Page 109 of Her Selfless Warrior (Omega Sky)
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Just walkingup to Kostya’s house was a pleasure. Kostya took her in the side door and she got to appreciate the two-story home, with the cantilevered roof that extended out over a cedar deck at sunset.
“How often do you sit on this deck and drink a beer?”
“Not often. Now, if you want to know how often I savor a glass of whiskey, that’s another story,” Kostya said with a smile. He guided her through the door that led into the kitchen. She was met by warm granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.
“I have to ask again, how much does the Navy pay?”
Kostya chuckled. “I bought this house after my divorce. It was a real fixer-upper, but it had good bones. I’ve been working on it for years. It all came together last year.”
“Divorce?”
“Yeah, Debra and I split nine years ago.”
“I’m sorry, Kostya. Divorce is rough.”
He paused as he was opening the refrigerator. “It can be. But it was definitely the right thing to do, at least for me. Gideon pointed something out not so long ago, and I realized why we hadn’t worked out.” He opened the freezer. “I have homemade lasagna that I can warm up, how does that sound?”
“It sounds like a lot. The steaks at Ryker’s were more than enough.”
Kostya grinned as he closed the freezer. “What do you think of some fruit, cheese, and crackers?”
“That sounds wonderful.” She watched him start to pull things out of his refrigerator, then meandered to the big window overlooking the bay. This sure as hell beat her view back in Manhattan.
I wonder if he needs this? If it keeps him sane when he comes back from the field.
She grinned when she saw his bookcase. It was bigger than hers! She couldn’t resist checking it out. Lots of biographies on military commanders—no big surprise there—but seeing Mark Twain, Louisa May Alcott, and Jules Verne tickled the hell out of her. She looked back at the kitchen and saw that he was cutting something up, so she continued to peruse. On the bottom two shelves were books in Russian. She recognized some names, like Dostoevsky, Chekhov, and Solzhenitsyn but it was the very bottom shelf that caught her attention. She pulled out two tiny books, obviously well-worn children’s books. The first one had a cat on the front, and when she opened it up it showed the cat watching over a sleeping boy in his bed. It went on to show more animals with the little boy; there was even a picture of a rabbit playing the violin. When Lark looked closely, she could see that there were jam fingerprints made by a child on the cover. It was definitely a much-loved and treasured book.
The second book was for an older child because it was mostly text, but it showed two little boys on the front. One boy was carrying the other boy in the snow.
“What do you have there?” Kostya asked from behind her.
“Books,” Lark smiled up at him. “You must have read them as a child. She held them up. The one with a cat on the cover was on top.
Kostya smiled as he motioned for her to follow him to the couch. He set down a platter along with two glasses of wine.
“I remember that book. When Irina and I first came to America we were sent to a temporary foster family. There were lots of other kids. The people there were nice, but it was so different than what we were used to. Nobody there spoke Russian, and it seemed like forever before I could understand English. But one of the social workers who checked in on us found a couple of movies in Russian and that book in Russian to make me feel more at home.” He handed her the glass of white wine.
“There are two books,” Lark corrected him. “Here’s the second.” She pulled the book with the two little boys from underneath the other and handed it to him. “It doesn’t have any pictures. How old were you when you came to America? Were you able to read it?”
As Kostya took the book from her, his hands were visibly trembling. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.
Lark waited. He didn’t say anything more.
“Yes what?” she asked gently.
He traced the picture on the front. “I was able to read it.”
Kostya didn’t look up. He was staring at the book, not moving. It was eerie. She needed to get him talking.
“Did you read it to Irina?”
He shook his head.
She put her hand over his. “Honey? What’s the matter?”
He looked up at her, and his eyes were filled with more pain than anybody should ever have to feel. She gasped at the sight.
