I’m so sorry, Mama…
Silence descended. He didn’t know what to say because he didn’t know who she was now, and she didn’t know who he was. They were strangers. He could make small talk with strangers, but it was different when that stranger was Mama.
Some days he wished she’d come back, just for a moment, so she could know that the men who’d destroyed their lives weren’t getting away with it. The game had taken years, but it was coming to an end. Piece by piece, domino by domino, everything was happening the way he’d hoped, and soon, it would be over. And though he didn’t want her to remember what had happened, he wished that on some level she understood that the evil in this town was inching closer to karmic justice.
I’m so close. The whole fucking thing’s ready to come down.
“You shouldn’t talk that way,” she said, calmly making him jump out of his skin. “You seem like such a nice boy.”
He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken the thought out loud. Quietly, he laughed because at least then he didn’t cry. She really didn’t know who he was today. Didn’t have a clue. Watching some stranger break down in tears would confuse her and terrify her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I won’t talk like that.”
“Good. Good boys don’t.”
He didn’t know what to say.
Before he could think of something, she spoke again: “You remind me of my son.”
Sergei’s head snapped up. “I do?”
She nodded, gaze fixed on something outside. “My Sergei.”
Sergei swallowed. “Really?”
“He always swears.” Clicking her tongue, she shook her head. “With his language, the boy will be a dock worker someday.”
He stared at her in disbelief for a moment but then managed to laugh. His foul mouth may not have been his best feature, but it had started young. Young enough that apparently Mama still remembered.
She laughed softly, and gazed out the window with a smile. “He’s a good boy, though, my Seryozha. A good boy.”
Sergei pretended to cough just to give himself an excuse to turn away and swipe at the sudden sting in his eyes. When he faced her again, he whispered, “Tell me about him.”
She looked at him. “Who?”
No, no, Mama—don’t slip away yet.
He moistened his dry lips. “Sergei. Tell me about him.”
“Oh, Seryozha.” She sighed wistfully. “A boy who wants to be a man too soon.” She shifted her attention to the scenery outside. “He’s younger than his brothers. They were schoolboys already when he came along.”
The memory of his protective older brothers made his chest hurt. They’d kept a close eye on him and never let a neighborhood bully lay a hand on him, but they’d also taught him to be fearless and wild.
“Climb higher, Seryozha!” Vasily had taunted from the ground.
Mikhail had egged him on too. “Mama won’t know if you broke your arm from ten feet up or twenty!”
Sergei had climbed higher. Much higher. And he hadn’t broken his arm, but Mama had caught them, and she’d punished them for encouraging him and him for listening to them. The moment their backsides healed from that whipping, they were back out there, climbing higher than ever. They’d been punished for that too, but it was worth it.
Mama laughed softly at something only she understood. “Ever since he could walk, my Sergei’s wanted to be just like his brothers. And his brothers, they just love him. They protect him like his father does.”
Sergei’s throat constricted, nearly cutting off his breath. Memories flooded his mind, but some of the bad ones were creeping in too.
“Stay here.” Vasily’s voice had trembled as he’d pushed Sergei down between the front and back seats of the station wagon. “Don’t make a sound.”
“Promise, Seryozha.” Mikhail had covered him with a blanket, nearly suffocating him and muffling his last plea: “Not a sound.”
“I wish they’d come see me,” she said, oblivious to the salt she was pouring in his wounds. “I miss my boys.”
Sergei squirmed, pushing back both tears and nausea, and he forced his voice to be calm and even. “I’m sure they miss you too, Mama.”
She turned to him, brow furrowed. “Why would you call me that?”
Sergei’s heart skipped. “Sorry. Sorry, I…” He cleared his throat. “You remind me of my mother.”
“Oh.” Her features relaxed and the smile came back. “She’s a lucky woman, if you’re anything like my boy.”
“I’ll pass it along,” he whispered, almost choking on the words.
“Good. You seem like a good boy.” Gazing out the window again, she softly added, “Just like my Sergei.”
His chest ached and he turned enough to hopefully hide his grimace. With a few slow, deep breaths, he composed himself, though the lump in his throat probably wasn’t going anywhere.
“You should take your pills,” he whispered.
“Oh.” She looked at him, then the cup, then him again. “Okay.”
He helped her take them, and after she’d finished, she gazed out the window.
“I should go,” he said.