We begin walking. I rub my thumb over the sparkling jewel. “Congratulations. I heard you were engaged from my neighbors. Who’s the lucky man?”
“Andrej Benedikt. He’s a manager at the Škoda automobile factory. He’s a gentleman and treats me very well. I think you’d like him.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, my heart growing fuller for her. I grip her hand tighter to acknowledge how happy I am for her, because in addition to finding her happiness, it means that I can finally move on with mine without the guilt hanging over me.
I lean in to kiss her hair, and, thankfully, she doesn’t pull away. “I’m sure I would. That’s so nice to hear. I’m very happy for you.”
“Thank you, Tomas. I’m happy, too. Finally. I never thought I would be again.”
I release a long breath. “I know exactly how you feel.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” she whispers under her breath.
We turn right to head up the hill toward the church where we got married so many years ago.
“And you?” she asks. “Are you happy?”
I can’t help but smile at the question. “I am. Very. Her name is Luciana. She’s an opera singer too. Hopefully you’ll meet her one day.”
“I would like that very much.” She tugs on my elbow and stops walking. I come to a halt next to her. When I look at her, she takes her hand, placing it on my cheek. “It’s okay to move on, Tomas. If you need to hear it, then here it is…move on. Be happy. Believe me, it took some time until I accepted the fact that it was acceptable to be with Andrej. I felt all of it…the guilt, the worry that if I moved on, it meant I never loved you or Oksana. We’re not saying good-bye to the love, we’re just leaving behind the life we had and starting a new one.”
I shut my eyes from the overwhelming emotion, thankful for her words, my heart full of love and admiration for her, her strength, and her selflessness.
I open my eyes again to look at her, clearing my throat. “I hope you know how sorry I am for everything. I think what happened between us, after everything…what I’m trying to say is, we are where we’re meant to be now in our lives.”
Petra nods in return. “I know. There was just too much pain. I’m not angry, not anymore. There’s no point to carrying around so much hate and resentment where there’s so much life left for both of us. It took me a long time to realize that.”
“I know. I feel the same way.”
I hold her hand tighter as we reach the churchyard, stopping so we both can buy flowers from the vendor at the gate.
I grip her hand tighter as we make our way to the back of the church where the cemetery is. Quietly, we walk to the gravestone that sits in the shadow of a giant oak tree.
I smile at the sight of the flowers that Petra has planted at the foot of the stone. She wipes the dirt from the etched letters, spelling out our daughter’s name, OKSANA VERONIKA NOVOTNA, and the dates of her birth and her death, only seven days apart.
I kneel down on the soft grass as Petra begins to pull the errant weed here and there from between the flowers.
I trace the engraving of my daughter’s name with my fingers as a form of greeting. “Hello, my darling. I’m so sorry I haven’t visited you for so long. I needed to go away, but you never left my mind or my heart, and you never will. I hope one day you can meet a very nice woman named Luciana. She’s very funny and beautiful. Just know that I miss you and I love you. Daddy loves you very much.”
A warm hand settles onto my shoulder. “I miss her too. We’ll never know why, will we?”
I place my hand over hers, exhaling deeply. “No, we won’t. And I feel so badly for neglecting her.”
“It’s all right, Tomas. You’re here now. And one day, you’ll come here with Luciana and I’ll bring Andrej so she can meet them both.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I would like that very much. The flowers are so beautiful, Petra. Thank you.”
She squeezes my shoulder in gratitude. I slowly rise to my feet, stretching my legs. I lean over and kiss the cold marble of my daughter’s grave. I watch as Petra does the same.
Then I tuck her hand once more into the crook of my elbow. “Let’s go home.”
We turn and walk to the gate, turning left to head back down the hill as the sun sets behind us. Petra is now holding my hand at our sides instead of leaving it in the crook of my elbow, looser and lighter in feel. We glance at each other and unexpectedly give each other warm smiles. We pick up the pace down the hill, my head held high, my shoulders back, determined to get home as soon as I can so I can book my flight home to New York City. And it is home for me now, because that’s where Luciana is. I just hope she’ll forgive me and take me back, because if she doesn’t…I can’t even fathom the thought.
* * * Lucy
At home
Two weeks later…
With my head on my mother’s shoulder, she smooths back my hair soothingly over and over. I hum contentedly, the first time all day when I don’t feel nauseous. The term “morning sickness” is a total misnomer. I’ve been sick every day since I found out I was pregnant.
We’re sitting on the couch getting ready to watch Downton Abbey. My father sits on the other side of me reading a magazine, his left hand holding my right. He’s not keen on the show, but he’s been very protective of me ever since I told them I was pregnant.
I was truly blown away by their reaction to my news. Not that I really needed to say the words. A parent can guess something’s up when their daughter pukes up her guts into the toilet morning, noon, and night. They even asked me if I really wanted the baby, being the open-minded parents they’ve always been. But I told them with one-hundred-percent knowledge that yes, I want this baby, even though I’m only twenty-five.
I lean over to grab the glass of my ginger ale from the coffee table.
“I’ll get it, sweetheart,” my father says, reaching for my phone.
“No, Daddy, I actually wanted the ginger ale.”
“Oh, um…of course,” he stumbles. He takes the glass and hands it to me.
I take a few small sips and give it back to him, watching him placing it on the table.
I know why my father stammered. Basically, Tomas Novotny is persona non grata in the Gibbons house. It slipped his mind that I’ve stopped checking my phone every ten seconds for any texts or emails from Tomas. I ended the madness a week after he left. I haven’t heard from him since he took off. I don’t know where he is, if he’s still in the Czech Republic or if he’s back in New York.
Just as the familiar Masterpiece theme music fills the room, the intercom buzzes.
“Who the bloody hell can that be?” my father asks, very annoyed.
“I’ll get it,” my mother offers.
“No, love, stay. You watch your program. I’ll go,” my father declares.
He slowly rises from the couch and walks out of the living room. Because we live in an open loft, it’s hard not to eavesdrop.
So when I hear my father start to argue with someone over the intercom, and the person on the other end has a foreign accent, I immediately jump to conclusions, that it could be Tomas waiting downstairs at the front door asking to be let in.
And then I hear the accented voice say, “Mistehr Gibbons, please. I vahnt to talk to Luciana.”
Fuck. It is Tomas.
“Are you mad? There’s no way I’m letting you up, you bastard!” he shouts back.
I jump to my feet as my mother starts to plead with me. “Honey, don’t. Let Daddy handle this.”
But I ignore her and slowly make way to the door. I grab my father’s arm. “It’s okay, Daddy. Please let him up. I just want to get this over with.”
He stares at me for a full minute, and then presses the buzzer.