Page 75 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“Capitalism is dangerous,” Aleksei said, a dark cloud passing over his eyes. “But what is more dangerous is hating everything. Ekatherina, she hated capitalism. She hated communism. She hated Russia. She hated America. She couldn’t decide, and so she destroyed everything.”

“You’re a patriot. I see that,” Augustus said. “And yet your English is way better than hers. You have almost no accent.”

“It was necessary for my training. Ekatherina didn’t feel it was necessary beyond what was necessary, do you understand? She needed English to come here, but she never wanted to forget where she came from, much as she hated it.”

Augustus fell back in his chair. “You said you were surprised. When she married me.”

“Don’t you see? You represented what she hated more than anyone. A rich man, born into a rich family, in a rich country. A man who used his privilege and wealth to build more of the same.”

“You just said she admired that.”

“She admired your tenacity. She loathed your wealth.”

Augustus scoffed. He looked away. “I never lived like others with money. She knew that. I never… I never stopped her from cooking her own meals, doing her own laundry. I never…”

“And that is why she loved you. But Ekatherina…” Aleksei reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

“I do mind.” He nodded at his daughter.

Aleksei shook his head, but obliged. “You’ll see, they’ll prove the secondary smoke isn’t dangerous to others. As I was saying, Ekatherina was an…” For the first time, Aleksei searched for a word. “An ana… ana…”

“Anachronism.”

“Yes, yes, that is the word. An anachronism. She loved what she hated, and hated what she loved. That man. The one in Maine.”

Augustus flinched.

“In you, she saw one part of her, in another, him. She didn’t love him, but she loved what he represented in her very limited world. She loved that he wasn’t you, because it ate her alive to love, and ate her even worse to hurt you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Augustus asked with a weary sigh.

Aleksei reached forward and tickled Ana’s toes. She lit up, and they both giggled. “You can’t protect this little one from the world, Augustus, but you can protect her from herself. From the same darkness that consumed her mother. Her great-grandmother. Ekatherina didn’t deny her daughter because she didn’t love her. She denied her because she didn’t want to pass on the very thing that brought misery to her own life. But you know, I think this darkness, as they call it, isn’t so impossible to escape. I think that when you surround yourself with it, it consumes you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you keep her away from us, Augustus. You raise her to believe she was loved, and that her family in Russia loves her, but you break this dangerous cycle. You do it for her, and maybe for Ekatherina, too, if there’s still some love left, after it all. And you do it for you.” Aleksei leaned forward. He put a hand on Augustus’ knee. “Because you are a good man. That much I know from my sister. And you deserve to move on. She”—Aleksei pointed at Ana—“deserves a father who is happy. Who is whole. Who is not another victim of what ended things for her mother.” Aleksei stood suddenly. He clasped the buttons on his suit and held out a hand to Augustus. “Send us pictures. A letter from time to time. We’ll send Christmas and birthday cards and updates. That is enough.”

Augustus shook his hand. As he did, he knew he’d never see the man again.

CHAPTER 20

The Persistence of Loss

“I can’t believe you went,” Elizabeth said. The intensity of her gaze across the table caused Augustus to drop his eyes.

“Me neither,” he said and waited for the oncoming barrage of judgment.

Instead, there was only a long and uncomfortable silence.

“So,” Elizabeth ventured. “Did you get what you needed?”

“I didn’t know what I needed,” Augustus said, as much a confession as an answer.

“But did you?”

Augustus ran his palm across his mouth, as he inhaled a deep, steadying breath. “I think so.”

Elizabeth’s chair screeched across the floor. “Cool. Merry Christmas. Let’s get ready to head over to Charles’.”

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