Page 57 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

“I’ve got to go, Mama,” I said, standing up.

“Go?”

“I want to call …” I almost said Petyr, “Mira.I mean… check in.Let her know where I am.”

She just smiled and kissed my cheek.“Tell her hello for me.”

I slipped out the door into the pale spring sunlight, my boots crunching against the gravel as I crossed the yard.The urge to see Petyr had flared into something almost desperate.

Maybe this summer we’d be able to actually spend quality time alone together?During the summer, at least a third of Leningrad’s residents spent time in the country.Perhaps we’d be able to see each other without the fear of being discovered?

The clouds thinned overhead, and as I reached the road, a bird trilled somewhere high above the trees.

I pulled the Lada off the road beside the battered little payphone.I cut the engine and sat there for a second, letting the stillness sink in.No factory noise, no shouting neighbors—just birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves overhead.I stepped out and made my way to the booth.

The phone was sticky, but I didn’t care.I dropped a few kopeks into the slot and dialed the number for Petyr and Vera’s apartment, the one they shared with Nina and Pavel.

It rang twice before a woman answered.“Hello?”

“Nina?It’s Dimitri.Is Petyr there?”

“He just stepped out,” she said.“Sorry, Dima, I can’t stay on the line—we’re heading to the dacha for the weekend.But I’ll leave him a message, alright?”

“Thanks, Nina.Safe trip.”

I hung up and just stood there for a moment, the receiver still warm in my hand.Then a smile broke across my face, wide and stupid.

The city was emptying out, and perhaps we could find a way to get rid of Vera for a day or two?I felt a twinge of guilt thinking about it, because Vera had grown on me.She certainly let Petyr do pretty much anything he wanted.Could he persuade her to spend a night or two at Mira’s house so we could be alone?

ChapterSeventeen

Petyr

Saturday morning, and I was already regretting every life choice that had led me to a Party breakfast.Vera and I had endured cold kasha, fake smiles, and a speech about tractor quotas delivered by a man with a comb-over so fragile, I was afraid to sneeze near him.

“Why,” Vera muttered beside me as we climbed the stairs to our flat, “does the Party believe productivity increases if we gather before noon on weekends and pretend to be thrilled about sugar beets?”

“Because nothing says communism like organized misery,” I said, eyeing the familiar crack in the wall on the third-floor landing.“Meanwhile, half our friends are already halfway to their dachas with pickled herring and vodka.”

Vera made a low noise of agreement.“Mira said over half of her office is out of town for a long weekend.”

I groaned.“We suffered through kasha, moldy rye toast, and slogans, while almost everybody else is having a wonderful weekend.”

The stairwell stank faintly of cigarettes, but at least it was quiet—until we heard cheerful voices echoing above us.Nina and Pavel, our flatmates, rounded the bend in the staircase just ahead.

“There you are!”Nina chirped.“Guess what?Pavel and I are off to Boris’s dacha for the weekend.The entire weekend!You and Vera have the place to yourselves!”

Pavel waggled his eyebrows.“Try not to miss us too much.”

Vera gave them a smile that said she might actually dance when the door shut behind them.

“Oh Petyr,” Nina added, stopping for a moment.“Dimitri called for you just a few minutes ago.I told him you weren’t home.”

My heart leapt.“Did he say where he was?”

“No, just asked for you.Maybe he’ll call back?”She winked.“Anyway, we’re off!Don’t burn the building down while we’re gone!”

And then they were gone, leaving only the soft echo of their laughter and my racing pulse.

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