Lev wanted me to write down everything I remembered about my mother, but what he suggested, that she was in some way involved with Vasily, it makes no sense. She can’t have been.
Although there is one detail about the accident that killed her that always stood out to me.
I don’t remember much about the few years I was with my mom, but I think that’s pretty normal. I’m not sure at what age one begins to create memories—at least more than blips of scenes. And even those, I don’t know if I made them up or if they truly happened.
Singing. I remember that. She had a pretty voice. And I remember her hair. I think it’s the way Josh holds mine when he sleeps that makes me think of it. She had beautiful red hair.
But again, are they true memories or my brain creating history to fill in the empty spaces?
Red hair and a pretty singing voice. And maybe love.
That’s not a memory, though. It’s a feeling. I felt loved. Or maybe it’s that I felt the absence of exactly that after she died and my time in foster care began that makes it so visceral a thing.
I got my hands on the police report once I was out of juvenile detention and legally an adult. There were photos of the scene, of the car, a simple little black Kia, something unremarkable, wrapped around a tree. There were white streaks around the driver’s side door, and when I’d asked about them, the officer had said she’d probably been in another accident prior to that one. When I pushed for more, he admitted there wasn’t any record of another accident, but that he wasn’t surprised because my mother hadn’t been insured, which would mean she probably wouldn’t have reported a previous incident.
It had seemed strange, but I hadn’t had any reason to question him further. The accident was fifteen years old and the case closed. Slippery conditions on mostly deserted roads. Period. The one officer I did manage to get ahold of who was at the scene had retired a few years earlier and only recalled what a pity he’d thought it for her to have died so young and how lucky it was that I’d survived.
Strangely enough, I’d only survived because my car seat wasn’t attached to the safety harness correctly. My child seat had smashed into the back of the passenger side chair. I was a little small for the seat and the seat itself had taken the blow. No one was even sure if I’d been knocked out or asleep through the whole thing, but I was mostly unhurt. When I’d woken up, I’d walked away.
I don’t remember anything about that. You’d think I would, considering I was found two miles from the accident along the side of the road, but nothing. They told me I was freezing cold, dirty and starving, and that it was a wonder I survived at all.
I slip the photo of my mom out from inside the folder, which I’ve read through a hundred times, and I look at her.
Did Vasily kill her? Why?
“Mommy, that’s you!” Josh is suddenly beside me, wearing a circle of orange sauce around his mouth.
I tuck the photo away.
“That’s actually your grandma,” I tell him, putting the pen down and getting up. I’ve only written down that detail about the white streaks on the driver’s side on the page. It’s a sorry little list. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll go for ice cream.” I could use some fresh air too, honestly.
Once I have Josh bundled into a coat Talia had packed, I put my own on and take out my phone to text Lev and let him know what we’re doing, but just as I start to type out my message, I get one from him.
Lev: On my way back. I’m about forty-five minutes away. Everything good there?
I consider my reply, knowing if I tell him I’m going to take Josh out for ice cream he’ll tell me it’s not safe and I should stay inside. But Josh is already pulling at my sleeve, and I can’t take this away from him now. Besides, he’s antsy and needs to burn off energy. Dairy Queen is literally around the corner, and I can’t imagine Vasily’s men would hang out there, so I type out a quick reply.
Me: Everything is fine. We’ll see you soon.
“Put your hood up,” I tell Josh as I do the same, checking to make sure I have cash in my purse, trying not to look at the pistol inside it.
I take his hand, and we step out into the cold night.
I’d never been to Providence before, and it’s a cute town. I wish I could spend some time walking up and down Main Street, maybe doing a little shopping. The thought makes me long for the simplicity of a normal life.
Holding Josh’s hand, we walk out of our room and down the empty hallway. Josh pushes the button for the elevator, and I watch the numbers on the screen as it climbs up to our room on the eighth floor.
Josh is excited about the elevator, and it’s cute to see. Once we’re inside, I show him which button to push, and we ride down in silence. One of the two desk clerks is busy checking in a guest while the other is on the phone. She looks up, and I smile as we walk outside.
The air is brisk but the night clear.
A man of about fifty stands outside the lobby doors smoking. He watches us as we pass, and I smile a hello, even as my heart races.
But I’m being paranoid. If Vasily’s men were here, they wouldn’t get a hotel room for the night. They’d get us.
“I see it!” Josh says, pointing at the brightly lit Dairy Queen when we turn the corner.
“What kind of sundae are you going to get?” I ask him even though I know. He always gets strawberry.
He considers this like he does every time I ask. “Probably strawberry.”
From here, I can see that three tables are occupied with people eating their dinner or having ice cream. I find myself constantly looking around as we cross the two-lane road, and I push open the glass door.
Josh slips free of my hand and runs directly to the counter, face turned up to the menu with photos of the various creations, his hood sliding from his head.
I scan the restaurant, decide it’s safe, and hurry to Josh.
“That one.” He points at the strawberry sundae.
“That one it is,” I tell him and order. Once I’ve paid, we wait a few minutes for the clerk to make the sundae. I plan on going back to the hotel room to eat it, but Josh insists on staying. He’s bored. I get it. And I don’t want him throwing a fit, so we take a seat in one of the booths.
My face is reflected back to me in the window that serves as a mirror with it being nighttime outside and so brightly lit inside. Looking at myself with dark hair triggers something. A memory.
I stare at my reflection for a long moment and remember one more detail about my mother.
She’d dyed her hair black too. And I know it’s not my brain making up the memory because I remember waking up and being afraid when I didn’t recognize her.
Had she done it to hide from Vasily or his men?
“Want a taste?” Josh asks me, calling me out of the memory. He’s holding out a spoonful of ice cream with a smear of strawberry sauce.
“Please.” I open my mouth and let him feed it to me. “Yummy!”
He smiles proudly and continues to eat.
I take out my phone to check the time, feeling anxious as new cars turn into the lot of the ice cream shop, although most use the drive-through window.
“You almost done?” I ask Josh who has slowed down about halfway in.
“The rest is for Wally.” Which means he’s full.