The Language of Sisters (45 page)

“I'm so glad you're home. I can't believe you've rented a house.”

“I can't either, Toni, but it feels ... right. That's the word for it. I want to plant a garden.”

I thought of what my parents had said about Dmitry and a garden. “You're kidding. Mama and Papa said that you would like that.”

“They know me.”

“I'll help you. I'll get a floppy hat.”

He smiled, high-fived me. “Thanks, Toni. We'll plant carrots together.” His face shut down, but only for a sec. “No potatoes, no beets.”

“Absolutely not.” No to his nightmare vegetables.

“It's so odd that a couple of vegetables could cause me such anxiety... .”

“Potato and beet anxiety.” Sounded funny; it wasn't.

“I think I'll write a poem for my blog today about anxiety. It'll be called ‘The Debilitator.' Everyone hates anxiety, that's what I've learned. And so many people are chased down by The Debilitator, including me sometimes.”

“I've been chased, too.”

He gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze, then Maxie flew overhead.

“Look at that!” Dmitry pointed. “A golden eagle. It's a sign I should stay in Portland.”

“I'll take it.” I hugged him.

As Dmitry and I left my tugboat, I snuck a peek back at Nick's houseboat. No Nick.

23

On Saturday, the Kozlovsky gang was invited to Dmitry's new home for a barbeque. It was a yellow bungalow with a sprawling backyard, fir and willow trees, and a huge deck. He made ribs.

I walked to the end of the backyard with my father in my sloppy jeans and T-shirt. I did give myself credit for being clean. He put his arm around my shoulders and pointed to the sunny spot of Dmitry's yard. “See? Dmitry needed a garden. I knew it.”

“He needs a garden, and he needs the truth, Papa.” My father's scars on his face had faded over the years, but they were still a reminder of the hell he'd been through.

“The garden will be better for him.” He answered in Russian. I knew it was because my question brought him back to Moscow. “The garden will bring him peace, his truth will not. It will hurt him and I do not want to hurt my son.” He rubbed his face. “But I will tell him, Antonia, you are right, he needs to know. We will wait until after the kayaking trip, okay? Let him have that. Let the four of you have that time together.”

“He may hate me when he knows what I didn't tell him,” I said, also in Russian.

“He will not hate you. He will understand. But I am sorry, Antonia, for putting you in the position that we have all these years, with that secret, I truly am. You have always been a beautiful daughter to me and to your mama. I want nothing more than for you, and your brother and sisters, to all be happy. You four are our lives.” He thumped his chest, and two tears slipped down his cheeks. “Our whole lives.”

My father makes me emotional sometimes.

* * *

Everyone had a plateful of ribs, coleslaw, hot bread, and salad. My father said a long, long prayer of thanks for bringing his son home to him, then Dmitry raised his glass. “To family,” he said. “To the Kozlovskys.”

“To the Kozlovskys!” we shouted.

Then we all sat down and ate. We Kozlovskys are talented at eating.

And secret keeping.

We would be telling. Soon.

* * *

Valerie won.

Tyler Barton was convicted for all four murders, and there were other unsolved murders that would surely be pinned on him in the future.

I was there when the jury came back and announced the verdict. The victims' relatives and friends stood and cheered and clapped. Victory! Justice, finally.

The Barton family stood, too, but not to cheer. They hollered, they swore like the mean, half-cocked people they are.

The security was already tight in that room, and the police and security officers swarmed.

The people who were cheering stopped cheering and told the Barton family to “Shut up” and swore back at them as they struggled against the officers. Two fathers of the victims lost it but were outdone by two mothers, who took the opportunity in the middle of the mayhem to try to get to Tyler. Complete, utter yelling, hitting, chaos.

More security officers ran down the aisle and hauled the Bartons out, pushing the victims' loved ones who tried to attack Tyler out of the way.

I was scared to death for Valerie. They were hungry jackals with sickening, vengeful expressions.

I heard her in my head, clear as day.

She turned toward me amidst the upheaval, the cacophony. She had two fingers on her widow's peak, rubbing it.

My whole body felt as if it had been dipped in ice.
I'll be with you.

Valerie was hustled out one door, Tyler the other.

I did not miss Tyler's hateful expression when he smirked at Valerie or what he shouted at her. “You're dead.”

Valerie didn't miss it, either.

The snake and his family were gunning for her.

* * *

Kai took the kids to Hawaii to visit his family when Valerie went kayaking with Ellie, Dmitry, and me.

The kayaking trip in the San Juans was not arduous. Valerie and Ellie hadn't kayaked before, but the ocean sparkled, the orca jumped, the eagles soared, the seals peeked at us, and otters played nearby. We saw forests, sandy beaches, cliffs, and rocky shores.

We went with a guided tour, as they made it easy for us. They assembled our tents, provided the food.

“We're not exactly roughing it,” Valerie said, glancing at the outdoor shower the crew was setting up.

“We can't say we're out in the wilds,” Ellie said, eyeing the steak sandwiches

“We are not going to be able to go home and talk about the joys of eating off the land,” Dmitry said, as the chef handed out glasses of wine.

“But we can pretend that we're adventurers,” I said. “Cheers.”

We fell over in our kayaks, coming up drenched. We crashed into each other. We camped, sang, wrote funny poetry, and watched shooting stars. I cried about Marty, and Nick, Valerie cried because of the trial, Ellie cried because she was so happy she didn't get married, and Dmitry cried because of a locket, a rocking horse, and a woman with bloody golden hair.

I worried about Nick's job, the danger, how he could die, too, but then I reminded myself that Marty had a safe job, so safe, and he died, and I could not hinge love on an occupation.

We drank too much one night and had hangovers the next day. The guides jokingly threatened to have us arrested for drunken kayak driving.

I sank into my kayak, into that ocean, as if I'd never been gone. Hello, ocean. Hello, nature. Hello, beauty that will be here forever, millions of years after I'm gone. Endless and eternal. Stunning and surprising.

Maybe it was the simple beauty of the exquisite emerald islands. Maybe it was being outside again, finding myself, the self that I'd lost after Marty had died. Maybe it was time. Time to know that I would always love Marty, but he was gone, and I had grieved so deeply I wanted to die and I didn't want to want to die anymore.

I wanted to live. I wanted to be happy. I was not who I had been before. But I was still me, and I decided that I would live again.

I would be brave and honest and I would tell Nick I loved him, and I would hope it wasn't too late.

I love him with everything that I am. I would love him forever, I knew that. That love did not take away from the love I had with Marty.

My kayak flipped over, again. This time I came up laughing. I heard Marty laughing, too, then his laugh faded and I heard Nick.

* * *

At the end of our trip, on the white ferry taking us back to civilization, the islands fading in the distance, the four of us stood at the rail, our arms wrapped around each other.

We watched the rays of the sun tunnel through white, puffy clouds, to the blue waves, creating that golden staircase up to heaven.

The staircase reminded me of Marty, the loss still there, but this time, for the first time, I also felt gratefulness and acceptance. Gratefulness for the time that I had with Marty and acceptance that he was gone. It was not my time for the golden staircase. It would be, in the future, but for now I needed to move forward and begin again.

With Nick.

“Thank you,” I said to them. My sisters and I put our widow's peaks together with Dmitry's blond curls. “I love you.”

“We love you, too, Toni.”

“I am never kayaking with a hangover again,” Ellie said. “That hurt.”

* * *

“Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Toni.”

Nick was guarded. He seemed to take up most of the doorway of his houseboat. He was wearing a black tank top and jeans, and he was so sexy I could feel myself tingling. It was about nine o'clock, Friday night. I'd been home from the island for two hours. The dock was quiet, the river flowed, and the stars had their dimmers on but were becoming brighter.

“How are you?” I took a deep, deep breath and told myself to be brave.

“Fine.”

“Can I come in? Please?” Please, Nick.

He hesitated, and my stomach pitched and headed toward my feet.

“Sure.” He stepped aside. “Have a seat.” He indicated his couch, and I sat down before my pudding knees gave out from fright. He sat down about three feet away from me.

I had taken a shower, washed my hair, and put on my clothing armor. Thigh-length black skirt, black tights, knee-high boots, low-cut purplish silk blouse, a push-up bra, earrings, and lipstick.

“Haven't seen you around.”

“Dmitry and my sisters and I went kayaking.”

“Ah.” His eyes flickered. I could tell he understood the significance of my little journey. “How'd it go?”

“It was what I needed to do.” I sat on my hands to hide the shaking. “It went well. Valerie rolled herself twice, which was hilarious. Ellie tripped straight into the ocean one night holding a beer. Dmitry somehow ended up going backward, often, and I ran into a rock, a log, and a downed tree, but we made it.”

“I'm glad you went.” Nick seemed tired. He had lost weight. He was wary, evaluating why I was there.

“Do you—” I stopped, words stuck. Too much was weighing on this one question. “Do you want to meet my family?”

He didn't respond at first, his elbows on his knees, those warm and magically perfect hands linked together.

“I would like that very much.”

“You would?” Yay!

“Yes.” He smiled. “Yes, I would.”

“They're uh ... different.”

“I like different.”

“But none of them deals drugs.”

“That's a plus, or I would have to arrest them.”

“No arrests necessary.” I smiled. I felt much better! “I was also wondering if you would like to spend the night on my tugboat.”

Nick's smile grew. Something flashed in those light blue eyes. Perhaps a spark of light blue hope.

“I would like that, babe. But I have to ask, so we're clear, would it be for only one night?”

“I was hoping it would be for ... for many nights.” I scooted over and grabbed his warm hand in both of mine, I couldn't help it.

“Ah.” His smile was now full, happy.

“Yes. Hundreds of nights. Thousands. Tens of thousands.”

He picked me up, dropped me on his lap, wrapped those strong arms around me, and kissed me, long and macho manly like. “I would like to stay over for tens of thousands of nights. It's what I want more than anything.”

“Then you're invited.” I kissed him, then pulled away. “I love you, Nick.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

“And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't commit, couldn't be with you. I am truly sorry that I hurt you.”

“Don't be. I understand.”

“I'll make it up to you.” I kissed him again, then started kissing lower.

“I'm going to hold you to that.” Macho man wiped a hand across his face, and I grabbed it and kissed the tears away on his palm and on his cheeks. I hugged him. I hugged my Nick, a strong, courageous man who looked like a hardened criminal but who had a warm and patient heart.

We made love on his couch, clothes flying everywhere, then we went to my houseboat for the sleepover.

Making love with Nick is my favorite thing to do.

 

The next morning I had no trouble finding an outfit to wear to work. What color? That was easy: red.