I exhale slowly through my nose.
“What exactly did he send?” I ask.
Petya reaches down and lifts a medium-sized box onto the table. He opens it.
Inside is an ugly gold bracelet. It’s gaudy, the kind of thing meant to impress someone who equates gold with value. I pick it up between my fingers and turn it slightly, watching the light catch on the polished surface.
It’s a tasteless gesture.
“There’s also a letter,” Oleg says.
I look at him. “Do you have it?”
He slides a folded envelope across the table.
I stare at it for a moment longer than necessary. The handwriting is neat. Careful. Practiced. I close the box and push it aside.
“Get rid of everything else,” I say.
Petya raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to give it to her?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “At the very least, I want to see what the little weasel has to say.”
“And you want to see how she reacts,” Oleg adds.
I don’t deny it.
“She should know what kind of man he really is,” I say. “Take care of everything else. And get someone watching her building. Maybe we can intercept him when he tries to leave another gift.”
Petya nods and leaves. I pick up the envelope again, turning it over once in my hands. I should wait and let Alina read it. I should respect her privacy in that small way. Then again, the letter could have invaluable clues to help the situation at hand.
The first paragraph is exactly what I expect. It’s full of apologies and regret and words about love and misunderstanding. He’s trying to rewrite history, as if he didn’t break her heart. I skim, jaw tightening with every line. It’s sentimental garbage.
Then I see the sentence I need to convince me of his role in all of this.
I promise I’ll rescue you. We’ll be together again soon. Forever.
I read it twice. He uses the wordrescue. Like she’s being held captive, against her will. So he knows that she’s with me. Which means he isn’t running and hiding. He’s waiting. He’s delusional enough to believe that when he finally steps into the light again, it will be on his terms.
I tighten my grip on the letter. He has no idea what kind of man he’s dealing with.
15
ALINA
Ilock the bathroom door even though I know no one is going to barge in. It’s an old habit from years of living with my father. The trip to the pharmacy was, blessedly, uneventful. The security guard was just as uncomfortable in the family planning aisle as I hoped he would be. He didn’t even notice when I grabbed a pregnancy test and hid it under my box of tampons. I could have hidden a bomb in the basket and he wouldn’t have looked at it.
Now that I’m back at the safehouse, my coup doesn’t feel as satisfying. Getting the pregnancy test was one thing, but now I actually have to take it and see if my life is going to change forever. Even being out in public for a few minutes today isn’t enough to bring me joy right now.
I set the paper bag on the counter and take the test out slowly, like it might actually explode if I move too fast. The plastic feels light in my fingers, in complete opposition to how heavy this moment feels.
I stare at the instructions longer than strictly necessary. They’re pretty straightforward. Pee on the stick. Wait for the stick to determine your fate.
I try to talk myself down. It’s something I’ve always been good at, finding a rational explanation to things and calming myself off the ledge. It doesn’t work this time. Maybe because there’s just too much trauma to deal with this time. My stomach twists again, sharp and unmistakable.
I turn on the faucet and wait for the water to warm, then turn it off again. I don’t need flowing water, although the calming sound does help. Mostly, though I’m just procrastinating, doing anything I can think of to delay the inevitable.
I think of all the times I’ve been the supportive friend, waiting outside a bathroom stall for a friend to pee on a stick. Even back in high school, I had plenty of girlfriends who had to wait through the agonizing three minutes to find out if their lives would be forever changed.
