Chapter Forty-Nine
She had to leave.
That was the one thought that kept running through Maisa’s mind. After the gunfire, after patching Dyadya up, after the hugging and exclamations of relief when they got back. After things began to run down, and Sam had gone to secure the police station and the two remaining mafiya thugs. She couldn’t face him after what she’d done.
It was over and the urge to run was nearly overwhelming.
Maisa slowly wiped down Sam’s kitchen table. Everyone had scattered after lunch, either to take much-needed naps or to help with the cleanup of the town.
Everyone but Maisa and Becky.
“Are you going to talk to him?” Becky asked.
“What?”
“Sam,” Becky said impatiently. “You need to talk to him.”
“I…” Maisa shook her head. “I need to get Dyadya to the hospital, and Sam’s busy with all the police work. I don’t suppose we’ll have a chance to talk before I leave. Probably that’s best.”
Becky threw the dishcloth she’d been using into the sink and propped a hand against her hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maisa watched her hand going around and around on the already clean counter. She shrugged.
“Maisa Burnsey—”
“I betrayed him, okay?” Maisa threw down her own cloth, frowning fiercely so she wouldn’t cry. “When he most needed me, I left him. I didn’t trust him to get Dyadya safely away, and because of that I nearly got us all killed.”
“Yeah, that was a shit move,” Becky said. “But keeping your worries to yourself isn’t going to solve anything.”
Maisa shook her head. “There isn’t anything to solve, all right? I… I just don’t belong here. I don’t belong with Sam.”
“Bullshit,” Becky snorted. “Me and half the town have watched that man chase you for most of the year. Just stop running, why don’t you?”
“Because he wouldn’t be happy with me!” Otter looked up at her shout. Karl and Molly had taken Cookie to a local vet in the sled, and the little terrier seemed lonely without his bedmate. Maisa lowered her voice. “I just… it’d be better to leave him alone.”
Becky looked at her and took a deep breath. “I’m going to say this only once, Maisa Burnsey. I always thought there’d be time for Doc and me. That there wasn’t any hurry, no need to figure out anything between us.” She let out a breath, a tear trickling down her tough face. “But we nearly ran out of time. Don’t be a dumbass.”
Becky stalked out of the kitchen and into the downstairs bath.
Maisa was left staring down at her hands, wondering which would be the bigger mistake:
Or leaving him.
Maisa sighed and threw the dishrag in the sink before wearily tramping up the stairs to Sam’s bedroom.
“Masha mine,” Dyadya rumbled from Sam’s bed—the only place left to put him when they’d got back. “What worries you?”
“Nothing.” Maisa tried for a smile, but it wasn’t working. “Now that Beridze is gone, everything’s back to normal. We just have to wait for the roads to clear and we’ll be out of here.”
“ ‘We’?” Dyadya’s voice was sharp. “I had the idea that you might be staying here with Sam West.”
“No.” Maisa took a breath, steadying herself. “You don’t have to worry about that. You were right: there’s too much difference between us.”
“You are sure of this, Masha mine?” His words were so gentle she nearly sobbed.
She sank suddenly onto the side of the bed. “I really don’t see how he can forgive me, Dyadya.”
The old man’s hand moved and then it was covering hers. He sighed.
“You were right. We’re too far apart,” she whispered. “We wouldn’t have worked out any more than Mama and Jonathan.”
“Such melodrama,” he chided gently. “Do you remember when I told you that sometimes as a man grows older, he regrets decisions he made in his youth?”
She twisted to look at him. Despite his injuries, Dyadya was looking alert as he lay in Sam’s bed. “Yes?”
“Well, Masha mine, I fear I have begun to regret things I have done—and not done.”
She raised her eyebrows. She’d never heard Dyadya voice remorse for his bloody past.
“Oh, not those actions.” Dyadya waved a hand, dismissing his years as a Russian mafiya. “No, I regret that I never fully told you why your father forced me to testify against Gigo Meskhi.”
Maisa moved restlessly. “Dyadya—”
“No, my Masha,” Dyadya said sternly. “You will listen this time, I think. Jonathan Burnsey did not like my closeness to you and your mother, but it was not for the reason you imagine. He worried less for his career and more for your safety.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He asked softly. “You have years of prejudice, but think as a woman, not a child. I worked for the most powerful mafiya pakhan in the U.S. Is it not natural, then, that a father should fear such a connection? When he forced me to testify, he removed not only Meskhi from you and your mother’s life, but me as well. And I was the original source of this danger, was I not?”
“But…” Her mind struggled to understand this new view of her history, her life. “But why didn’t he tell me?”
“Perhaps he knew you wouldn’t listen.” Dyadya shook his head. “I do not know, but I think it is past time for you to talk to your father, Masha mine. You may find that he is not entirely the monster you think him. People rarely are. Too, I think nothing good comes from avoiding discussions such as these. Misunderstandings can live for years, can they not? All avoidable if one has but a little courage to talk over things, eh?”
Maisa stared at her beloved uncle, too confused to respond for a moment.
Then someone whooped from downstairs.
Maisa rose and went to the head of the stairs to look.
Downstairs Dylan turned from the front door. “There’s a plow coming through. We’re out!”
She nodded and returned to Dyadya, her mind made up. “We need to get you, Doc, and Doug to a hospital.”