Page 55 of Vasily the Nail

Painfully domestic.

“It was nice there,” Ana says as I pull out of the parking lot. “Different but in a good way. Father Niko speaks very highly of you.”

I chuckle as I ease my Accord into traffic. I’m sure it’s not the glamorous car she’s used to, but it’s a good car and reasonably priced. I’ve never needed anything fancy, and Kostya’s usually driving it, anyway.

“Well, the Bratva’s pretty much the only reason we can have a Russian Orthodox Church in town,” I point out.

“Not because of that,” she giggles, resting her hand over mine on the shifter. “He’s your friend. Confession’s different here, you know? I couldn’t hide that what I was saying involved you, but he helped me through it and encouraged me to trust you when you tell me things are–are natural. He made me feel like alot of things that bothered me were fine . . . because it was with you.”

I’m paying attention to the road since we’re going through a congested area of town, and honestly, it’s so rare I drive that it makes me nervous. Especially with Ana sitting next to me. Especially with Artyom pushing me into thinking about Brooke’s death. It was my father driving that day, doing me a solid and picking her up from work because I’d gotten stuck in a skirmish. The bomb took them both out.

I could see myself being such a bad driver that I kill us both in some dumb way. But right now, I can feel her eyes and her smile upon me every bit as bright as the sun.

“The older parishioners think Niko is too progressive. They tried to oust him last year for sanctifying a gay marriage.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“If you’ve found someone that you love and trust enough to spend the rest of your life with, that’s a big fucking deal and the world should celebrate it. Fuck,zvyozdochka, don’t take your seat belt off.”

I attempt to grab it, but she’s already thrown it aside so she can pop herself onto her knee and kiss me. Thankfully, we’re at a traffic light, but I’m grabbing that seat belt to lock it right back in even as I’m savoring her lips.

“I like how you drive,” she says when she sits back down.

“I’m nervous,” I admit.

“It’s the city. I think everyone’s nervous in the city, or they should be. We should go out on some open road.”

I tap my nails on my steering wheel as I mull over that. I’ve been in control this whole week, and there have been so many times Ana must have been scared but got herself through it.

It’s my turn to be a little scared.

“Would you like to go for a drive?”

We get lunch at a gas station in the middle of nowhere an hour north of Flagstaff. It’s not much of anything, but they have a small grill for sandwiches and they make us cheesesteaks that are equally terrible and satisfying. We sit on the hood in the middle of the sun-bleached parking lot, and I’m doing my best to follow the story that Ana is telling me. Despite my best efforts and the handful of aspirin I took, my head is pounding.

“Are you okay?” Ana asks when I don’t respond to her for too long.

I nod. My stomach lurches.

“Was it the sub? I can see if they’ve got any antacids in there.”

“It is me,” I tell her, only now feeling embarrassed about the situation I’ve put myself in over the years. “When we get home, I’ll feel better.”

“Oh, but—ohhh.”She frowns. “Do you have what you need on you?” she asks delicately.

I shake my head, not wanting to admit I was worried I’d end up getting high in the bathroom at the church and not being able to take her home.

“Well, here. Give me the keys, and I’ll drive us back.”

I want to be tough, especially when I’m so careful not to take too much of any one thing, so usually a day of detoxing isn’t so bad, but I accept defeat.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her as she adjusts the seat, the steering wheel, and all the mirrors. It’s not like I have an issue with a girl driving, but this was supposed to be me driving while she got to enjoy the scenery.

As she throws the car into gear and backs out of the spot, she says, “It’s okay,” so brightly I know she means it and is happy to do this. I swear she’s a whole new person today.

“I hear voices,” I whisper, the words so shameful I can’t put anything more than air behind them, but I need to explain myself.

Ana slams on the brakes, but we’re still rolling through the parking lot at all of three miles per hour, so it’s little more than a jolt. “Like, right now?”

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