The Silence of Trees (33 page)

When I walked back into the living room, I saw that Andriy had taken off his shoes, and that made me smile. I always appreciated when guests removed their shoes without my asking. It showed that they respected my home.

Andriy was looking around the room, and again I felt self-conscious.

"You have a lovely home," he said. "Very warm and inviting."

"Thank you, I try," I said, putting on my coat. Andriy sprang up to help me. I was embarrassed, unaccustomed to this type of courtesy. We put on our shoes and stepped outside.

Andriy had ordered a limo for the evening. I had only ridden in a limo once before, for Zirka’s wedding. This was a small, elegant car, with a moon roof that we left open to watch the snow falling. We rode to Mon Cheri in silence, listening to classical music on the radio.

At the small, elegant restaurant we were seated in the back, closest to the fireplace. The interior was beautiful, with white Christmas lights interwoven with white silk drapery and suspended from the ceiling. There were silver candlesticks and lace tablecloths on every table. Lovely music played softly in the background, and around us were couples at different stages of their meals.

I looked at the menu and was overwhelmed. Most of the dishes were in French, so I was grateful for the detailed descriptions. We began with cocktails, and we had warm bread with real French butter. It was the best butter I had ever tasted in my life.

As we waited for the waitress to bring our food, we talked like old friends, discussing the past few days.

"What had you so upset the other day?" I asked without thinking, just because I was concerned for him.

He sighed and looked away. I instantly regretted bringing up the subject.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you."

"No, it’s all right. I was going to tell you. You see, I had been casually seeing this woman, Margaret, for the last five years."

My heart sank. Perhaps his intentions were not so honorable after all. Or maybe he was only looking for friendship with me.

He continued. "It was never serious, at least not for me. She knew I traveled a lot, and I wasn’t interested in a commitment. I tried to end things with her before I came to Chicago to do ‘Angel’s Lullaby,’ but she didn’t give up.

"When I went back to New York, Margaret was waiting for me outside my apartment. I told her we’d talk later, and she went home. I had a lot of business and, frankly, I tried to put off the conversation as long as I could, until the day I spoke with you. We had lunch and once again I tried to explain things to her. She made a big scene and said she’d go to the press with rumors and gossip. I didn’t care. I told her I wished her well but didn’t want to see her again. That was it. I stopped taking her calls, and I’m planning on changing my phone number."

"I had heard that you were a bit of a gigolo," I said, trying to make a joke.

Andriy looked angry, "I’m not. I just haven’t been as lucky in love as you have."

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that," I said. The evening was turning into a disaster. He’d probably never want to talk to me again either.

The waitress brought our food, and it looked incredible. I had never seen food so artfully presented.

Andriy wasn’t touching his food.

"I’m sorry, Andriy," I said again and reached for his arm.

"It’s all right. I don’t mean to be defensive, least of all with you." He paused. "I’ve just spent my whole life looking for true love, the kind of love that lasts, and I had essentially given up. I figured I would probably die alone."

"I was married," I said, "but I’m no expert on love. I spent much of my married life wondering about a love I had lost during the war."

Andriy made a sound like a cough, or a bitter laugh.

"At least we have that in common," he said quietly.

I didn’t know what to say. I tried to remember what Ana had told me about love.

"My dearest friend, Ana, once said, ‘Let yourself love the past, but live the present.’ I am trying to live that philosophy right now."

"It’s a good philosophy," Andriy said, taking the hand that I had rested on his arm and holding it in his. His palm was warm, dry, soft. These were not hands that had spent a lifetime doing manual labor. His only calluses were from writing. He lightly traced his fingertips along my wrist and palm. I got goosebumps and blushed. I couldn’t help but think that he must have had many lovers in his lifetime.

"We should eat before our food gets cold," I said.

Andriy nodded, his face serious. He poured more wine into my glass and said, "First I’d like to make a toast—to living the present and perhaps finding love, too."

We toasted and ate our meals. I often caught Andriy watching me, and I would blush. I wasn’t sure what the rest of the evening had in store, but the meal was unforgettable. The food was delicious. I decided that beef bourguignon was my new favorite food.

As I finished my meal, I looked around and noticed that we were the oldest couple in the trendy restaurant. I caught the eye of a young pregnant woman whose husband had gone to the bathroom. She smiled at me. I smiled in return. I silently wished her a long and happy life.

"Save some room for dessert. They have chocolate soufflé." Andriy said, interrupting our silent exchange.

"Hm. Oh, yes. Right, of course," I said, setting down my fork and knife.

"What were you daydreaming about?" he asked.

"That young woman there," I said with a toss of my head. "I hope she has a happy life, a healthy baby."

The waitress cleared our plates, and I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hands.

"I also realized that we are the oldest couple here," I said.

Andriy smiled again. "Oh, we’re a couple, are we?"

I blushed again, "I only meant—"

"I know; I’m teasing. Go on." He reached out to touch my arm.

I was grateful that at least my skin was not too flabby. I had never developed the age spots that some women get. Thank God for good genes, my daughters always said.

"I forgot what I was saying," I said, realizing that the wine was beginning to make me feel giddy.

"Well, I’ve been waiting to tell you something all evening," Andriy said.

I pulled away and folded my hands in my lap.

"You look even more beautiful now than you did when I first saw you," he said.

I shook my head. "Your eyesight must be failing you in your old age, Andriy."

"I’m serious, Nadya. You’re beautiful. You don’t know how hard it’s been not to kiss you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since you came to see the play." He got a mischievous grin. "Well, not all."

I took a breath to say something clever in return, but I couldn’t think of anything, so I closed my mouth and bit my lip. At that moment, the young pregnant woman came up to our table, her husband standing behind her looking embarrassed and a little drunk.

"Excuse me," she said. "I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to say how nice it is to see a couple your age that’s obviously very much in love. It gives me a lot of hope. Congratulations."

I smiled at Andriy, not having the heart to correct her.

"I’ve loved this woman from the first time I saw her more than fifty years ago," Andriy said, "and tonight I am the happiest man in the world."

I felt a knot in my throat. I smiled at the girl and said, "Thank you." I couldn’t look at Andriy.

The girl smiled a big grin in return and walked away with her husband.

The waitress brought our desserts, and I devoured mine, afraid to meet Andriy’s eyes. The soufflé was amazing, like a gooey, chocolate cloud served with fresh whipped cream. As we drank our coffees, Andriy asked, "Are you all right? Did I upset you?"

"This coffee is much better than the coffee at Chuck’s." I tried to change the subject.

"Nadya, that doesn’t work with me. I’m sorry if I said too much, if I embarrassed you. I just couldn’t lie to that girl."

"It’s okay," I said, staring into my cup. "I just don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything. I’m just happy to sit here with you."

"Thank you for tonight," I said. "It’s been an amazing meal."

"The company was pretty good, too," he said, and I looked into his eyes.

He had become more handsome with age, and there was such depth in his eyes. My Baba would have said they had too much water, from a life of too many unspent tears. He had lived through rough times during the war, too. The scenes in his play were certainly only a shadow of the pain and horrors he had witnessed. I had been so self-centered, thinking only about my own sacrifices.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked, a little sadly.

But I wasn’t. I wasn’t ready to re-enter the real world.

"Not really," I answered. "How about an after-dinner cocktail?"

He lit up. "You surprise me, Madame," he said in a playful French accent. "I would love to have one."

Andriy ordered two after-dinner drinks, sweet and thick. It was the perfect ending to our meal. We sat sipping them as the snow began to fall more heavily outside.

"So, what’s next?" he asked.

"I don’t know." I honestly didn’t know what I wanted.

"Do you want to go dancing? See a movie? Go for a carriage ride?" he asked.

I would have loved to have done any of those things . . . twenty-five years ago. But my body was achy and getting sleepy with all the food and drink.

"Those all sound nice," I said, "but I’m getting a little tired. I was on my feet all day, and I don’t think I could stay awake for a movie. Maybe another time?"

"Of course," he said, a little disappointed.

"You can come back to the house for a little while," I said in a voice I didn’t recognize. "I can make us some tea."

"Tea is nice, but it’s New Year’s Eve," he said. "How about we buy a bottle of champagne to toast the New Year?"

"Bubbly wine always goes right to my head," I said. "It makes me a bit silly."

"That’s not a bad thing," he said with a wink, and then he ordered the bottle of champagne.

We held hands in the back of the limo, watching the snow covering the city. It would be a dangerous night for driving, and I wished a silent blessing for any of my family members who were on the road that night.

Andriy sent the limo home when we got to the house. He said he’d call a cab later. Once inside, we kicked off our shoes. I hadn’t worn heels since the funeral, and it felt good to walk flat-footed again. I rubbed my feet on the carpet, enjoying the sensation.

"You know, I can rub them for you, if you like."

For a minute, I wasn’t sure what he meant.

"My feet?" I laughed. "That’s okay. No one has ever touched these feet."

I walked into the kitchen to find glasses for the champagne. I heard the pop of the bottle, and when I came back into the living room, Andriy was sitting on the couch holding the opened bottle. He had also plugged in the Christmas tree lights, removed his suit jacket and tie, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. I was surprised to see gray hair at the top of his chest. I never imagined that he was a hairy man. Pavlo had always been so smooth, not much hair on his face or body. Then I looked at his arms and saw that the hair was thick there as well.

"You have a lovely tree," he said as he poured the champagne.

"Thank you. My granddaughters helped me put it up the weekend after Thanksgiving."

Andriy set the glasses on coasters, placed them on the table, and patted his lap.

"Come on, put your feet here. I’ll give you a foot rub you’ll never forget." He winked at me.

Again, I’m sure the wine made me bolder than usual, but I sat down and lifted my feet. He pulled at my pantyhose.

"Sorry, they’re knee highs," I said.

"May I?" and before I could answer, he had lifted my long skirt and begun to pull down my stockings.

"Um, okay," I said, since one stocking was already off.

"Close your eyes and relax, Nadya. I’ll take care of you."

I shut my eyes, and he started rubbing the heel and ball of my foot. No one had ever rubbed my feet before. I didn’t even think about my unpainted toes, gnarled from having broken them on chair legs and doors too many times in my life. Katya tried to get me to have a pedicure once, but I refused, telling her that no one would touch my ugly feet. Apparently I was wrong. Blissfully wrong. Andriy had wonderful hands, strong and gentle. I think I moaned, because Andriy asked, "Are you all right? Too much pressure?"

"No, it’s good. Even better than rubbing my feet on the carpet." I opened my eyes and watched as Khvostyk walked over to sniff Andriy’s shoes. Satisfied, Khvostyk returned to his spot on my slippers. I was afraid to close my eyes again, for fear of falling asleep. All I needed was to start snoring.

His fingers moved up to each toe, and he paid them equal attention: pinching, pulling, and squeezing in a way that made me warm all over.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" I asked him.