Page 24 of Unbroken
…Or is it?
Why would I bejealous? I'm trying to protect him, just like Mariah would do.
We put away the paperwork, and I check in on little Luka, who is contentedly watching a TV show in the spacious, cozy family living room.
"Hey, we're gonna go pick up some cookies for Grandma, okay?"
Luka nods.
He’s visited my mother before, but Mariah and Vadka made sure that it wasn’t often—and when it was, it was always supervised. My mother is too unpredictable. And in recent years, now that she’s declining, the visits are very brief.
"Can I get something to eat too?" he asks, smiling up at me.
"I’ll think about it," I tease, ruffling his hair. "Of course you can get something to eat, sweetheart. I know you love the bakery."
I buckle him into his car seat, and we go for a little ride.
Anya’s bakery isn’t far from here, and when we arrive, her husband, Semyon, is there too.
"Hey, guys," he says with a smile. He's an interesting sort—quiet, aloof, loyal, and protective. "Heard there was a little commotion at work last night," he says.
"Is there anything you guys don't find out about?"
He shakes his head, always literal. "No."
"It's true," Anya says from the back. "You have to keep an eye out for this one. He misses nothing."
He gives me a shrug and goes back to his computer at a little table in the corner of the bakery. Semyon is one of the highest-ranking officials in the Kopolov family—friendly with Vadka, but not best friends like him and Rafail.
Anya comes out to the front, dusting her hands on her apron. "Ruthie! Luka," she says warmly. "What a welcome surprise. It's been a while since I've been able to give you a cookie." She smiles broadly at him. "What can I get you?"
He points to the biggest, chocolate-studded cookie on the top row—a chocolate chip one that Anya makes per her sister-in-law's request. Though she specializes in traditional Russian baked goods, she keeps one tray reserved for American favorites—chocolate chip cookies, cheesecake, and a few other notable treats. She wraps it in wax paper and slides it into a white paper bag.
"You can have this one," Anya says, "after you eat a good lunch." She's smiling.
"I told my mom I would bring her cookies," I say quietly, not meeting Anya's eyes. I can't stand the pitying look people give me. It makes me feel fragile for some crazy reason.
"Howisyour mother?" she asks gently while a few other customers come in. Semyon wordlessly takes his place at the counter, filling orders, pouring coffee, and making tea. It’s homey and quiet, and it smells like cinnamon and sugar. I take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent before I meet Anya’s eyes.
"Declining," I say in one word—one word that encapsulates an entire lifetime of agony.Declining, just like they said she would.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she says quietly. "If there's anything I can do, let me know. Any of us—you know that, Ruthie."
Though I'm not married into the Kopolov family, I’m still family by affiliation—just because my sister was.
"Thanks," I say with forced brightness. We make small talk, and then Luka starts getting antsy. Right before we leave, Semyon raises his voice.
"Ruthie, can I talk with you before you go?"
"Yeah," I tell him, looking at Luka, but Anya gestures for him to come behind the counter.
"I need a strong man to help me carry things from the back room," she says wistfully. "Do you know of anyone?"
"Me!" he says, as if he's just come up with the most brilliant idea. He trots back behind the counter with Anya, and the two of them disappear. Semyon rounds the counter toward me and quietly locks the door, ensuring we have privacy.
Uh-oh. My heart beats a little faster.
"Have you talked to Vadka about what we found out recently?"
