They talked about raising their kids on their own. Anfisa’s parents still lived together, but Natasha’s mother had done it herself, too. “I shouldn’t even try to compare my situation to…I’m not really alone. Yuri’s here for half the year,” Natasha said.
Anfisa shook her head. “Tasha, are you joking? You do it all yourself. Yuri is a good man, but if he’s not here all the time, he doesn’t take care of the children the way you do.” Natasha liked that—both the words and the way Anfisa said them, which was cozy, self-assured. Sisterly. Anfisa insisted, “I’m serious.”
They talked, too, about their jobs. Natasha was one of a few doctoral students at the oceanographic institute. She and the other researchers spent their days in the laboratory, projecting the coming season’s catch limits and complaining about their dissertations.
“You’re so smart,” Anfisa said. She wore less makeup today, and her cheeks were already pink from the alcohol.
Anfisa worked as an administrative assistant for the Petropavlovsk police. “So you know all about the Golosovskaya girls’ kidnapping,” Natasha said.
Anfisa shrugged. “As much as anybody does. Which isn’t much.”
“Well, what’s happening?” At Anfisa’s rolled eyes, Natasha said, “You must be able to say something at this point.”
“Let’s see.” Anfisa sipped from her mug. “We took surveillance tapes from every gas station in the city. We tried to trace the older girl’s phone—nothing. We searched all the abandoned cars at the dump. Did you hear that? We took dogs through to sniff for bodies.”
“Oh, God.”
“We only found a few old drunks who had to be escorted back to their wives. What else…Did you know our detectives were after the girls’ father for a while? The man lives in Moscow, and we actually had officers there take him in for questioning. They acted like the whole thing was some kind of joke.”
“It wasn’t the father?”
“It was humiliating. He hadn’t seen his girls in years. He never paid alimony, let alone the bribes it would take to arrange a kidnapping by private plane. Anyway, it would’ve been impossible to leave Petropavlovsk without anyone seeing.”
“I don’t know…” The empty, dusty roads around the city. The endless tundra. Natasha’s sister had traveled that territory without a witness.
“Think about it. The alert for the sisters went up within four hours. Where could someone drive in that time? You can’t show up in a village with two strange children in tow. And any other way you might want to take those girls—a dock, an airport—people would notice.”
Lilia had told their mother she was sleeping at her friend’s house the night she left, so she got a head start of two days. She went quietly, with only her purse. Later they discovered there never had been a friend she stayed with. Lilia had been leaving the house at night for her own reasons for years. “See, you’re the smart one,” Natasha said. “You’re right.”
Anfisa smiled at her. “The only answer that makes sense is that the girls must have died here that same day. Before their mother even notified us. The major general thinks they may have gone swimming in the bay and drowned.”
Natasha edged closer to the table. “But didn’t the police think someone took them? What about your witness?”
“That’s what happens when you get your information from city rumors,” Anfisa said. “The so-called witness…she saw a man, she thinks, with some kids, she thinks, in a nice car, she knows, for three seconds. The dog she was walking would’ve made a better witness than she did.”
“She didn’t actually see anything?”
“She admits as much herself. But the girls’ mother is involved with United Russia, she works for the party, and our senior staff was terrified in the beginning about intervention from the governor. There was so much pressure to find some person responsible. They needed a big, scary kidnapper, so they made one up.”
Natasha clicked her tongue. A made-up kidnapper—if only her mother could hear. “We can’t trust a thing they report. I’ll have to get my news from you from now on.”
“Don’t I sound authoritative?” Anfisa said. “When actually most of my time at the station is spent pretending I know nothing so the officers won’t bother me.” She sat up straight, laced her hands on the table, and arranged her features into placidity. Above blushing cheeks, her forehead was smooth. Incorruptible.
“Looking good while avoiding work? Really, you ought to be our major general,” Natasha said. Anfisa unfolded her hands to pour them both another drink.
“Mama,” Yulka said, making Natasha jump. Anfisa laughed. The girl stood, fidgeting, at the border where the living room carpet met the kitchen tile.
“What is it, bunny?”
“Can we go home?”
“What’s wrong?” Yulka had her brave face on. Her eyes were wet but her chin was firm. Even this far into motherhood, Natasha found it extraordinary that she and Yuri had made two creatures who were so odd, so particular. During her practice run as a parent, tending to nine-years-younger Lilia, Natasha had been dazzled by the same thing: the raw dough of an infant shaping into a determined child.
These days Natasha pushed herself to see that quality fondly. A person’s early sharpness. That insistence on being themselves. When their father died, Lilia was only five, and during the few days his body lay for viewing in their home, Lilia sat on Natasha’s lap and asked questions. Is he uncomfortable? Can he hear us? If we opened his eyes, what would we see? “He’s dead,” Natasha told her, which was an answer that did not satisfy. For hours, Natasha rested her head on Lilia’s back, in the space between her spine and the fragile wing of her shoulder blade. Natasha’s arms circled Lilia’s waist. Heat rose from her little sister’s skin. There had been so much life inside her.
“The boys are arguing,” Yulka told them.
“Boys argue,” Anfisa said. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”
Yulka waited for her mother. Natasha sighed, stood, and hugged her daughter to her side. “Go tell Lev to get ready.” Yulka hopped away with the news, and Anfisa sipped her tea. Inspired, Natasha leaned down to kiss her friend’s cheek. Pink and smooth and comforting. Anfisa grasped her hand, smiled up, and let her go.
At home, Lev announced, “I hate Misha.”
Natasha was filling a glass from the sink tap. She had an hour to sober up before she was due to retrieve her mother and brother from the ski base. “Don’t say that.”
“I do. He turned off our game because he was losing, and then he told me it was an accident.”
“Maybe it was an accident,” Natasha said.
“It wasn’t,” Lev said. “He did it. It was obvious.”
On Thursday, her son refused to go back. “But they’re expecting us,” Natasha said.
“I don’t care,” Lev said. “I don’t like Misha. He doesn’t play fair.”
They were sitting on their couch in front of the television. Yulka was the only one paying attention to the screen. In the armchair, Natasha’s mother held a book but was clearly eavesdropping. “You’ll hurt Misha’s feelings,” Natasha murmured to her son. He was too grown-up now to carry places. She could not make him go anywhere he did not want to go.
“Lev, honey, do you want to spend this afternoon together?” Natasha’s mother asked. Natasha frowned.
Looking like Yuri in miniature, with the same round lower lip and black eyebrows, Lev pushed his body back against the cushions. “No.”