mind?”
She winces and hesitates.
“Polina.”
With a sigh, she lets loose her held breath and her chin falls to her chest. “There’s some stupid event at school that requires a parent to be present,” she explains “I just don’t feel like I want to be there for it.”
“I can be there,” I suggest. “Or Nikolai.”
“Neither one of you are my parents.”
“You realize I’ve changed your diapers, right?”
“Ew, stop.”
“Pol—”
“I just wanna come home, okay? You said I could come home whenever I wanted and I want to come home next weekend. That’s all.”
I nod and relent. “Whatever you want.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s not true. No one, no matter how powerful, can have whatever they want.
Even if it’s as simple as wanting your parents back.
* * *
I’m so engrossed in the photographs and reports in front of me that I don’t hear Nikolai walk in until his shadow falls across the desk.
Seeing it all in black and white… it puts me right back in the moment. The horror of that day. Watching Nikolai get the call and freeze on the spot. He was catatonic for so long that I’d grabbed the phone and taken charge.
Sometimes, it still feels like he hasn’t forgiven me for that.
“How long have you been looking through those?”
“Since Polly went off to bed a couple of hours ago.”
I force my eyes away from pictures of the ravine where we found the car. It was one of Father’s favorites. A vintage Ferrari 458. I’ve never been more aware that we’re all just driving around in tin cans, one wrong twitch of the steering wheel away from fiery death.
“It’s still all smoke and mirrors, man. Fucking nonsense. All we really have is the fact that one of Sobakin’s men were on the train that derailed onto the road.”
I pull out the photograph of the man in question. Ivan Federer. The crash had nearly ripped out his right arm. It wouldn’t have mattered even if it had; he was one of the seventeen people who died that day.
“Isn’t that enough?”
I pull out the technical report that we had to bribe the whole damn police department just to receive months after the derailment. The train in question had been tested mere weeks prior. Everything was in order. Nothing to suggest a critical malfunction was in its future.
Anger floods through me again. I haven’t felt it this hot and urgent since their deaths. My arms flex and the veins on them pop.
“Channel that rage, little brother,” Nikolai encourages, putting his hands on my desk and leaning towards me. “That’s the only way to deal with it.”
Our eyes meet and I can see the same anger in them that I feel. My knuckles are white and aching. Nikolai nods. “You’ve always suppressed your anger. Pushed it aside, refused to feel it.”
“Of course I have,” I growl. “If I didn’t, I’d be totally useless.”
Nikolai shakes his head. “I’ve never stopped feeling it. It’s with me, day in and day out. I’ve learned to live with it.”
