Moonlight in Odessa (45 page)

‘Thank you, Pam.’

She pulled me to my feet. ‘It’s like there was just a shooting star and we’re the only two people to see it.’ She looked around the café. Vlad had been the only customer. Skeet wasn’t there and the guys were in the back doing prep work.

I smiled sadly. ‘More like a mirage.’

‘Do you think he’ll be back?’ she asked as she put paper placemats on the table.

I shrugged.

‘Why didn’t you follow him? I definitely would have.’

I laid the silverware on top of the placemat. ‘It wouldn’t have made a difference.’ If you run after a man, he’ll just run faster. That’s what we say in Odessa. Wasn’t it the same in America?

I tried to find some small thing to be thankful for. Tristan hadn’t come in for once. At least he hadn’t seen Vlad, thanks to Monday night football. Or was it baseball?

It was a slow night, so Pam told me to go home early. I trudged down Main Street, conscious of the smell of grease that permeated my skin, the perspiration that clung to my body, the hollow ache in my ribcage. Why hadn’t I hidden my ring? Why hadn’t I grabbed his arm when he strode past? No. I should have punched him when I’d had the chance. I looked at my reflection in a darkened store window. I saw a tired, miserable fool with dead eyes and defeated shoulders. A fool who’d deserted her grandmother, cut herself off from friends, left Odessa, and for what? She still loved Vlad. She still didn’t love her husband.

I stared at the glass until I saw Vlad’s reflection beside mine. Another mirage.

‘What’s that?’ I mimicked, holding up my left hand. ‘Nothing compared to this.’ I pulled out the diamond that I kept so close to my heart. His expression, for the first time unguarded, was one of tenderness, of understanding. His mouth softened, his dark eyes shone.

‘
Dushenka
,’ he whispered. My little soul. ‘You wear my ring. I’m sorry. I should have known. I had no right to be angry. You did what you had to do. No one understands that more than I.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Chin up. Defenses up. I was still an Odessan. Emotion scares us.

‘I thought you sent for me. Wasn’t that university catalog a love letter?’

He was still an Odessan, taking refuge in sarcasm. Make a gigantic gesture, then make it seem like it doesn’t matter. Did I really expect him to say, ‘I missed you. I wanted to see if there was a chance we could be together.’

‘Fuck you,’ I said.

‘I noticed that wasn’t “fuck off.” Do I still have a chance?’

Instinctively, my hand crept to my chest and I cradled his ring in my fingers.

‘I ripped Odessa apart looking for you. Hell, I even went to Kiev. My eyes and ears searched for you in Moscow and St Petersburg. The minute I got your “love letter,” I applied for a visa and bought a damn map of California. Do I still have a chance?’

‘For what? I’m married. And it’s your fault.’

‘What?’ he yelled. ‘How could it possibly be my fault?’

‘You left. For three months.’

‘I came back.’

‘Too late.’ I wrapped my arms around my body as if to shore myself up. ‘Look at you in the restaurant. I say something you don’t like and you walk out.’

‘I came back. I’ll keep coming back.’ He took a step towards me.

I stood my ground. Let him come.

He held out his hand, palm up. ‘I don’t want to force you. It has to be your decision.’

I stared at him. The anger left my body. Pride, resentment, frustration, loneliness, and desire remained. Which emotion would win? A year ago, he could have wriggled his finger and I would have come running. I’d grown up since then. I’d changed. I wouldn’t go to him. I couldn’t go to him.

Or could I?

A mysterious exchange occurred within me. Pull. Push. Yes. No. Why? Why not? Give yourself this one pleasure. Forget Tristan. Forget everything. Just this once.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him off the deserted main street. Five minutes later we stood in the trees, staring at each other. He nuzzled my neck, my hair. I sighed.

‘You smell good,’ he growled.

‘I smell like grease,’ I protested and pushed him away, embarrassed.

He pulled me to him. ‘Exactly. Like fried potatoes. It makes me want to devour you.’ He took my right hand and kissed my fingers, my palm, my wrist. ‘I missed you so much. Missed talking to you. Hell, I even missed your sharp tongue.’

I didn’t want to talk. I tugged at my uniform and kicked off my tennis shoes. ‘Want. You. Here. Now.’

‘Not here,’ he protested, but I knew this was one of the times that no meant yes, right now.

I pulled him down with me onto the leaves and grass and warm earth. Pulled his body onto mine. My fingers dug into his flesh, my lips hot on his neck. I wanted his body to pound mine. Again and again until I was sated.

‘You don’t have to go back,’ I told him afterwards. ‘You could stay here. Buy your citizenship.’

‘You ran a shipping company in Odessa. You dealt with the port officials, the tax men, and me. The smartest girl in all of Odessa is a waitress here. A waitress. America hasn’t done you any good. At home I’m the king. What would I be here? A guy you fuck after a hard night at work before you go home to your husband?’

I ignored the anger in his voice. ‘You could be a marine biologist.’

‘A single marine biologist,’ he countered. ‘Pining after a married lady. Come back to Odessa. I can give you anything you want. Forget you were ever here. Come home.’

His words brought me crashing back down to my little life. Part of me wanted to return to Odessa. To see Boba, to take her in my arms. David would take me back, I was sure of it. No one ever laughed at me in Odessa. I was strong there. If Vlad was king, I would be queen. But would going back be a step back? And could I leave Tristan after all he’d done for me?
You have a job
.
You could reimburse him. Go home with Vlad. Don’t you want to see Boba?
The voice was tempting. It came from deep inside me and knew exactly what I wanted. But how could I leave America for Vlad, who was as undependable as he was handsome?

‘How can I trust you?’ I pulled the twigs and leaves from my hair.

He brushed the dirt from my nape and back. A moment ago his touch had been sensuous. Now it was matter-of-fact, almost angry. ‘Well, God knows you’ve been nothing but honest and straightforward.’ Typical Odessan. Attack. Attack. Attack.

‘What did you expect?’ I asked, my arms akimbo, my chin thrust out. ‘That I’d drop everything for you? I like it here.’

I expected him to strike again, but instead he placed a calling card in my palm and took my hand in his. ‘I miss you. That’s why I came all this way. To see you, to see if we could work things out. Come to me. I have a suite at the Beresford in San Francisco. I’ll stay there forty-eight hours to give you time to pack your things and say your goodbyes.’

I stared at him.

‘Come to me,’ he whispered. ‘I love you.’

We dressed in silence and stepped out of the woods, and back to our respective worlds.

I walked to Tristan’s alone, chewing on my bottom lip, chewing over the possibilities. How wonderful it would be to see Boba. To see Odessa. To be able to trust Vlad. But if I went to him, it would mean leaving America for good.

Before opening the front door, I made sure I’d pulled the last of the leaves from my hair. Tristan met me in the entryway. I bristled at the sight of him.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘you’re making pretty good money down at the café. Maybe we could start splitting the cost of things.’

I looked at him and wondered what the hell I’d been thinking when I married him. ‘Send me the bill.’

I thought about driving to San Francisco. I thought about taking the bus. I thought about leaving Tristan, leaving everything behind. I thought about Vlad non-stop. I stared the card with the Beresford address and phone number. His room number was scrawled on the back. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, then hung up. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, then hung up. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, then hung up. I stared at the clock and let the hours pass me by. If only I were brave. If only I weren’t  such a coward.

Three weeks after the deadline lapsed, a UPS truck stopped in front of the house. (When these brown trucks first arrived in Odessa, some people were convinced that the initials stood for Ukrainian Postal Service.) And indeed, the package, marked fragile, was from Odessa. It wasn’t Boba’s handwriting on the label. And only one other person knew exactly where I was.

I sat and stared at the box. What could it be? I thought of him, thinking of me. Was he angry? Could he understand? When I opened it, I found a glass snow globe with Odessa’s opera house inside. He remembered. I shook the globe gently until the snow swirled.

In Odessa, there are no western souvenirs. No T-shirts, no key chains, no shot glasses. This gift had been custom made. There was no letter, no card, no signature. Just the program from our evening at the opera.

On the anniversary of my arrival in Emerson, Molly brought over the cassette her cousin had shot of our wedding. I looked at myself in the dress that Boba made.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Molly said, her eyes never leaving the big screen.

The ceremony in the woods was solemn. My eyes shone with hope. I watched myself take Tristan’s hand and slip on the silver ring I’d brought from Odessa. At the time, the fact it fit perfectly seemed like an omen.

At the reception, the videographer asked people, ‘Any advice for the newlyweds?’

‘If he wants to go fishin’, let him go fishin’!’ Toby exclaimed and the people around him laughed.

‘Love each other,’ a pensioner said. ‘And don’t go to bed angry.’

‘Yeah,’ the woman next to her said. ‘Stay up and fight.’

Then the camera turned to Molly. ‘You know those things that you really loved about him at first? Well those will be the things that really start to drive you nuts.’ She smiled nervously and continued, ‘But try to remember what first attracted you to him. That might help.’

The video continued, but I stopped watching. Molly was right. I’d been flattered by Tristan’s interest in me. He seemed so loyal, so intent on me. When I offered to take him to a social in Odessa, he said, ‘No, I’m with you now.’ Proof that he was ready to settle down – unlike Vlad. But I never suspected that I would become his whole life. His intensity hadn’t changed; my feelings had changed, or rather my interpretation had. Before, I’d felt flattered, now I felt suffocated.

Anna invited me for tea nearly every morning. Tristan grumbled, but I didn’t care. She was so cheerful, one couldn’t help but be happy in her presence. She was like a firefly or a snowdrop, a kind of good omen. Serenity’s business was booming and she opened a second shop. Every week, David called to encourage me to ‘reach out’ and to ‘move on.’ But I was too embarrassed to talk to Jane or Valentina. Of course, I didn’t need to say anything to Pam, she was a silent witness. I still saw Molly, but with her children and non-stop schedule, even when we were together, she was barely there.

We sat in her backyard watching the twins play. She looked pensive and I wasn’t sure if she was watching the twins at the far end of the yard or if she looked off towards something I couldn’t see.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m thinking about leaving Toby.’

I didn’t say anything for a long moment. I just looked at her. I didn’t understand. They seemed so happy. Seeing she was waiting for a response, I grabbed her hand and said, ‘I’m so sorry.’ Clearly, I had not looked beyond the façade. Clearly, something was going on. ‘Did he cheat on you? Does he . . . hurt you?’ I looked at her neck and arms for signs of ‘violets,’ Odessan slang for bruises.

She looked appalled and said, ‘God, no. We just grew apart.’

I didn’t understand. In Odessa, couples got divorced because the husband beat his wife or because he was an alcoholic, because of the tension of having to live with in-laws, or because a spouse cheated repeatedly (usually, once was not motive enough). No one in Ukraine got divorced because they grew apart. Growing apart, as near as I could tell, was just part of marriage.

At the café, Rocky, Raymond, Pam, and I met twenty minutes before our shift began. I’d never gone to work early in Odessa, but here, I was glad to get out of the house, away from Tristan. I must admit, there was something comforting about sitting at the lunch counter and having coffee with co-workers. It reminded me of sitting in the boardroom with David in Odessa. Raymond teased Rocky about his love for Pamela Anderson. Rocky told us about the progress he was making at school: he’d almost finished the engine for his Ford. Pam proudly told us her daughter was on the Honor Roll again. She asked if I’d heard from anyone back home, surely meaning Vlad. ‘Just my grandmother,’ I replied. She looked disappointed.

I was so grateful that he had come. Grateful for our moment together. But I didn’t know what to do. Should I contact him? How could I trust him not to leave me again? What if he’d already replaced me? What if I gave up my life in America only to have him disappear?