“My wife mentioned you seemed quite taken with the library here. I welcome you to check out any books other than those in the top two rows. Those are first editions and are my prized collection.”
“Oh,” I sighed in relief. He laughed once more at my reaction, and I relaxed a little as he told me his rules.
“I have a desk in here, although I rarely use it. I prefer to leave work at work and enjoy home in the manner it is intended. So, all that to say, you’re welcome in here anytime.”
“Thank you. I promise I’ll follow your rules. May I ask you a question?”
“Please.” He sat leaning against one of the desks as we talked.
“I noticed you have several Russian children’s books.”
“I do. As you know, my wife is Russian, and she insisted our children knew their heritage and history.”
“I wondered if you haveThe Flower of Seven Colorsby Valentin Kataev. My mother used to read it to me every night.” I hadn’t had a chance to look too closely when Sophia had given me the tour.
“Be careful of your desires. They tend to come true,” he murmured.
“Wasn’t that a quote by Mikhail Bulgakov fromThe Master and Margarita?” I asked curiously. His bringing up the quote warmed me inside.The Flower of Seven Colorswas all about being careful of your desires and wishes.
“Very good. You are well read, then?”
“I’d like to think I am. I’ve not had the privilege of reading as many books as you have here in your library, but maybe one day.”
“I’ve read them all, some more than once.” Grinning, he looked so much like Alek at that moment that it made me giggle. “What is so funny?” he asked.
“You looked like Alek there for a moment. You both have the same smile when you speak about something you’ve done that you’re proud of.”
He rubbed his chin. “I actually think I may have that title you’re wondering about. Let me see.”
He walked over to a section that was stocked with bright, colorful thin spines that were familiar with children’s books. He pulled it out and handed it to me, and I hugged it close to my body, tears springing to my eyes. A sudden warmth of nostalgia overcame me.
“I’ve probably heard this story hundreds of times. From the moment my mother read it to me, I fell in love with Vitya. He was always so sad and quiet before he met Zhenya,” I told him.
I thought about the story of an imaginative little girl. She made silly, empty wishes with the petals of a magical flower and then eventually met a boy she wanted to race around and play with. He couldn’t, though, because he was afflicted with a physical impairment, which hindered his mobility. The last petal of the flower fixed it, and she learned the value of joy, happiness, and friendship, all through her desire for a playmate.
“Interesting. It used to be Ivan’s favorite book when he was small,” he said quietly, and my head snapped up.
It was Ivan’s favorite too? The revelation wasn’t one I was expecting. A wave of warmth hit, connecting us in a way I never anticipated. I imagined him as asmallish boy, wanting to hear it read over and over like I had. It was as if our lives were woven together long before we’d ever met. It was silly, really, but I clung to the idea. We were bound to one another even in this small way.
My heart hurt from wishingThe Flower of Seven Colorswere real and that I could wish away his pain and give him back his sister.
“I’m not surprised. Ivan’s a very selfless person with a huge heart.”
“That’s an interesting observation. He’s usually very private and doesn’t allow people that close. How did you get in so quickly, I wonder?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I whispered, wanting nothing more than to run back to my room and read the book in my hands over and over. I could almost hear my mother’s voice.
“I spoke with my wife.”
“Oh.” My heart rate picked up and my stomach fluttered.
“I want to know one thing…the disagreement in Seattle. It didn’t end with my son striking you, did it?”
I blinked, unsure I heard him correctly. But I had, and now his question hung between us. The implications weren’t ones I had considered, and it left me dumbfounded.
How could he ask such a thing? There was no way in hell Ivan would ever put his hands on me or any woman in anger. It just wasn’t something he was capable of.
“Oh god. No, not at all. He’d never do such a thing,” I exclaimed.
