“Where y’all from?”
Elena looked out the window from the back seat of the Uber she’d called to pick her up from the hospital. “Chicago.”
The driver, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind smile, laughed. “No, I mean originally. Your accent.”
Not a week had gone by since she’d come to America that she didn’t get asked that. Some days she was willing to offer details, but today wasn’t one of those days. “Russia,” she answered plainly.
“I thought so. I thought maybe Ukraine or somewhere in that region. What part of Russia?”
“Moscow,” she lied, because no one ever knew where Omsk was, and when she explained that it was part of Siberia, they always wanted to know how cold it was, and she just didn’t have the energy for that kind of small talk right now.
“Cool,” the man said. “What brings you to Nashville?”
“Just visiting a friend in the hospital.”
“Hope everything is okay.”
She smiled because it was the polite American thing to do. “Yes. He is going to be fine.”
The driver must have finally caught on to her reluctance to converse, because he turned up the radio and settled into his driving. Elena returned her attention to the passing scenery. She didn’t recognize much of it. In the few months she lived with Vlad after they got married, they’d rarely gone out together beyond the borders of the suburb where he lived.
But when the Uber driver took the exit, things started to look more familiar. Big trees and wide lawns on twisty-turny streets protected the rich and famous from the riffraff that might wander in without permission. When she joined Vlad in America—her visa was delayed, so she didn’t join him until a few weeks after they were married—she had expected a nice house because he was a professional athlete. Everyone knew that American athletes made a lot of money, and he’d already been playing here for a year. But when he’d pulled into his long, tree-lined driveway and she saw his soaring brick house for the first time, her mouth dropped open, her voice reduced to a useless squeak. A girl from Omsk could never imagine such grandeur.
The effect was different this time when the Uber driver pulled in. The magic was gone.
“Wow,” the driver said. “Nice place. Is your friend famous or something?”
It was a safe assumption. Nashville’s suburbs were home to the world’s biggest country music stars. “He’s done well for himself,” Elena offered, opening her own door.
The driver got out and went around to the back to get her suitcase. He set it on the paved driveway, and Elena thanked him as she hoisted her backpack on her shoulder. As the driver pulled away, she tipped him on the app and then climbed the cement steps to the small front porch. The door was black and flanked by two long windowpanes. The first time she’d come here, she’d been afraid to look inside as Vlad unlocked the door. Her stomach had churned and twisted as he opened the door and stepped aside for her to go in first. Her shoes had echoed on the glossy floor in the cavernous entryway, but his were a soft, gentle thud as he came up behind her.
“Welcome home.” His voice was a honey glaze, warm and sweet and soft.
In her peripheral vision, she saw him lift his hand as if to touch her. She moved away.
Elena shook off the memory and pushed open the door. Not much had changed. The same decorative table that had been there before was still there, still a deposit for loose change and mail and other odds and ends from his pockets at the end of the day. Pulling her suitcase behind her, Elena walked toward the wide staircase that bisected the entryway. Ahead was the kitchen. To the left was a large living room with a fireplace and a wall of bookshelves. To the right was a dining room with French doors leading to a covered patio. Her first night there all those years ago, he’d ordered takeout and set it out on the patio with candles. She’d taken her plate and eaten in her room.
“Who the hell are you?”
Elena let out a startled shriek and slapped a hand to her chest. At the end of the hallway, a gray-haired woman with a deep scowl stood with her hands on her hips and a massive dog at her side. The black Newfoundland let out a thunderous bark and launched into a gallop toward Elena. She barely had time to stretch out her palms to ward off the coming attack before the dog jumped and planted his paws on her shoulders. Elena collided with the railing to the staircase as she stumbled under his weight. With another loud woof, the dog dragged his long tongue up the side of her face.
“I said, who the hell are you and what are you doing in Vlad’s house?” the old woman demanded.
“Can you please call off your dog?” Elena begged. She loved dogs. All dogs. In fact, she preferred dogs to most humans. But this one could fit her whole head in his mouth, and she wasn’t sure if the licking meant I love you or I’m going to eat you.
“It’s not my dog,” the woman said.
“Well, whose is it?” Elena asked. Had Vlad gotten a dog and not told her about it? She thought his rejection in the hospital stung, but not telling her that he’d adopted a pet would be an outright fuck you.
“I’m not answering any of your questions until I know who you are,” the old woman argued. “Are you some kind of stalker? One of those lunatic groupies who chase after famous athletes or whatever? How did you even get in here?” She spoke over her shoulder. “Call the police, Linda.”
Elena snapped out of her stunned state. “I don’t think so,” she said, gently pushing the dog away. He dropped all four paws to the floor and wagged his bushy tail. Elena gave him a tentative pat on the head and sidestepped him to face the intruder at the end of the hallway. “I will be calling the police.”
The old woman snorted. “For what? We have a right to be here.”
“Really? So do I.”
“Bullshit. Who are you?”
Elena crossed her arms. “I am his wife.”
Just then, two more women raced into the hallway to stand next to the gray-haired one. They wore matching expressions of OMG.
“Elena?” the old woman croaked.
“Holy crap,” said the one in the middle. Was that Linda? Elena realized upon closer inspection that she looked like a younger and less-intimidating version of the older one. The third woman, a trim fifty-something in yoga pants and bright lipstick, squeak-gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand.
“I can’t believe it,” the older one hissed. “You have some nerve, showing up here like this. Does he even know you’re here?”
Elena stiffened in indignation. “Yes, he knows I’m here. I spent the night at the hospital with him.”
“That’s a lie,” the old woman said.
“Ma!” The younger one glared. “Stop.”
“What?” the old one snapped. “You expect me to be nice to her after everything she has put him through?” She turned an accusing finger at Elena. “You have no idea what he’s been like the past few months.”
Wow. This woman really, really hated her. What had Vlad told them?
Probably the truth.
Elena swallowed her own reproach. The dog, as if sensing her discomfort, scooted closer to her and leaned against her legs. Elena had to brace her hand against the railing of the staircase to keep from falling again.
“Ignore my mother,” the nicer one said. She walked forward and extended her hand. “I’m Linda. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Elena stared at the woman’s long fingers skeptically before slowly accepting the handshake.
“That is my mother, Claud,” Linda said, gesturing reluctantly to the cranky one. Then she nodded to the one in yoga pants. “And this is Andrea.”
“We’re Vlad’s neighbors,” Andrea said. “When we heard about what happened, we decided to come by and help get the house ready for him. We were cleaning out his fridge.”
Elena tucked her hands under her arms. “That’s very kind of you, but I can take care of everything.”
Claud made an ugly, nasally noise.
Linda looked at the ceiling as if praying for peace and said, “Ma, please.”
The dog, whose owner had yet to be determined, woofed and leaned harder into Elena’s legs.
“We’re the Loners,” Andrea said.
“The what?” Elena said.
“That’s what we call ourselves because our husbands are all dead.”
Elena cleared her throat. “How . . . unfortunate.”
“Technically,” Andrea clarified, “I got divorced before my ex-husband died.”
“My condolences.”
Andrea shrugged. “We started coming over here almost every day to have coffee with Vlad when he’s home, and now he’s a member of our little club. We swap recipes, gossip about the neighbors, stuff like that.”
“I see.” Actually, Elena didn’t see. At all. Every word out of their mouths wove a thicker and thicker cobweb in her brain. The beginnings of a headache throbbed a warning behind her temples. Elena pressed her fingers into one as she tried to make sense of the situation. “I don’t understand. Why exactly is Vlad in your club?”
“Because he’s alone, too, thanks to you,” Claud sneered.
“Ma,” Linda hissed. “Stop.”
Elena squared her shoulders. “I am sure he will appreciate that you stopped by to help, but I have to get ready for the team to drop off some equipment for him—”
“And then you’ll be leaving, right?” Claud said.
“Ma!” Linda said. “Vlad wouldn’t like this.”
“Because he’s too tender for his own good.” Claud lowered her voice. “And what will Michelle think?”
Elena blinked as the name of another woman rocketed through her. “Michelle?”
“Another member of our club,” Andrea said quickly. Too quickly. “Except her husband isn’t dead. They’re divorced because he cheated on her, so we just wish he was dead.”
Elena rubbed both temples.
Claud pointed that accusatory finger again. “Why did you come back here? Afraid his injury means he won’t be able to play anymore and you’ll be cut off from his money?”
The oxygen evaporated Elena’s lungs in a whoosh. Claud’s words hit a target deep inside Elena’s worst insecurities and shame.
“Let’s go,” Linda said, tugging her mother’s elbow. Then to Elena, she said, “I’m sorry. She’s very protective of him.”
“So am I.”
“If that were true, you’d leave,” Claud said.
Once again, the woman’s words hit their mark. And once again, it was because Elena knew she was right. But Elena had just enough self-respect left to not want to give Claud the satisfaction of knowing how much the old woman had hurt her. Or to tell her that Elena would, in fact, be leaving soon because Vlad didn’t want her here anymore than Claud apparently did.
Elena steeled her spine. “You can think whatever you want about me, but I am here for one reason only. To help Vlad. Whether you believe me or not is out of my control. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have a lot to do to get ready for my husband to come home.”
“Of course,” Linda said calmly. “Please tell Vlad we’re thinking of him.”
“I will.” Elena reached down and scratched the dog’s ears.
“His food is in the kitchen pantry, by the way,” Linda said, gesturing to the dog.
“This is Vlad’s dog?” She asked the question before realizing it simply proved Claud’s point that she was a shitty wife.
“No,” Andrea said. “He belongs to the people across the street, but he sort of adopted Vlad too. He’ll bark at the door to leave eventually.”
More cobwebs. “Someone else’s dog comes here to hang out?”
Linda shrugged. “There’s a cat that comes around too. Vlad had a pet door installed in the garage to let her come and go as she pleases.”
Of course he did. Because he was Vlad.
Linda grabbed her mother’s arm and started to tug her toward the front door. “Let us know if we can do anything to help,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Andrea paused next to Elena. “It’s really nice to meet you,” she said with a giggle. “You’re as pretty as he always said you were.”
Cheeks blazing, Elena crossed her arms across her chest and watched the three women leave. When they were gone, she looked down at Neighbor Dog—that would have to be his name for now—and patted his head. He woofed and wagged his tail. At least he didn’t have any preconceived notions about her.
Sighing, Elena picked up her backpack and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Neighbor Dog followed slowly behind her as she lugged both up the stairs and down the long hallway on the second floor. Her room was the last on the right, directly across from Vlad’s. Her door was closed, and when she opened it, the silence inside was like an accusation. Everything was the same. Exactly as she’d left it. And though nothing was really hers—not the paisley bedspread or the white dresser or the matching lamps on either side of the bed—she remembered them. Like a child who goes to visit an aunt after several years and ends up sleeping in the same room as the last visit. Everything was familiar but strange.
Elena set her things on the floor by the bed. Someone had cleaned in here recently. The carpet bore the stripes of a recent vacuuming, and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen on the TV, the desk, the dresser. Even the attached bathroom was spotless. A peek under the sink revealed all her products were still there, waiting for her return. Shampoo and conditioner and shaving cream and honeysuckle-scented bodywash. She’d left them here when she went to school, and Vlad had stored them for her eventual return. She lifted the bodywash, flipped open the lid, and inhaled the scent. She closed the lid and put it away before it brought back too many memories.
She returned to the bed and gave in to the weakness in her knees, much like she had the first night she spent here. It was the nicest bed she’d ever seen. Plush and full, with enough pillows to accidentally smother someone. Or, as she discovered, to smother the sounds of crying. She did a lot of it that night. And then, hours later as she lay awake in the dark, eyes puffy and head throbbing, she vowed she’d never cry again. And she hadn’t until six months ago when she’d stood in front of him, looking sexier than any man had a right to in his tuxedo, and told him she was leaving him.
Even now, months later, she couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her at the wedding. So full of hope and joy. Until he wasn’t. She’d broken him. The man who had saved her. The man who had been her childhood best friend.
Neighbor Dog leaped onto the bed and flopped down with his head in her lap. She buried her fingers in his thick black fur. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. Vlad had always wanted a pet, but his travel schedule made it impossible because he couldn’t leave them alone. Something else she’d stolen from him.
The sudden blare of her phone made her jump a full inch off the mattress. It was a Nashville number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Konnikova? This is Tess Bowden. I’m one of the trainers from the Vipers. We’re going to be there in a few minutes with the home rehabilitation equipment. Are you ready for us?”
“Yes, I’ll watch for you.”
“Great,” the woman said. “We’re about ten minutes away.”
Elena left her room with Neighbor Dog at her heels and found herself staring at the open door to Vlad’s bedroom. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in there. Which was as sad a commentary on the reality of their marriage as anything. At first, she’d avoided going in there because it was awkward. But then because it was too painful. Every time she stepped foot in his private space, the ring on her finger would grow heavy with the weight of his disappointment.
Now, temptation mingled with curiosity, propelling her feet forward until she stood at the threshold. A glance around the space told her very little had changed since she’d last been here. The same king-size bed sat in the middle of the room covered by the same plain, navy blue comforter. Matching tables sat like bookends on either side with twin lamps. She had no right to snoop around his things, but voyeuristic need overrode her sense of propriety. A few feet inside the room, the door to the master bathroom stood open on the left. She paused to look inside. The products and toiletries lined along the sink were like intimate insights into his daily rituals. A towel was folded haphazardly and draped across the sink. Heat filled her chest cavity as her mind pictured him there, wrapped in a towel as he dragged a razor down the hard angle of his jaw. Such a simple task. Such a manly task. One that wives around the world watched their husbands do every single day, but not Elena. She’d never witnessed her husband engage in that particular act of grooming.
Elena tore her eyes away, swallowed hard, and approached the bed. Only one side was disturbed or appeared like it was regularly slept on, and the relief that flooded through her at that thought was as swift as it was humiliating. A quick scan of the room revealed no evidence that a woman—a Michelle—regularly stayed there. Elena returned to the bathroom and studied the products on the sink again. All men’s things. No lotions or nail files or ponytail holders or boxes of tampons.
But when she walked back out, the glint of gold caught her eye. She approached his dresser. And there, on top, discarded like yesterday’s mail, was his wedding ring.
“You’re my best friend, Elena. I want to take care of you. Come to America. You can start over and make a new life.”
“I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
Vlad dug a pair of rings from the pocket of his jeans. One, a simple, manly gold band. The other, a circle of diamonds that twinkled in the light of the streetlamps above. Life moved in slow motion as he lowered to one knee.
“I’m asking you to marry me.”
She was so stunned that she couldn’t speak, and he took her silence as rejection. His cheeks blazed red as he stood. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid. Forget I said that. Or, maybe just think about it. I—”
She whispered her answer. “Yes.”
Her brain had revisited that moment so many times. Wondered how things might have been different if she’d said no. If she’d had the presence of mind to recognize her own vulnerable desperation and his eager generosity for what they really were—a toxic combination that was doomed to combust. Elena had long since accepted that she’d made the only decision she could at the time, but she had also wished a million times since then that she could go back and do things differently, to stop herself before she made selfish choices that would inevitably hurt him. She wouldn’t do that to him again. Maybe Claud was right. Maybe the best thing she could do for Vlad was to leave as soon as possible.
Elena looked down at her own ring, still wrapped snugly around the finger where he’d placed it all those years ago. She tugged it off and, after a moment of hesitation, laid it next to his.
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the team staff. She walked out, Neighbor Dog closely behind, and pulled the door shut.
“The Western conference finals will end tomorrow with either the Nashville Vipers or the Vancouver Canucks heading to the Stanley Cup, but the Vipers will face a battle without their best defenseman, Vladislav Konnikov, who is recovering in a Nashville hospital from surgery for a broken tibia suffered in Friday night’s game. Team sources say it is uncertain when he will return to the team. The Vipers have moved Adam Lansberg into the rotation to replace Konnikov—”
Vlad zapped off the TV, casting his room in darkness but for the lights from the parking lot outside. The shadows matched his mood. All day, he had prayed for privacy amid the constant stream of team staff, nurses, and other medical personnel. But now that he had silence, he longed once again for distraction because the instant his mind was disengaged, it replayed the sound of Elena’s suitcase wheels growing fainter down the hallway.
He’d told Elena that his mother would get her hopes up if she knew Elena was here. Which was true. His mother would say it was a sign that she was right all along, that Elena had just needed time to get over what happened with her father so she could love Vlad fully. Mama would read something into the fact that Elena had dropped everything and hopped on a plane in the middle of the night to stand next to his bed, run her fingers over his hair, and assure him everything was going to be okay.
But that wasn’t why Vlad sent Elena away. It wasn’t only his mother’s hopes he worried about. It was his own. He would think it was a sign that she’d hopped on a plane in the middle of the night. At least with his mother, he could blame her eternal optimism on being a natural romantic. She was a literature professor at Omsk State University, a specialist in the great Russian poet Alexander Pushkin. Whenever he had doubts, Mama was ready with a Pushkin quote to encourage him to hang on a little longer, to believe in the future of his marriage.
But seeing Elena had made at least one thing clear. He couldn’t avoid his parents any longer. He’d never gone this long without calling home. He couldn’t even be sure when he last did. April, maybe? It had simply become too painful to keep lying to them, especially Mama, so he cut them off as much as his friends. Telling her the truth—that he and Elena were getting a divorce—was going to be torture. But it was time.
Vlad pressed his mother’s name in his contacts list, put the phone to his ear, and braced for impact.
“Finally.”
Vlad winced. It was a feat of linguistic majesty the way his mother could convey an entire spectrum of human emotions with a single, curt word. “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s been busy here and—”
“Too busy to tell your parents that you’re okay? The only person we’ve heard from is Josh.”
“I know—”
“And do you know how we found out that you were hurt? A journalist called us, Vlad. For comment. We didn’t even know!”
“Let me talk to him,” his father said in the background. Then, a moment later, his father’s voice boomed clearly. “If you weren’t already injured, I’d break your other leg.”
“Papa, I’m sorry. I haven’t had a chance to call until now.”
“You haven’t called in months.”
“Let me talk to him again.” His mother returned to the phone, this time with a slightly softer tone. “How are you? Are you in any pain?”
“Not right now. I can’t really feel anything.” In his leg, at least. His chest was caving in on itself.
“Josh said you’ll start rehab in about a week?”
“Yes, I hope so.”
His mother paused, and he could hear her brain working. “You are going to need someone to help out.”
“The team will provide someone—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Elena will do it. She’s almost done with school.”
And there it was. Elena had found her way into the conversation like he knew she would. “Mama—”
“Have you called her yet? She must be so worried.”
Vlad dropped his head to the pillows and closed his eyes. “Mama, listen to me—”
“Please tell me you’ve called her. How are you ever going to have a normal marriage with her if you always hold her at arm’s length?”
His eyes flew open. “What are you talking about?”
Mama made a dismissive noise.
Vlad pressed his hand into the bed to sit higher. “She is the one who moved to Chicago. You told me to let her go.”
“Yes, but I never told you to make her believe she would never be welcomed back.”
Vlad wanted to pound the heel of his hand against his head to make sure his ears were working correctly. Was Mama blaming him for the state of his marriage? She had never spoken to him like this. Never. “All I have ever done is give her the space you said she needed.”
“You’re right. It is all you’ve ever done. So call her now, Vlad. Tell her you need her now. Before it is too late.”
Vlad had to clear his throat twice to form his next words. “It—it is already too late.”
“Not if you call her.”
“Mama, you’re not listening to me.”
His mom’s silence was as loud and bone-shattering as a defensive hit against the boards. He could imagine her standing straight in the kitchen, her hand fluttering to her ever-present strand of pearls. They’d been a gift from his father on their tenth anniversary, and Vlad had never seen her without them.
His mouth was suddenly dry. “Mama, Elena and I—”
“No.”
“We’re getting a divorce.”
“Why, Vlad?” she asked in a voice that finished him off.
He closed his eyes against the assault of guilt. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t. You two are meant to be together. You always have been—”
“She’s coming back to Russia,” he blurted out, cutting her off.
“What?” His mother breathed. “What do you mean?”
“She wants to come back and become a reporter like her father.”
“No. That can’t be true. She married you so she could get out of Russia.”
Yeah, and that was the only reason, which was the problem. “I guess she changed her mind.”
“And I suppose you’ve done nothing to try to stop her.”
There it was again. The insinuation that this was all his fault. He swallowed against the burn of irritation. “Of course I tried.”
“Really? Because it seems to me you just did your normal shut-down-and-withdraw routine.”
“What does that mean? What is my shut-down-and-withdraw routine?”
“You’re like a skittish, hibernating bear when you are scared, Vlad. You shut people out and go into hiding. Like an absolute bear.”
He resisted the urge to growl like one. “She’s leaving me.”
“Leaving you. Is that how you see it?”
“How the hell else am I supposed to see it?”
“If you opened your eyes, maybe you’d see that you left her a long time ago.”
“I—I can’t believe you’re saying this. You are the one who has told me for years to keep hanging on, to give her time, to—”
“Have you ever told her you love her?”
It was his turn to go silent.
“I assume that means no,” she said.
“I told her that when she was done with school, I wanted a real marriage with her.”
“That’s not the same thing as telling her you love her.”
“There’s no point. Not when there is only love on one side.” Oh shit. He slapped a hand over his eyes and held back a groan. But it was too late. His mother pounced like a panther.
“Oh, Vlad. You do love her.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.”
What was the point in denying it? “Mama, it doesn’t matter.”
“It would matter if you simply told her.”
He opened his eyes and turned his head to stare out the window. “What makes you think it would change anything?”
“Vlad, love changes everything.”
“Only in books.” And he was done with those. Done with the fairy tales. The Alexander Pushkin romanticism. The unrealistic expectations. He’d even once thought he could write his own book, but not anymore. He hadn’t looked at his manuscript in months. He was done with all of it.
“I hope you don’t really believe that,” Mama said, her tone heavier with disappointment than he’d ever heard.
“Tell Papa I said goodbye.”
“Vlad—”
He hung up.