Chapter 39
39
I t’s a short jaunt to Secaucus, where Leon’s uncle Josef lives in a private care facility. On the way, Leon explains what to expect, relieved to find that my doctor’s training means I understand better than most.
Josef had a severe ischemic stroke following an incident where he was assaulted in his home. Because he was hurt in other ways—head injury, fractures—it wasn’t picked up as quickly as it should have been, and he was left with severe permanent disabilities.
“He has Broca’s aphasia,” Leon says as we pull up outside the building. “That means?—”
“He understands well enough but has difficulties speaking?”
“Correct. He can speak a little better in Russian, but it’s a tremendous effort. So he doesn’t usually try.”
Leon turns off the engine, sighs, and drops his head back against the seat.
“He can’t even write, so it’s hard for him. Josef tends to be fearful and hostile toward new people, so don’t be surprised if he’s kinda nasty. There’s a chance he’ll spit or try to hit out at you, but I’ll put myself between and do my best to calm him.”
Leon gets out and walks around the car so he can open the passenger door, taking my hand as I step out.
“Why bring me here if I might upset him?” I ask.
“Because he and I have distance between us, as you and your father did.” He kisses the tips of my fingers. “If you can work on it and do better, so can I. You make me want to try, at least. And truthfully, I’m worried about him out here.”
A softly-spoken matron leads us to Josef’s room. She’s obviously keen to leave, and with Leon’s permission, she’s quick to do so.
Josef’s suite is large and well-lit. The winter sun streams through floor-to-ceiling windows that boast a pleasant view of the property’s gardens.
The man himself sits in an armchair, with a small table on his left side that moves on a pivoted arm.
Ah, of course. He had a left brain stroke, so he’s right-side impaired.
A couple of fold-out chairs are leaning against the wall, and Leon sets them up carefully to put himself between Josef and me.
His uncle says nothing, but he watches us, his sharp left eye working hard to compensate for the other.
He looks startlingly like Leon, with the same intensity to his gaze, and I swallow a rising bubble of nerves as I sit.
“ Dyadya ,” Leon says. He coughs, and Josef looks at him. “It’s been too long.”
Josef raises a shaking hand and gestures at me, his expression twisting in query. Leon takes my hand.
“This is Emery,” he says. “My wife. I thought you should meet.”
Josef isn’t capable of looking shocked, but one eyebrow slowly rises into his thin hairline. He fixes me with a suspicious stare, and opens his mouth.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” I say.
“Emery is a doctor,” Leon says. “She understands. I explained.”
Josef ignores him and gives a hissing gargle before he speaks, his words rough and heavy.
“Emery.” He holds my gaze, and I keep quiet, giving him space to talk. “Love Leon?”
“Yes,” I say.
The moment the word leaves my lips, something shifts inside me.
Despite my doubts and the uncertainty we face—I do love him.
Maybe since he saved me, or perhaps since I first saw glimpses of the broken child beneath the brutal man.
But saying it out loud, in front of his only family, feels real in a way I wasn’t ready for.
I can lie to myself, Leon, and the world, but not to this man who used so much energy to ask a question that matters to him. A lie would trip off my tongue so easily in comparison; he deserves better.
Josef smiles. It’s lop-sided and labored, but there’s no denying it. Leon watches incredulously.
“I’ll be damned,” he says. “What the Hell does he care?”
“I think your uncle cares about you more than anything in the world, Leon,” I say. “You pulled away, eaten up by guilt, and when he was attacked, you only felt worse.”
I search Leon’s face for the self-compassion he badly needs. He keeps his eyes on mine for a beat before dropping his head into his hands.
“ Dyadya , she’s right,” he says. “I’m sorry for everything. For letting anger rule me, for rejecting your love when all you ever did was your best to shelter me. I put you in harm’s way, and I’ll never be able to atone for that.”
Leon rests his head on the side of Josef’s chair. To my astonishment, Josef lifts his good arm and wraps his hand around the back of Leon’s head, pulling him to his shoulder.
“ Nechego proshchat ’,” Josef whispers, his eyes shining. “ Ya tebya lyublyu .”
“That’s a lot of words,” I whisper. “What did he say?”
Leon sniffs and gathers himself but doesn’t move away from his uncle’s embrace.
“He said, ‘Brave nephew, nothing to forgive. I love you.’”
My husband’s frown lines smooth before my eyes, as though tension he’s carried for years is finally falling away.
I see the young man Leon was before trauma tore him to pieces and led him to abandon the version of himself his parents raised, the little boy who knew love and drew strength from it.
Josef seems tired already, and I wonder at the ease with which most people communicate. There must be a million things this man wants to say, all choked by the frustration brought on by a blood clot in his brain.
How delicate we are, how finely calibrated. It takes so little to alter us permanently, if not kill us, and we three know that as well as anyone.
Leon excuses himself, the emotional weight too heavy to hold, and goes to speak to the staff. He wants assurances that Josef is safe here, but I doubt he’ll get them, and with Demyan already installed at my father’s home, what’s one more patient?”
I risk moving into Leon’s seat so I can sit closer to Josef. He drops his head and turns wearily to me.
“Yes?” I say gently, leaning close. “Do you need something? Don’t tire yourself more by talking.”
His hand comes up fast, and he clutches my shoulder, his face close to mine.
I could easily free myself, but I don’t want to hurt him, and my thoughts race.
Is he okay? I don’t mind if he spits or bites or whatever—Leon warned me he might—but I hope he won’t? I thought he liked me. What is he?—
Josef presses a kiss to my cheek. His lips are dry, and the hand that holds me is cold, but the warmth in his heart is unmistakable.
“Thank you,” he says carefully. He puts his palm on his chest. “Love saves everything. Saved you. Will save him.”
I wait in the car while Leon says his goodbyes. I’m sure he and Josef will have much to talk about when all this business is over, but now is not the time.
Eventually, Leon descends the steps and climbs into the driver’s seat. “I asked the staff and Josef, but no one has been to see him,” he says.
“You aren’t worried someone could have followed us?” I ask.
Leon shakes his head as he starts the engine. “I was careful to take a convoluted route here so we wouldn’t be tailed. No one followed us. Besides, Josef knows nothing about my life anymore, and even if he did, he’d be neither willing nor able to give any information to my enemies. Everyone who hates me already knows that, which is why no one bothers him.”
“Why don’t you let Demyan look after him at my father’s house?”
Leon smiles. “I asked him, but he declined. He said he likes it here, and if anyone comes for him, he’ll do what he did before.”
I frown. “He was attacked and badly beaten, wasn’t he?”
“Sure was.” Leon puts the car in gear and pulls out of the lot. “But he messed the guys up before they got the better of him. One lost an eye, and the other got Josef’s letter opener right through his throat. Both were dead before sunset though, courtesy of me and a shallow grave in the Catskills.”
I sigh, my breath shaky. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to Leon’s ability to murder people as casually as I might throw a paper cup in the trash.
The more we talk about his life, the more I realize that my husband is a bad man, but not as bad as the scum he goes up against.
As moral codes go, it’s not ideal, but I’ll take what I can get.