“Yes. I’m Norwegian. I don’t speak Russian, and he didn’t stop to fill me in before he ran out. As it happens, I was on my way to askyoufor more details. I figured he was more likely to tell you than anyone in our office.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re friends.”
“No, we’re—” The denial died on Jonah’s lips. Whatever Sacha had said in the past, and whatever he’d planned to say before this, Jonah cared about him, goddammit. Whether Sacha liked it or not, theywerefriends. “He didn’t tell me, but I’ve been in meetings all afternoon. He wouldn’t have been able to reach me if he had to leave in a hurry.”
“You should call him,” Helga said. “I really don’t speak Russian, but I could tell he was upset.”
“He doesn’t like his father,” Jonah said absently, his phone already in his hand.
Helga sighed. “Yes, well, sometimes you reach a point where that doesn’t matter anymore. Call him, Jonah. And let me know he’s okay?”
“Of course.”
Helga left, and Jonah trailed her too slowly to hitch the same lift. He drifted to the stairs and descended, tapping out a message as he went.
Jonah:Are you okay? Helga said you got some bad news. Call me if you need anything x
He sent the message on WhatsApp. It didn’t deliver. Jonah took a car home before he tried calling, but the result was the same. Sacha’s automated voicemail kicked in without ringing. Wherever Sacha was, either his phone wasn’t connecting, or he’d turned it off.
Both options unsettled Jonah. He took a shower, ate toast for dinner, and spent the evening pacing his apartment. It was close to midnight when it occurred to him to take a walk to Sacha’s building. He was on the doorstep before he recalled he had no idea which flat was Sacha’s.
He hung around outside for a while, studying curtained windows for clues, but none were forthcoming. His gut told him Sacha would pick black linen over red velvet, but without knowing which flat the dark lined window belonged to, his instincts didn’t help. He left before someone called the police.
At home, he left Sacha a voicemail.
“Hey, so…Helga thinks your father has passed away. If that’s the case, I’m sorry. I know your relationship was difficult, but that kind of news is never easy to hear. Call me if you need anything, even if it’s a distraction. I’m here for you, Ivanov. Be safe.”
He ended the call, shaking his head.Be safe. What was that supposed to mean? And how would it sound if and when Sacha picked up the message?
Don’t think about it. Just go to bed and stop second guessing everything. He knows you’re there. That’s enough. It has to be.
Sighing, Jonah pocketed his phone and picked up the brown paper parcel he’d left on the coffee table when he’d come home from work. He unwrapped the green glass and took it to the Christmas tree in the hallway. Most years, he neglected to switch the lights on any evening when he didn’t have company, but this year, alone or not, he couldn’t think of a single evening since him and Lily had put it up that he’d forgotten.
He tied the gossamer thread of the ornament and hung it on an uppermost branch in front of a golden light. It glowed, ethereal and warm, shrouding the nearby angel in forest-green. He thought about snapping a picture and sending it to Sacha, but given the circumstances of his absence, it didn’t seem appropriate, though considering it gave him a reason to check his phone again. Sacha still hadn’t been online, and Jonah’s earlier message remained undelivered. Logic reasoned he was away from home without means to charge his phone, but worry gnawed at Jonah’s heart all the same. He stared at the green prism a moment longer, before he went to bed with one thought on his mind.
Please be okay.
17
Jonah woke with a gasp, pulse slamming. He brought a hand to his chest, as if he could press his thudding heart back in, and sucked in a long breath, searching his darkened bedroom for whatever had startled him awake. The Christmas tree twinkled from the hallway. Along with never forgetting to turn it on, it seemed he now neglected to turn it off at night.
Brilliant.Perhaps it was the green cast of Sacha’s prism that had invaded his sleep. It made sense, as it was the only difference in his apartment in the three consecutive nights he’d woken in a cold sweat.
Three nights, and three long days since news from Russia seemed to have wiped Sacha from the face of the earth. No one had heard from him, not even Helga—unless she’d chosen not to tell Jonah, but given her concern for him a few days ago, that made no sense.
Unless he asked her not to.
Jonah rubbed his eyes, still breathing hard. Out of habit, he checked his phone, bracing himself for the blank screen, and then the scratchy, sinking feeling as he scowled at the single grey tick on WhatsApp, letting him know the message he’d sent Sachathree daysago still hadn’t delivered, but—
What the—?Jonah sat up sharply, bedsheets slipping down his bare torso. The screen wasn’t blank. It was lit up with three missed calls, all within the last ten minutes. Sacha. Fuck.
How the hell did I sleep through that?
Frantic, Jonah jabbed the screen, calling Sacha straight back. It rang and rang and rang, and for a heart-stopping moment he feared he’d missed his chance. That it would go to voicemail like it had a dozen times over the last few days.
Then a rustling sound broke the deadlock, and a heavy sigh, like a weighted heart blowing smoke at the moon. “Jonah Gray.”
