Prospect Street (34 page)

“It only takes once, and he does come home now and then.” She felt her bottom lip begin to tremble. She bit it. Hard. “He wants a baby, Dominik. He's been trying, and I've been, well, lying to him. I've been using birth control. But not always. I don't always have the chance.”

“And the timing is correct?”

She didn't know, because she wasn't sure exactly how far along she was. Unless she was in Dominik's arms, she'd felt tired and discouraged for the past several months. Joe's job made demands on her time and energy. The house made demands, as well. She had refused to hire a maid, so the housework had fallen to her, too.

Her period had been late, then scanty, then nonexistent. She had attributed each change to exhaustion and depression. She had wanted so badly not to have Joe's child that she hadn't acknowledged the possibility.

“It's Joe's baby,” she said. “He never comes home without demanding sex. Even when he's only home long enough to change clothes between trips.”

Dominik's posture was rigid, a rarity, since he was so at ease with his body. He fingered the overcoat, rubbing his fingertips over the wool, back and forth, like a toddler with his blanket. “This changes everything.”

Her lip trembled again, and she couldn't control it. “Yes.” Her voice trembled, too.

“How will you go on?”

How would she go on without him? That was the question he was asking, not from conceit but from compassion. He knew how much their time together meant to her. When she was with Dominik, she was the woman she'd been born to be. When she was with Joe, she was an appendage.

“How will
you?
” she asked.

He shrugged. When he'd appeared on her doorstep, he'd looked tired. Now he looked stricken, his ruddy complexion pale, his eyes lifeless. “I have Pasha. Without him?” He shrugged again.

They had never talked about their differences, as if doing so would widen the chasm that separated them. Now there was no point in skirting the truth.

“I wish I were strong enough to leave Joe,” she said. “If I were stronger, I would. I would find a job and raise my child without him. I would wait for you in a tiny apartment in the city, live for the nights when you could slip away from your family and come to me. But I'm not that strong, Dominik. I need the other things Joe can give me. And he wouldn't let me go, not without a fight. Not without trying to prove I'm unfit to raise our child.”

“I also have wishes that will never be.”

“We have to say goodbye today.”

“There is still work to do on the house.”

“I can take care of the little that's left. I'll hire someone else if I need to.”

“No, I will send Sandor.”

She wanted to say no, that this tie to him would be too painful, but she understood that sending Sandor was the only way Dominik could still give her something of himself. She lowered her head, one brief nod, but she couldn't raise it to look at him again.

“I've learned there is little happiness in the world. What I've found, I found with you,” he said.

Tears spilled from her eyes, but she didn't look at him. “I think you'd better go.”

“I wish you a healthy baby. A girl? Would that please you?”

She didn't care. The reality of motherhood seemed very far away. “That would be…nice.”

“Then that's what I'll wish for.”

She felt his fingers under her chin. She let him lift her head so their eyes met.

“Something to take into the years,” he said.

“Please go.”

He dropped his hand and sighed. Then he turned. He didn't put on his coat, although a light snow was falling. He went to the door and let himself out. Quietly, and without passion.

In the silent house, Lydia wept.

 

Thirty-nine years later, Lydia wept again.

E
arly most mornings, Pavel came to see Faith on his way to work. She had coffee waiting, and before he left for Scavenger's headquarters in northern Virginia they shared their plans for the day or their amazement at the twists and turns in the presidential election.

And sometimes, like this morning, he wasn't in a hurry to leave.

“I can't get over the fear that one of my children will walk in on us.” Faith lay in her own bed, her head pillowed on Pavel's shoulder. He was an athletic lover, capable of great tenderness and even more enthusiasm. She was always wrung out after their lovemaking, as if he had squeezed every drop of response out of her.

“They're in school.” He stroked her hair, seemingly in no hurry to be gone, despite a board meeting that afternoon.

“I know they are. Rationally. But I think it's a leftover inhibition. Maybe I'm afraid someone will finally figure out I'm a sexual being. Who worse than my children?”

“You? A sexual being?” Laughter rumbled through his chest.

“You know, if you had been my first lover…”

“What?”

“Well, I would have realized that what David and I had together was…”

“You're having trouble talking. Did we permanently alter your brain today?”

“This is embarrassing.”

“You can be embarrassed? After what we did just now?”

Now it was her turn to laugh. She was sure what they'd done was an entire chapter in the Kama Sutra. “At first David and I made love often enough that I believed all was well. But even then, we just didn't find this kind of joy. We shared, but we didn't take. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly.”

“The warning signs were there. I just didn't know enough to heed them.”

“And now that you've had me, you won't make the same mistake twice?”

She tugged a tuft of his chest hair in retribution, and he yelped. “You think you're funny, but now that I know what's been missing, maybe I'll pattern the rest of my life after Dottie Lee's. I'll take lovers. Dozens of them. I'll be known all over town as ‘that woman'!”

“On one level, I'd like to see that. The spectacle of you as a fallen woman would be highly entertaining.”

“And on another level?”

“I'd miss knowing I'm the only man you're waiting for in the mornings.”

“Well, maybe I won't start on the high life right away.”

She and Pavel had never discussed their feelings for each other. Perhaps that wasn't odd for Pavel, but it was certainly odd for her. She had always believed sex, love and marriage were three lobes of the same leaf.

She wasn't ready for a discussion of that kind. Their relationship was centered in the moment. She was evolving as a person and as a woman, and right now, at least, she didn't want to make commitments or even begin that long, helpless, terri
fying spiral into permanency. And Pavel had clearly never wanted to begin it with any woman.

“Do you understand your husband a little better now?” Pavel said.

“Do I understand David's desire for Abraham Stein because I understand passion a little better?”

“A
little
better?” He pretended to be offended.

“The word smidgen comes to mind.”

He rolled her on top of him and stared into her eyes. “Do you want to see a smidgen more, then?”

“You're kidding. That would be a record. Even for you.”

“If I can set records in the business world, I can certainly set them here.”

“I feel a challenge coming on.”

“Is that all you feel?”

 

Pavel was gone by the time she got out of the shower. They had made a date for dinner. She was going to take the giant step of leaving Alex and Remy alone while she was gone. A conference with Remy's teachers on Monday morning had gone well. All of them reported a slight improvement in cooperation and test scores. Remy's choral teacher had lingered afterward to emphasize how talented Remy was.

Since things at school appeared to be better, Faith was going to reward Remy with a little responsibility and leave her alone for the evening. If that went successfully, she would lift the restrictions one at a time.

Once she dressed she started laundry and stacked the dishwasher before she got her coat for the trip to the library. She was putting the finishing touches on the history of the row house to give to Lydia, and before long she would begin work on one for Joan and Carter Melvin, Pavel's friends. She suspected Pavel had spurred Joan to call and ask her formally, but she didn't care how the Melvins' business had come her way.

She had her first commission. She was thrilled.

In the Peabody Room she settled at her favorite table. Dor
othy was behind the desk today, and she greeted Faith by her first name when she asked for an out-of-print textbook that detailed the history of Georgetown's west end.

“I'm glad you're here. I have something else for you.” Dorothy left and returned with a volume of what looked like tabloid newspapers. “This just came back from the bindery. Inside are copies of a local weekly that only stayed in business for a little while in the early sixties. We haven't even catalogued them yet. Someone found them in an attic and thought to bring them to us. The circulation was so low the paper wasn't even on our radar screen.”

Faith took the book from Dorothy's hands. “Why did you think of me?”

“Somebody on their staff was bucking for the Pulitzer. It's not your usual weekly. There are in-depth articles about the kidnapping in nearly every issue. I thought you ought to have a look. I haven't had time to read all the way through, but it looks like interesting stuff.”

“Thanks. I'll check it out and tell you what I find.”

But Faith didn't tell her, because an hour later she set the volume back on the absent Dorothy's desk and left the library.

 

The Scavenger board meeting absorbed all Pavel's attention until nearly six o'clock. What had started as an eccentric group of computer geeks with creative ideas and limited business skills had been transformed, through the years of their success, into a well-oiled international business machine.

For the past two years he had been delegating more and more authority, and now Pavel knew the “Pascal” was on the wall. The moment he began to let control of Scavenger slip through his fingers, he had as much as announced his resignation. He'd sat through today's meeting as the titular head, but everyone knew that these days he had as much to do with leading the company as Queen Elizabeth had with governing England. Either he had to take back his power, and soon, or he had to resign. Scavenger wasn't languishing terribly, even in a difficult
economy, but rifts were opening, tiny cracks in both confidence and mission. Stronger leadership was required, and soon the stockholders would begin to sense it.

He drove straight home, refusing to join his cohorts for their usual play-by-play over drinks at McCormick & Schmidts. That was yet another sign he was losing interest in his job. There had been a time when he would have drunk every one of them under the table and still argued coherently and at length. He would have relished every minute of it, too, and if there had been a woman waiting for him, he wouldn't have remembered until he was on his way back to Georgetown.

But he remembered Faith.

He showered and didn't wonder until the water was beating against him what he was trying to wash away. Not stale cigarette smoke, because no one was allowed to smoke inside the Scavenger building. Not sweat, because since showering at Faith's, he hadn't lifted more than a ballpoint pen all day.

He supposed he was trying to wash away the decision that faced him. That was his habit, after all. Wash away anything unpleasant. Store it, beat it into submission, bury it. Get rid of it at all costs. Better yet, don't get near anything messy or unpleasant in the first place. Not life-altering changes, not the sorrows of the world.

Not relationships.

He dried and dressed and even considered shaving, but that seemed too extreme. They were only having dinner at nearby Filomena, with its apple-cheeked mamas preparing pasta from scratch in the front window. Faith had never eaten there, and he was looking forward to introducing her to this particular pleasure.

He remembered what she had said this morning, about the other “pleasures” he had introduced her to. She had no idea how ingenuous she was, how she wore too much emotion where others could see and destroy it. She was a strong woman with a soft heart. Although he had met other women who possessed that combination, he had never met anyone who was so un
guarded. She had been hurt, and badly, less than a year ago. But she hadn't closed herself off.

She didn't take after her mother—or his.

He was slipping back into his favorite loafers when his doorbell rang. Since he had arranged to meet Faith at her house, he wasn't expecting anyone, but he threw open the door without checking and found her standing on his front porch.

“Well, hey!” He felt a rush of pleasure, as if he'd just been given a surprise party. He was aware, on some subliminal level, that the pleasure was far too close to joy and far away from his normal reaction, fear. Usually when a woman began dropping by his house unannounced, he knew it was a sign he had to oust her from his life.

“Hello, Pavel. May I come in?”

He sobered immediately. She hadn't smiled. She hadn't leaned forward for a kiss. She looked composed, but he knew her well enough to realize it was an act.

“Of course you can come in.” He stepped aside. “I was just on my way to your house.”

“I timed it that way.”

“Faith, are you all right?”

“No, I'm probably not.”

“Has something happened to one of the children?”

“They're at home doing schoolwork. They're fine.”

He was relieved. “Are you ill? Because we don't have to go to Filomena. We can wait until you're feeling better.”

She didn't answer. She walked into his parlor and stood stiffly beside the fireplace.

He was anxious to make her comfortable. “Have a seat. I'll get us something to drink, unless you'd rather just go home and forget tonight.”

“There's a lot I'd like to forget, Pavel.”

He paused in the act of heading for the kitchen. “Do you want—”

“I don't want anything from you. Not a drink. Not dinner.” She hesitated. “Well, I guess that's a lie. I do want one thing.”

“What's that?”

“An explanation.”

He understood then, both what she meant and what he had tried to rid himself of in the shower. “I guess you think it's about time, huh?”

“I guess I do.”

“At least have a seat.”

“I doubt this will take long enough to need one. I'll shorten your part. Here's what I know. You weren't born Pavel Quinn. You were born Pavel Quinn Dubrov, to a man named Dominik Dubrov and his wife Maureen Quinn Dubrov. Your father did repairs on our house on Prospect, and he was a suspect in the kidnapping of my sister.”

Pavel took the seat he had offered her, sitting forward with his forearms on his knees. “How did you find out?”

“An old newspaper article. Someone with too much time on his hands did an in-depth biography of your father. He mentioned the name of Dominik's son and the maiden name of his wife. You said your mother was Irish, but your
last
name is Irish, which doesn't fit, does it? The facts were staring me in the face.”

Pavel wished it had never come to this, but how could it not? He had waited too long. He simply hadn't known how to make this right.

“He called me Pasha. In Russia that's a nickname for Pavel. My mother told me when she was on a memorable weekend drinking binge. I don't remember, of course. I have no memories of him. He was dead before I was three. We were living in California by that time, without him. My mother thought the climate would be better for my asthma. We settled in a small community near Palm Springs, and she cleaned houses to support me, nearly until the day she died.”

“I'm touched.”

She wasn't. Even that dash of sarcasm was so unlike her that it trumpeted her anger.

“What else do you want to know?” he asked.

“For starters, why you didn't tell me.”

“What could I say, Faith? That I came back here when I graduated from college to see what I could find out about my father and his part in the kidnapping? He's the perennial suspect, you know, always mentioned in discussions of the case. That's why my mother left him and changed my last name. She couldn't live with the shame.”

“She left him because he might have done something? Or because she knew he
had?
”

“I've never found any evidence that my father kidnapped your sister. Not in all the reading I've done. Not even the cops who were involved really believed my father did it. Two of them told me so.”

“What cops? I tried to find somebody who worked on the case and was told they had all retired.”

“They have. Now. But when I started looking I found one who was still on the job and another who had moved to a town near Myrtle Beach. It made a nice weekend trip.”

“I'd like their names.”

“I'll be sure you get them, but they said nothing of interest. Just that my father's alibi couldn't be shaken, and no one could come up with a motive for the crime. They searched our apartment, my father's pickup, even the house where his assistant lived. They didn't turn up any evidence, not so much as a grain of baby powder.”

She slid one finger along his mantel, as if measuring it along with his story. “This is why you insinuated yourself into my life, isn't it? You want answers. You want to prove, once and for all, that your father didn't steal my baby sister.”

“I owe him that.”