The Silence of Trees (34 page)

"Honestly, I just pay attention. I listen to your body and feel where you need pressure. Plus I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there. I give an excellent massage as well."

"I’m sure you do," I said, thinking that I had never had a massage either.

"Do you mind if we turn on the television?" I asked. "They’ll be doing the countdown soon."

"Not at all," he answered, rubbing my calf.

I watched as young people jumped around to some music.

"Is it just me, or do those announcers look drunk?" Andriy asked.

We flipped through the channels, and all the announcers did look drunk. I didn’t think I had ever seen that before. It must have been something in the air. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had indulged that night.

As the clock edged toward midnight, I began to get nervous. Andriy had stopped rubbing my feet as we both watched the television. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if he would try to kiss me. I licked my lips, they felt so dry. What if he didn’t try? What if he was a bad kisser? What if he thought I was?

"8 . . . 7 . . . 6"

Andriy handed me my glass.

"4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Happy New Year!"

He gently brought his glass to mine and we toasted.

"To the New Year and a new friendship," he said.

We watched each other over the rims of our glasses as we took our sips. I took several, afraid to put the glass down. He reached for my glass to set it on the table. He inched over to me and leaned over to kiss me. I could taste the champagne. I started to pull away, but he put his arm around me and pulled me closer. He stroked my hair and kissed me more hungrily. Pavlo had never kissed me like that. Ours were always loving pecks, but these were deep passionate kisses, like the ones I had seen in the movies.

My heart was racing after we pulled away. We drank more champagne and then Andriy excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came back, I took my turn, stumbling a little on my way. After washing my hands, I checked myself in the mirror: nothing in my teeth. I still looked the same. I hadn’t transformed into a young vixen during our meal. My thoughts kept racing as I walked back into the living room.

Andriy had turned off the television and dimmed the lights. He stood up when I walked in the room and wrapped his arms around me. He felt strong, and I felt safe. I rested my forehead on his shoulder and he kissed my neck, my weak spot.

I tilted my head up to kiss him, when I heard a crash in the kitchen. I rushed in just ahead of Andriy, stubbing my toe on the table. Looking around, I saw that Pavlo’s picture had fallen to the ground. Fortunately, the glass hadn’t broken.

"Jealous husband," Andriy said from behind me.

I sat down at the table and started to cry. I felt out of control, I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t a child, yet there I was acting young and spontaneous. I was lonely, and yet I felt like things were moving so fast.

Andriy just put his hand on my shoulder and kissed the top of my head.

"I’m sorry for moving quickly, Nadya. I didn’t mean to rush you."

"I know, I know," I said in between sobs. Andriy handed me his handkerchief, and I wiped my face. So much for looking beautiful. I laughed at my vanity.

"I never forgave myself for letting you go," Andriy said, "and I always wondered if you were okay; if your life was happy."

"I was. It was. I’m sorry so much of your life was spent alone."

"Don’t be sorry. I have lived a rich life, and I’m proud of what I’ve done," he said, looking away. "It just would have been nice to have someone special to share it all with." He turned back to me. "I don’t play games, Nadya. I say it like it is. I’m hoping that with time something can grow between us. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance, and I’m not going to let you slip away easily. Not again.

"That said, if you know that you will never have feelings for me, please tell me now. It would kill me to get close to you and have you pull away."

I didn’t know what to say. I did feel something for him already, but I needed time to sort this out. I needed time to let Pavlo go.

"I need you to give me a little time," I said.

"That I can do."

I stood up, setting Pavlo’s picture face down on the table. We walked in silence back to the living room, where he helped me clean up the bottle and glasses.

"May I use your phone to call a cab?" he asked.

"You don’t have to leave. The weather is terrible," I said, looking at the snowstorm outside my window. "You can sleep on the couch."

"Thank you. I accept."

I brought him a blanket and pillow, and then got ready for bed. I walked over to say goodnight, but he had already fallen asleep. I turned off the lamp and walked back to my room.

"I’m sorry, Pavlo." I whispered quietly.

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard, It’s okay, Nadya. It’s okay.

I dreamed that I was flying in the snow-filled sky, the city below lit up with lights. In the distance I heard the Gypsy music of my youth, tugging at me to follow.

In the morning I woke up late with a dull headache. The clock said 8 o’clock. For a minute I thought I had dreamt the whole evening, until I smelled coffee and butter burning in the kitchen. I grabbed my robe off the back of the bedroom door and walked out to the kitchen. Andriy was standing there in his wrinkled suit pants and T-shirt, making French toast.

He smiled at me. It was odd seeing a man cook for me in my kitchen. I thought of Ana and Niki. So this is what it must have been like for them. I smiled.

"Good morning," he said. "I thought I would keep the French theme going. Do you like French toast?"

"I do," I said. "But you didn’t have to. I would have made breakfast."

"Nonsense. It’s my pleasure. I was up early anyway. I’m still on New York time."

I pulled out a mug, choosing the one Katya had brought me from Ireland.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as I poured myself some coffee and took an aspirin.

"I feel shy," I told him honestly, "and I have a headache."

"Don’t feel shy with me, Nadya. You look lovely in the morning." He put the French toast on two plates and walked over to the table. He kissed my cheek, and I could feel myself blushing.

"Morning, Baba. This is Luke." I heard Lesya’s voice from the living room. It was too late to hide. I looked at Andriy. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Lesya and Luke walked into the kitchen.

"Baba!" she said in surprise. She pushed Luke back into the dining room and motioned with her head for me to join her.

"Happy New Year!" Andriy said.

"I’ll be right back," I said, following Lesya out of the kitchen.

"It’s not what you think, Lesya. He stayed overnight because of the snowstorm. He slept on the couch."

"Baba, you don’t have to explain to me." Lesya said smiling.

"But you have to understand," I said. "I’m not betraying your Dido."

"Baba," Lesya said quietly, "I never thought that. I’m just sorry that we didn’t ring the doorbell. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I figured you’d be up and back from church. I thought I’d bring Luke so he’d be the first man in the house, according to tradition. But I guess you already have a man in the house." She winked at me playfully.

"Lesya!" I said. "That’s no way to talk to your Baba. I told you, it wasn’t safe for him to go out, the snowstorm—"

"Yes, yes. I know," she said, walking toward Luke, who was sitting on the floor scratching Khvostyk’s ears. Khvostyk seemed to like him.

"Luke, I think we’re going to go and get some breakfast, and come back later, if that’s okay?" She looked from Luke to me.

"That would be fine," I said.

"It was nice to finally meet you," Luke said. I nodded.

"See you later, Baba," Lesya said, giving me a kiss before they walked out to their car.

After Lesya and Luke left, I went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table, resting my head in my hands. What if she called her father? Worse yet, her mother? Soon everyone would know, and gossip would start spreading.

"Do you want me to warm those up in the microwave?" Andriy asked, pointing to the French toast.

"No, this will be fine." I said taking a bite. It was delicious. "I’m sorry about that. My house is always open to family. I don’t usually have anything—or anyone—to hide."

"You want to hide me?" he asked.

"That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t want you to be embarrassed."

"I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m an old man. This is the kind of thing that keeps me going." He winked.

"Thank you for the French toast," I said. "You’re full of surprises."

"You have no idea," Andriy said playfully.

After breakfast, he phoned for a cab. We waited in the living room, sitting on the couch in comfortable silence. My headache was getting better, and I felt more calm, more clear than I had the night before.

"Thank you for everything, Andriy."

"Thank you, for giving me hope," he said. "Not just now, but fifty years ago."

The cab driver honked his horn, and Andriy got up to put on his shoes. At the door he kissed my cheek. "I hope to see you again soon."

"I’d like that," I answered, then closed the door behind him.

I thought about Andriy as I stirred honey into the wheat for kutia, the most ancient of Ukrainian dishes and the cornerstone of Sviata Vecheria. I would leave some out as an offering for the ancestors. For my Pavlo. My Mykola. For the rest of my departed family, since I knew their fate. And even for Stephan. Although I was sure his spirit would visit Halya, not me.

A week had passed since New Year’s Eve. I had spoken with Andriy every day but chose not to see him. I needed to give myself a little time, to think about what I wanted.

After Andriy went home, Lesya came by, and I formally met her boyfriend, or rather her fiancé. Luke had proposed on New Year’s Eve. He seemed like a good boy, but it was hard not to look at him and see the sins of his grandfathers. Only time would reveal him to be a man of integrity.

I placed walnuts in a bag and began to smash them into small pieces with a rolling pin. I reminded myself to think only of happy things when cooking, so I thought about Andriy. In the past week I had resisted the urge to invite him over. My heart raced each time the phone rang, and I smiled during all our conversations.

On impulse, I invited Andriy to join my family for Sviata Vecheria, and he agreed. He told me that the last time he had celebrated Ukrainian Christmas Eve was before his mother died, and even then it was a quiet affair for the two of them. I was not sure how to prepare him for the boisterous and colorful evening that awaited him in my home.

I added the walnuts to the wheat mixture and then spooned in the poppy seeds, raisins, and honey. Mixing the kutia, I thought about the rest of the day’s schedule. Even though I had most of the dishes prepared, there was much left to do before dusk.

I put the kutia in the refrigerator so the flavors would blend. Then I bundled up in my long, down coat and tied a kerchief tightly around my head. Before doing any more preparations, I needed to release some spirits to try and make room in my life for happiness and hope. I stepped outside into the early January morning and looked around. The frost on the trees and fences had given everything a glassy sparkle in the bright sunlight. I rode the bus down to the lakefront and walked down a familiar path to the shores of Lake Michigan.

The spot that Ana had brought me to after Mykola’s death was still a sacred place for me; my sanctuary so close to the center of the city and so far from my home across the ocean. I settled into my favorite spot, against a stone wall facing Lake Michigan. I was often tempted to leave my name among the other letters and years etched into stone, but I was afraid that when I died, it might tie me to that place, and I would rather choose a spot closer to my family.

Still, so many had chosen to leave their mark there:

Bob loves Sandy 1969

E+D Forever

Wally was here March 1964

Their names are monuments to love, to youth, to hope. I wondered how their lives had turned out. Were their endings happy or filled with heartache? I reached into my pocket and pulled out Stephan’s note.

It was time to let him go, to let go of the illusion of young love. To let go of my younger self which I had clung for years as a beacon—showing my way home, revealing my guilt, stifling my heart. I reached into my pocket and pulled out Stephan’s letter. Then I took a book of matches, struck one and set the letter ablaze. Holding one corner, I watched the paper turn orange, then black. All around me the smell of burning paper. When the flame went out, I cast the letter on the wind toward Lake Michigan, and watched as it flew toward the waves.

"Dear Stephan, I’m glad that you found peace and love. I’m glad that you did not die alone," I whispered to the wind. "May the earth be light above you, and may your spirit rest in peace."

I watched the paper smolder, and I thought of Halya. What would my sister need now that she was alone? Should I bring her to live with me? Could I bear to spend time with the woman who had married my first true love? Did she hate me for being alive? What would she think of the life I lived?