He makes me giggle, and Albert and I get into the back of the car.
Gus closes the partition to give me privacy. I don’t look to see where the bodyguard is. Right on our tail is my guess.
I really don’t care. I just strap in so I can curl up a little with Albert.
I’ve not just accepted moving on with Ilya as the right thing, the right choice; I’m happy with it. I’m thrilled. I love him.
But my love for Max remains in my heart as well. We had plans, just like the doctor said. Nothing in stone, just unformed ideas for the future, like children. He wanted them, too.
We’d giggle over what they’d look like and come up with outrageous names and careers for them. We’d imagine in jest and for real what they’d be like when they became little humans with minds of their own, like obnoxious teens who thought they were thirty-five. We wondered who they’d end up with, whether they’d give us grandchildren, and we’d discuss the lives we wanted for them.
Happy ones.
That’s what we wanted for our children.
Happy lives.
But those children can never be.
I let out a shuddering breath, my eyes damp as emotion clogs my throat. Albert makes a comforting sound.
After Max died, I wished I were pregnant. I wanted his child desperately. I berated myself for not having his sperm frozen, for not somehow foreseeing it all.
Of course we didn’t. We didn’t think we’d need to.
And now…
I could never do a thing to Ilya’s baby. I’m excited, under the heavy, smothering layers of guilt. But the shimmery, warm bursts of wonder are there, beneath that surface. Having a baby with Ilya will be perfect, just like if I’d had one with Max would have been.
But it just brings my past dreams crashing down.
If Max were here, he’d chide me, tell me to stop. He’d tell me he was happy.
He’d want me happy.
Just like I’d want him happy.
And Ilya makes me happy.
The idea of Ilya’s child makes me happy.
We drive around for a while, the motor and motion of the car soothing. I just sit with Albert, breathing in the clean scent of him—I’m pretty sure Olga or Magda gave him a bath—letting his warmth calm me, his hereness soothe my soul.
I don’t really think about anything, just let my thought fragments drift.
When we pull to a stop, I decide I’m ready for a walk. I don’t mind the bodyguard who pulls up, too, and follows me.
He keeps his distance, enough to give me space, but close enough to act if something happens.
Nothing’s going to happen.
I know that like a sixth sense. But there’s a small part—very small—that’s glad he’s here, not that I’d tell Demyan. Gus keeps an eye out on the area where he’s parked.
I’m glad it’s mid-morning and a nice day with a park of pretty paths and people running or walking their pets. Albert and I soak it in.
My phone has buzzed a few times since we started our walk. The first is from Demyan wanting to know why I went to the clinic.
The other is from Ilya.
