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When he finally looks up at me, I see how red and raw his eyes are. I can’t imagine him shedding a tear, but there’s nothing else that wrecks a persons’ face quite like grief pouring free.
“What did she like to paint?”
He picks up his coffee mug and gets to his feet. “Come and see for yourself.”
I’m more than a little stunned. It’s one thing to hear him open up about Elena; it’s another thing entirely to have him invite me into her space. “Are you sure?”
He just gestures me forward and we walk to the east wing together. The door is slightly ajar and I can already smell metallic paints and aged wood. He swings the door open and stands aside to let me pass.
I hold my breath as I step inside. I see couches, bookshelves, windows with light streaming in, but my attention is drawn to the row of easels bearing mostly blank canvases.
I shudder—it feels like she’s still in here, always just out of sight no matter which way I turn. Her paintings are everywhere. So are her books, her colors, her smell. I never once in my life saw this woman and somehow, I feel as though I know her already.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur. For some reason, I talk softly. It feels as though we’ve entered sacred space. I wonder if Dmitri feels the same way.
“She spent hours in here every day,” he rumbles from the doorway where he’s leaning. “If she wasn’t painting, she was reading on the sofa or knitting by the window.”
I walk over to the table beside her easels and run a tentative finger along the paint-splattered edge. I’m scared to touch anything, scared to move anything, though even just the motion of us entering the room has sent the sketches fluttering across the desktop.
I turn towards Dmitri. He’s still in place by the threshold, gazing around the room like he’s not sure what to make of it anymore. “Thank you for letting me in here.”
His eyes find mine. “The room’s yours.”
I gape at him. “Pardon?”
Uncrossing his arms, he pushes tall and walks toward me. “I’ve been holding her memory hostage in here. Refusing to let her go, refusing to move on myself. It’s not what she would have wanted. Her paintings deserve to be displayed proudly, not hidden away as though they’re something to be ashamed of.”
I stand still. Dmitri watches me quietly. “I know what it means to love someone so much that the only way you can cope with their absence is to pretend they never existed in the first place,” I whisper. “I know how much that hurts.”
He looks me right in the eye and I feel something powerful pass between us. I can’t put my finger on what, exactly, but suddenly, I don’t feel as though I’m trespassing anymore.
“It’s a losing battle.”
I smile sadly. “Trust me, I know. But grief robs you of common sense.” I step close enough to place a hand on his arm. “I appreciate the gesture, Dmitri, but you don’t have to give me this room. It’s hers.”
“No,” he replies firmly. “It was hers. I want you to have it.”
“You already gave me a whole apartment, remember?” I’m trying for breezy and casual, but the wobble in my voice gives me away.
“That was a stupid decision,” he admits with a sigh. “I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Wren. And I wasn’t trying to erase you from our son’s life. I was genuinely trying to show you that I was listening when you said you needed space.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “I’d argue that a six-bedroom apartment is maybe a little too much space for one person.”
He inclines his head in a silent concession. “Fair enough. Which is why we’re standing in the happy compromise.”
“I don’t want to usurp her place in your life,” I blurt out. “Not that I’m trying to replace her; not that I ever could… I just, um…” My words fade into awkward quiet. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.”
Dmitri raises a careful hand to pass his thumb tenderly over my cheek. “This isn’t about replacing anyone, Wren. It’s just time. I’ve never seen the point in shrines anyway.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with this place.”
“Then start simple,” he suggests. “Pick a new color for the walls. Everything else will follow.”
As he lets go of me and turns towards the door, I’m overwhelmed with the urge to tell him just how much this means to me.
A room is one thing.
Space is another.
