Page 47 of Vasily the Hammer

“Ohhhh, you like happy crying, Mommy.”

“Do I?”

He pulls back enough so he can stare at me, and he is way too close, so close that I can see the sticky residue on his lips from the lollipop the attendant gave him to help with the air pressure during take-off. “Yeah, Mommy. You cried when I gra-dated Kindergartenand when you opened the restaurant and when Miss Tia gave me flowers to give you on Mommy Day and-and-and when that song made you think of Daddy and—”

It’s a jolt hearing him say that. I hold back from asking him what the song was. He probably doesn’t even know. But I’m shocked I mentioned Vasily to him.

Artom was so close to his father just now, and he had no idea. I won’t tell him, not until I get something more than these small blips back, but I should tell him in the future. I think I’d be upset if I’d met my father briefly and no one told me.

“—and when I jumped off the diving board all by myself and when we adopted Mr. Snuggles.”

I look to Tony, terrified that there’s a cat back in Orlando that’s surely dead since no one’s fed it for at least a week.

Tony shakes his head rapidly, mouths ‘garden snake,’ and swipes his finger across his throat in the universal ‘dead’ gesture.

Oh man, I hope I didn’t kill that garden snake. Are garden snakes even bad? I feel like they eat mice.

Artom and I chat for a while, and there are definitely happy tears over how unfazed Artom is about the amnesia. After a half hour of silly questions, embarrassing stories, and an extremely detailed play synopsis of the video game Tony bought him – and I’m not sure I approve of, since I don’t remember if I’ve bought him video games – Artom yawns once and passes out.

In the quiet that follows, I refuse to let my mind travel to all of my doubts. There’s no point in it. Whether I get my memories back or not, I have a kid to take care of. And since Tony had him and Tony was apparently listed as next of kin, not Vasily, I have to assume that this is where I wanted to end up if Artom and I ever got separated.

But I don’t like Tony. I had that bad feeling about him when Vasily first gave me his name— gave me a fake name but not Tony— and the feeling hasn’t changed. He’s hugged me, he’s contributed some stories of his own, and Artom is clearly enamored of him, but my feelings haven’t changed. I let myself stew on that, and although it takes some time, I finally realize what’s wrong.

“Why has Artom never met you?”

Tony looks up from the phone he’s been flipping through for the last few minutes. Not typing, not reading, just scrolling.

“He has met me,” Tony says.

“He said he didn’t know you. When you came to get him, you were a stranger.”

“Ah.” Tony nods. “When Vasily returned you, I sent you to culinary school. It was something you wanted to do, and it was a bad time, so I think it was good for you. I wanted you to come back home afterward, of course, but I guess you just didn’t want anything to do with Arizona or that house or—there’s something you need to know,” he rushes out with a shameful hanging of his head.

But since Vasily told me innumerable lies, I have a good feeling that what Tony is about to confess is one of the unquestionable truths. “You’re Mafia?”

Tony sags with relief. “Good, I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. Last night in bed, Vasily pulled a gun while we—”

“Lacey, I love you, but I don’t want to know what you were doing in bed.”

I laugh. I nearly attempt to assure him that at that point, we were only sleeping.

“I’ve already had to see too much.”

“What does that mean?” I squawk loudly enough that Artom jolts and I do some quick rubs on his back to calm him back down. “What does that mean?” I repeat under my breath.

“Nothing. Pretend I didn’t say that. It’s for your own good. The important thing here is you wanted out. Out of Arizona, my house, the Mafia, everything. And I wasn’t going to force you to stay, not when you’d end up married to one of my guys and spend the rest of your life dealing with Mafia wife drama. You know how it goes. You didn’t deserve that. So I bought you a little house in Florida, and I promised I’d never visit you there if only to keep you safe.” He says it with big, sad, but hopeful eyes.

He failed me. Whether he had any control over it or not, I was not kept safe. No one kept me safe. If there’s any truth to anything Vasily said, and I’m too spun right now to convince myself that it was all lies, Vasily failed me, too. Dima failed me.

I failed myself. I failed my son. And I may have just repeated the past.

“Tony, I know you just said you don’t want to know this stuff, but I... I might be pregnant again.”

He looks exhausted with me for all of half second— yeah, he’s helped me out over the years, but he’s probably a bit of a dick— and then starts to laugh.

“What?” I huff. “This could be a real problem! I don’t—do I want another kid? Can I? Like, if I’m pregnant, will it mess everything—?”

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