Page 91 of Emerald Malice

ANDREY

Drogheda Psychiatric Institution doesn’t look as bleak as it sounds.

I spent a huge amount of time and money making sure that the place I chose would be calm, comfortable, and most importantly, comforting. Still, some of the people who need this place are long past comfort.

“Mr. Kuznetsov!” The head nurse, Kathleen, greets me with a smile as soon as I enter the foyer. “How nice to see you again. It’s been so long since your last visit.”

Don’t fucking remind me.

“How’s she doing?”

“She has good and bad days,” the nurse gushes. “But she eats well most days and she loves the gardens. I take her for a walk at least twice a day. You’re just in time for that, actually. We’re due for our evening stroll. She’ll be so glad to see you.”

Unlikely. It’s been four months. I’ll face some wrath for that.

Kathleen leads me across a lush courtyard full of lavender and honeysuckles and into a covered corridor on the far side. Tall, stained glass windows block the view of the highway at the bottom of the hill while splashing colored light down the hall.

“Third room on the right,” Kathleen informs me. As though I could forget even if I tried. When I don’t reach for the door immediately, she sighs and pushes the door open. “Look who’s come to see you today, Arina! It’s Andrey.”

From the hallway, all I can see is the clean, white room, utterly devoid of sharp edges. The locked window looks towards the central courtyard, but when I walk into the room, my mother is staring at her feet.

“Hello, Mama,” I greet, lingering in the doorway. “How are you?”

The woman sitting in the yellow armchair beside the bed barely looks like the Arina Kuznetsov I once knew. Her receding eyebrows pinch together as she drags her gaze up to squint at me. “You look… like someone I know…”

I know exactly who I remind her of. If she’s forgotten who, that’s a good thing.

“I know you,” she concludes uncertainly. One bony finger quivers in my direction.

“Of course you know him,” Kathleen chimes in. “He’s your son. One of them, anyway.”

Arina looks pleasantly surprised by this revelation. “I have a son?”

“Two of them. Good-looking boys.” She fluffs the pillows and rearranges the fresh flowers in the vase, making things neat and tidy in the room. I stand still and gaze at my mother.

“Two sons,” Arina repeats. “I don’t remember them.”

“How about we take a walk?” I suggest in an uncharacteristic croak.

“Wonderful idea!” agrees Kathleen. “Arina, doesn’t that sound like a wonderful idea?”

My mother’s hazy eyes rotate from me to Kathleen, then back to me. “Are you going to walk with me?”

“That’s the plan.”

She nods slowly in acceptance. Then, with Kathleen’s help, she gets to her feet.

Her nightdress covers her from the base of her neck to her ankles. She looks so much older than her fifty-six years.

That’s what marrying a Kuznetsov will do to you.

Natalia may hate me now, but if she saw what became of the women unlucky enough to land themselves a Kuznetsov man, she’d be happy I’m keeping myself at arm’s length.

“Shall I accompany you?” Kathleen mutters to me as we move into the hall.

I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

She gives me an encouraging smile and disappears back the same way we came.

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