Chapter 53 The Call He Doesn't Make
Three days passed in the blue house by the woods.
Anya slept more than she thought possible. The bed upstairs was soft, the quilts old and heavy, the windows looking out at trees that had been growing here since before she was born. She woke late, ate what Natalia put in front of her, sat by the fire with books she didn't read, and slept again. It was the first time in months she hadn't woken with a pounding heart or her mind already running through the schedule, cameras and the careful dance of survival.
Natalia let her be, she moved through the house quietly, tending the fire, cooking meals that Anya barely tasted before disappearing into the garden for hours at some time. They spoke little cause there was nothing to say. Anya was still too raw, hollow and full of everything she couldn't name or put words to any of it.
On the third afternoon, she found herself in the garden.
The sun was low, the light had a golden colour while the air was cold and chilled. She walked without direction, her feet finding paths she hadn't known were there, her hands reaching out to touch the wild tangle of plants her father had planted years ago. Somewhere under the weeds, roses were trying to bloom. She could see them, they were small and pale, pushing through the dead leaves, reaching toward the light.
She was kneeling in the dirt, her fingers working at the roots of something she couldn't name, when she heard a sound of a car.
It was faint at first, just a rumble in the distance, the sound of an engine on a road that didn't see much traffic. She froze, her hands still in the soil, her heart suddenly beating too loud in her chest. Natalia had said no one knew about this place or came here neither was anyone looking.
The engine cut off. Somewhere, there was a sound of a door opening then it was closed with a loud thud.
Anya pushed herself up, her muscles protesting like rusty hinges. Her palms were smeared with dirt, and her breath caught in her throat as she forced herself forward. The window loomed ahead, a pale rectangle in the gloom. She stopped in front of it, her gaze snatching at the view beyond the trees, the curve of a driveway of the iron bars of the gate.
The car was a shadow, a shapeless lump parked on the gravel. One door hung open like a forgotten wing. A figure stood beside it, hands gripping the gate as if holding it in place. His face was turned toward the house, eyes fixed on the window where Anya stood frozen.
And then she saw him
Dima.
Anya's breath stopped.
He looked different. His hair was disheveled, his jaw dark with stubble, his clothes rumpled like he'd been driving for days without stopping. He was thinner, she thought, or maybe it was just the light of the fading sun that carved shadows into his face which hadn't been there before. He stood very still, his hands wrapped around the iron bars, his eyes fixed on the house, windows and on the faint light that glowed through the glass.
He was looking for her.
She should have been angry or felt the betrayal fresh again, the memory of his face in the dining room, his silence when she'd asked if her mother had to be humiliated. She should have turned away, walked back into the house, let him stand at the gate until he realized she wasn't coming.
But she couldn't move, look away or stop her hand from pressing against the glass, as if she could reach through it, as if she could close the distance between them with nothing but want.
Natalia appeared beside her, silent, her grey eyes fixed on the figure at the gate.
"He's been driving for three days," she said quietly. "Firstly he stopped at the safe house in the city but when he couldn't find you there, he started looking for this place. I didn't think he'd find it so fast."
Anya's throat was tight. "He knows."
"He knows you're here but anything else apart from that he doesn't." Natalia watched him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "He's been standing there for twenty minutes. He hasn't moved or called. He's just... waiting."
The word settled into Anya's chest, heavy and warm. He was waiting and had driven for three days, found her hiding place, and now he was standing at the gate, waiting for her to decide if she wanted to see him.
"He let her be destroyed," Anya whispered. "He stood there and let it happen."
Natalia was quiet for a moment. "He did and he'll carry that for the rest of his life whether you forgive him or not."
Anya pressed her palm harder against the glass. "He should have told me and trusted me enough to tell me."
"He should have." Natalia moved to the door, her hand on the handle, her eyes still on Dima. "But he didn't and now he's standing at your gate, waiting to see if you'll let him explain or make him wait longer."
Anya looked at the man in the fading light. He hadn't moved. His hands were still wrapped around the bars, his face turned toward the house. He looked like a man who had run out of places to go.
Anya's feet itched to move, her legs tense with the urge to sprint down the path. She wanted to flound the gate open and throw herself into his arms. She craved the warmth of his chest, the pressure of his hands holding her tight, like he had in the darkness, like he had promised.
She needed to hear his voice - the words didn't matter even his excuses, apologies, anything to drown out the silence that felt like a living thing, coiling around her throat.
But she couldn't cause the wound was still fresh,the betrayal raw and the memory of her mother's face clear.
She stepped back from the window.
Natalia watched her, something flickering in her grey eyes. "He won't leave and you know that, don't you? He'll stand there until you come out, tell him to go or give him something to hold onto."
Anya nodded slowly cause she knew and that was the worst part. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn't leave, wouldn't stop or let her disappear into the life her father had built for her without trying to pull her back.
She moved to the chair by the fire, sat down heavily, her hands still dirty from the garden, her fingers still cold from the air outside. She stared at the flames looking at the way they danced and shifted consuming everything they touched leaving nothing but ash.
Then she closed her eyes. "Tell him to go."