Countless.
‘I think the question you should be asking is who was Vera.’
“Oh no…”
38
The Broken Pieces
Tick.
Our upstairs neighbors thumped across their kitchen.
Tock.
The muffled click of metal on metal said they’d started coffee.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick. Tock.
I hadn’t moved from the kitchen table. The glass was swept up, but the floor needed mopping to remove the smallest pieces. I couldn’t do that, because mopping meant I had to stop staring at the woman’s pictures I spread out across the table.
Not a single one had him in it.
Tick.
I should make coffee…
Tock.
‘Misha, how long has Vitali known Katya?’
‘A bit longer. Longer than heknew Vera.’
Tick.
‘We just joked about some girl because he’s nuts, and it wouldn’t be the first time.’
Tock.
‘Pay attention to how many things about Vitali make no sense.’
He hadn’t been introduced to Mama yet when he called her by her name.
He didn’t need my phone number. My address.
I winced at theclick-chuckof the key in the reinforced door, and every muscle in my body went rigid. Looking at him meant there would be a conversation, and that felt like jumping off the balcony. Maybe the roof. So I closed my eyes and listened for his footsteps.
They were unhurried. The keys clinked as he dropped them onto the entry table. Rubber soles thumped as he slipped off his shoes.
The steps resumed, then came to a halt. The temperature in the room dropped.
“Katya.”
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Dark shadows played under his own, sleepless and worn. His brows were furrowed, and attention set firmly on my collage.
