Page 24 of Pieces We Keep

Struggling against a sob, Irina refuses to give in to her grief. She forces her breathing to steady before continuing, “The car rolled down an embankment and into a river. I don’t remember that last part. I hit my head on the window.”

Irina doesn’t speak for what feels like an hour but is probably only a long minute. Stroking her hand, I don’t rush her.

“I woke up three weeks later to learn my husband and children were already buried. His family put the name Kayleigh on the baby’s death certificate despite them knowing I wanted Inessa to honor my Russian great-grandmother. Instead, they bought her a little headstone and used the name I didn’t want.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing those words offer no comfort.

Irina exhales softly. “I went home to stay with my parents. My leg was broken. A few ribs, too. I obviously banged up my head pretty bad. Took me months to recover. Yet, weeks into arriving at my parents’ house, I knew I wanted to leave them and never look back. They said all those dumb things people say. How God had a plan. My family was better off in heaven. My favorite was how God killed my kids as a test. ‘Will you pass or fail it, Irina?’ my mother asked.”

“People are assholes,” I say, feeling stupid since my words are empty. “They say dumb shit like I just did.”

Irina smiles at my frustration. “You and I are still strangers. Of course, you can’t find the right words. Yet, my parents forced me to give up my freedom to give birth to a child they called a miracle. Then, when Owen died, they shrugged and claimed he was better off in heaven. I hated them. Even after all these years, I refuse to forgive them. Because they were already past the worst of their grief when I woke up in the hospital, they felt like I should be over everything, too.”

“What happened after you left?”

Taking a deep breath, Irina finds her calm again. “Needing a job to leave my parents’ house, I worked in a nursing home and cared for an elderly woman after work. I kept busy to prevent myself from self-destructing. I felt so guilty for wanting to break free and then being the only one to survive the crash. As if my dreams had caused us to end up in the river.”

Irina exhales deeply. “I was self-destructing, anyway. I would get short with people, argue with other staff or patients’ families. I couldn’t control myself. I started taking more difficult jobs because the regular places kept telling me to piss off after a short time. That’s how I found Fiona. No one wanted to work in that house, and no one wanted to work with me. We felt like a match made in hell.”

“Is she really that bad?” I ask, remembering Fiona from the funeral.

“It wasn’t really her, but Zaja Rogers who drove people away. Fiona’s mother was a monster. I would have quit, too, if I hadn’t fallen hard for Fiona.”

Frowning, I can’t really wrap my head around their relationship. Irina must see the confusion on my face. She strokes my cheek and smiles tenderly.

“I can’t give up Fiona any easier than you could walk away from your club. They’re your family now, aren’t they?”

“Best family I’ve ever had.”

Irina smiles, understanding the bond I’ve created with people who don’t share my bloodline.

“My love for Fiona is why I can’t visit whenever I want,” Irina explains and scoots closer until her chest presses against mine. “Not only can Fiona not survive without me, but I don’t know if I could survive without her.”

In my head, I immediately devise ways to take on both of their needs. I have money. I can deal with whatever crazy shit Fiona does.For Irina, nothing’s a dealbreaker.

“I’ve told you so much,” she says as her lips nuzzle my jaw. “Now, you must fess up. What’s your favorite food?”

“Hot dogs,” I reply, and Irina laughs.

Realizing I’m serious, she laughs harder. “Why?”

“I like bread and meat. I also like the crap on a hot dog like pickle relish.”

“I’ve never had a hot dog.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s just not possible.”

“It’s not something anyone ate around me.”

“It’s all I had when I was little. My mom couldn’t afford to make much else. We didn’t even have real buns, so she used regular cheap white bread. It was still the best.”

“Does your mother live in McMurdo Valley?”

I feel like my heart will explode when I say the words, “She’s dead.”

Irina wraps an arm around my waist and kisses me. Her affection offers comfort rather than passion. I want to believe she understands how losing my mom ruined my heart. After Jillian died, I never wanted to love anyone again.

Only Irina inspires my heart to crave more.

---