She ignores him and grabs my hand. “We need to get you home.”
“Krista.” I pull back on her. “What’s wrong?”
She frowns. Tears well in her eyes. “It’s your mother.”
“So where areyou going all dressed up?” Krista forces a cheerful grin when I meet her at the coffee shop near her apartment.
It’s been three weeks since we laid Mom to rest beside my father. Four since I held her hand as the doctors turned off the machines keeping her alive after her massive heart attack.
Today’s my first outing.
“I have a job interview.” I grin, somewhat proud that I’ve managed to accomplish something.
Sergei handled all of Mom’s arrangements. I followed along giving my okay for things, but I couldn’t have cared less. Other than his family and a sprinkle of old friends from the neighborhood, it was a small ceremony.
It didn’t stop the press from showing up. The morning after the funeral there was a picture on the front page of Sergei, his cousins, and three of their men carrying Mom to her final resting place.
“An interview?” She freezes, her cup only halfway to her mouth. “For a job?”
“That’s what a job interview is, yes.” I nod with a laugh.
“For what?” She lowers her cup.
“Late shift receptionist at a physician group.” I stir sugar into my coffee. “It will give me time to take a class or two in the afternoons.”
“Classes? You’re going back to school?”
I nod while I take a sip. “Yes. I only have a year left. I should be able to do my student teaching during the day and work late shift at this place. It’ll be exhausting, but worth it.”
I see the question on her lips before she even asks it.
“What about Sergei? Is he alright with this?”
I lift a shoulder. “I haven’t told him.”
“You haven’t told him?” She flattens her hands out on the table. “How have you not told him?”
“It’s easy. I moved into the guest wing two weeks ago.”
“Cora.” She tilts her head. “I know you’re hurting right now, and things aren’t what you thought they’d be, but you have to talk to him.”
“Why? Our relationship wasn’t real, Krista. It’s better this way. I stay on my side of the house, and he stays on his. He can have whatever guests he wants, and I don’t have to see it.”
“What guests?” She narrows her eyes.
I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I know. You haven’t wanted to talk about him for weeks. And now you’re hiding from him? I can’t believe he let you move into the other wing.”
“It could be worse. I could file for divorce and ruin his great revenge.” I try to laugh, but it’s empty.
Just like everything else in my soul right now. Empty yet unbearably heavy at the same time.
“He’s not seeing her, Cora,” she says after moments of silence stretch between us.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” I try to glare, but she’s already shooting me adon’tbullshit melook.
I put my coffee mug down; a drop spills over the side and rolls down to the table.