Dasha goes quiet.
She lowers her gaze, then looks at me, and something in her expression changes. There’s no confusion anymore, nor doubt. Just pity.
And in that moment, it feels like something I had always known finally takes shape. Like a memory that was there all along, just waiting to be seen. Daniel gave so much to everyone else. Just never to me.
It’s just a ring,I tell myself. It doesn’t mean anything anyway.
“Okay,” I say. “Sixty it is.”
The man slides open the wooden drawer beneath the counter, and counts the bills without looking at me, then presses them into my hand.
Just like that, the last thing I have from Daniel is gone.
Dasha grips my arm and pulls me outside. The door shuts behind us as we leave.
“1Idyot.“ She straightens, shaking her head. “Money like that and fake diamonds,” she mutters. “I never liked that boy.”
The sunlight hits too hard. I blink against it, my eyes stinging.
Mom used to say we shouldn’t speak badly about the dead, that they can hear us. So, I stay quiet. The silence surprises me. Not because of the ring, but because there’s nothing beneath it. No crack in my chest, no sharp pull. Just this empty calmness, like something inside me has gone quiet in a way it shouldn’t. Maybe the grief is supposed to come later.
Right now, it still feels like he could walk around the corner, like nothing has ended at all. And somehow, the numbness feels easier.
“Maybe he didn’t know,” I squint at Dasha. My vision is still adjusting to the brightness.
“I’m glad they never found the body,” she narrows her eyes. “If they did, I’d dig him up and stab him all over again.”
She pulls a cigarette from her purse, flicks the lighter, and cups the flame against the wind.
“In Russia, we chop dicks for this behavior,” she adds, smoke slipping from her lips.
I almost smile.Almost.
“Enough about him.” She hooks her arm through mine again and starts walking. “Let’s get you to the bus station.” Her grip tightens.
“Bus to Mendocino will take at least seven hours.”
“Maybe more if there’s no direct one. Last time, they sent me to Santa Rosa first. Then you take a local bus from there.”
“Once you’re there, don’t talk to anyone. Avoid people.” She takes another drag. “And on the bus, put a bag on the seat next to you. Pretend to sleep so no one asks to sit.”
“I don’t have a bag,” I say.
She stops mid-step and turns me toward her.
“Then take the window seat and put your legs up,” she says. “You don’t want to be stuck on a seven-hour ride with some weirdo trying to get into your pants.”
“You know I’m not six, I know how things work.”
“I know,” her tone is softer. “I would hate to lose you, too.”
She pulls me into her chest, her arms wrapping around me tight.
“I’ll be careful,” I say into her shoulder. “I promise.”
She pulls back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, cigarette still trembling between her fingers. She nods, but her lips press together like she doesn’t believe me.
The bus station is just down the road, but it feels further.
