“Oops. Sorry, Jerry.” She solidified and he kissed her on the forehead, smiling.
“It’s okay. I need a reminder every so often that you’re not like any other woman.”
“Does this bother you?”
“That you’re a ghost? I can see you, hear your voice, and most of the time I can touch you. That’s a lot more than I can say about the women I’ve met through the Net.”
“The ‘net’? You meet women while fishing?”
“Fishing? I guess on PlentyOfFish.com I was, but not in the way you mean. The Internet is a way of communicating with the world without leaving the comfort of your home.”
“Will you show me?”
“Of course.”
“Khorosho—good . Now, what I was telling you about Grigori and Alexei is that even though Alexei could be very sick at times, he lived like other boys.”
“You mean like other tsars-in-training.”
“No, like any other boy. He ran, played, and enjoyed life. He would not allow his illness to keep him down, even though he was often too weak to even walk on his own. When he could not walk, my father carried him, or someone else if Father was away.”
“Sounds like he was quite a kid.”
“Kid? A goat?”
Jerry chuckled. It wasn’t just a language barrier they dealt with; it was a generation gap like none other. “No, it’s slang. It means ‘child’.”
“Oh. Yes, he is… was quite a kid. But that is not my point, Jerry.”
“Somehow I didn’t think so, Ana.”
“You are sick. Is there a cure?”
“It depends on what’s wrong. If it’s cancer, then I suppose surgery or chemotherapy. I’m not sure about radiation cuz it’s in my head, but I guess I’ll hear all about it once all the tests are done.”
Ana nodded firmly. “So there is a cure.”
“I suppose so. Nothing definite. No guarantees.”
“For Alexei there was no cure, but he enjoyed life to the fullest. You at least have hope, so—”
“So stop whining and live it up?”
“Precisely. Now, is there no treatment they can do until after this MIR test?”
“MRI and no, nothing but take the pain pills they gave me.”
“Then if you are not in pain now, let us get ‘out and about’, as you say.”
“You don’t want me moping and hiding up here in the loft. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly!”
His mood improving, Jerry laughed. “And you’re just the dead Grand Duchess to teach this commoner how to live?”
“If you will permit me to.” Her smile faded. “I have intruded upon your life and not even asked for your permission.”
“My permission?” He stood and pulled her close so that he could look in her eyes. “Yes, I’m sick, and yes, I’ll be an asshole every so often when the pain comes back, but when you’re around, I feel more alive than I have in years.”
“Me, too.” She winked at him. “I love you.”
“You’ve only known me a few days, Shvibzik. Give it some time.”
“Yes sir.” She released his left hand and threw him a sloppy salute.
Jerry laughed loud and strong, feeling life flow back into him. “So now what, Little Imp?”
“Now? Now we explore, sir! This is novyy gorod—a new city—for both of us. Let us make it ours!”
“Then I guess it’s time I showed you how to use your inter-net, because I have no idea what there is to see in this city.”
Chapter Twelve
@TheTaoOfJerr: “A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.”
AFTER AN HOUR of surf-the-net lessons and compiling a list of sights to see in and around Victoria, Jerry pushed the laptop away and leaned back in his chair.
“Kiddo, I’m exhausted. We have a list of almost twenty sights to see within walking distance of home, so how about I have a short nap before we go traipsing off?”
“Yes, you rest. I think I want to do some more surfing with the nets.” She turned the laptop to face her and started typing and scrolling and mousing, looking very much like the curious, bright teenager she was when she died. “This is really no different from a typewriter.”
“Then have at it, while I recharge my batteries.” Jerry took a few sips of his herbal tea and lay back down on the couch while Ana claimed his chair and explored the new world of knowledge at her fingertips. Jerry was so wiped out that not even the Tsarevna’s giggles and gasps of discovery could keep him from drifting off.
SOMETHING TUGGED ON Jerry’s socked foot, dragging him from a deep, dark dream that slithered away before he could remember it.
“Jerry. You need to eat.”
He looked up to see a concerned Ana gently wiggling his big toe. “Hmm? What?”
She released his toe then moved around and sat next to him on the couch. “You need to eat, my Sweet. Even if we just remain inside this evening, you need food.” Ana’s voice was soft, subdued.
“I agree with the food thing,” he took her hand and kissed her palm, “but we definitely need to get out and see the city. It’s Christmas and I won’t let being a little worn out keep me in. What’s on the plate, so to speak?”
“I most certainly want to get out and find something fabulously interesting—I am rather weary of the Internet. May we go see the China Town? I have never seen one and the web site makes it look so beautiful, and bright, and alive. It is also nice and close, so we will not be too far from home, should you begin to feel unwell.”
“Don’t you worry about me and my headaches, Honey Cakes. Chinatown sounds nice. Actually, Chinese food sounds good. I wonder if Carmella left the number for Chinese delivery.”
Having anticipated the request, Ana held the delivery menu out to Jerry, but when he reached for it, she pulled it out of his reach.
“Ana, what are you… ?”
“‘Honey Cakes’?”
Jerry laughed. “Cutie Pie?” He reached for the menu but she hopped up off the arm of the couch and kept it out of his reach. He followed her, slowly, still waking up.
“Keeping trying, Mr. Powell.”
“Little Chickiletto?”
Ana stopped behind the kitchen island and looked at him, quizzically. “‘Little Chickiwhato’?”
“Chickiletto. I just made it up.”
“Your imagination needs to see a doctor, good sir.”
“Borscht Babe, then.”
“Borscht Babe?” She abruptly handed him the menu.
“Yeah, sure. Borscht Babe. Borscht is Russian, isn’t it?”
“Some is. My favourite recipe is actually hot Ukrainian Borscht, although I also am rather fond of a Prussian variation with garlic and bacon—smoky and spicy.”
“Smoky and spicy, eh?” Jerry leered at her.
“Mr. Powell, what on Earth are you implying?” Her hands went to her hips in mock outrage. “I am a proper young lady, sir.”
“I never thought otherwise… Shvibzik.”
“Mmm… yes, I think I like ‘Shvibzik’ best.” She stepped up and kissed him on the end of his nose. “You have Our permission to address Us as Shvibzik. Not ‘Honey Cakes’, nor ‘Chickiletto’, and definitely not ‘Borscht Babe’. I have spoken.”
Jerry dropped to one knee in mock obeisance, his head bowed low. “Yes, Your Imperial Highness. This humble servant shall honour and obey thy Royal Command.”
“Quite so? Then get up off your knee and order yourself some dinner. We must not have Our servant fading away from hunger.” She giggled.