7. Arsen
7
ARSEN
This is a new low.
I’ve been pacing along the same ten-foot stretch of hallway in front of Laila’s room for half an hour, waiting for an excuse to barge in—a scream, a loud bang, a cracked open door that I could pretend I thought led to my room. Anything to get her to speak to me.
Hell, I’d settle for getting her to look at me.
Preferably as though I’m not the spawn of Satan, but I’ll take what I can get.
“ Blyat’, ” I mutter, tilting my ear towards the door.
I stopped hearing Nina a few minutes ago, so I’m pretty sure my daughter is asleep. But judging from the light under the door and the soft creaking of the floorboards, Laila isn’t.
She’s pacing, too, just like I am, though she’s probably dreaming up creative ways to murder me in my bed.
With that comforting thought at the forefront of my mind, I decide to knock.
She answers faster than I expect, but she doesn’t seem surprised to see me. As her eyebrow arches ever so slightly, I think maybe my vigil didn’t go as unnoticed as I thought it would. “Arsen.”
A murder attempt would be warmer than that. Hell, I’d prefer a little violence. I’ll hand her the knife myself if it means getting some sort of reaction out of her.
This mute, frigid apathy is ten times worse than a slap across the face.
“Do you have everything you need?” I ask. I’m instantly disgusted with myself—as if I’m housekeeping here to refresh her towels. Thirty minutes and that’s the best opener I could come up with.
“Yes.”
“Is it… warm enough in your room? If not, I can have?—”
“It’s fine.”
“Nina is?—”
“Asleep. Like I plan to be in another minute. Goodnight.”
She shuts the door in my face without waiting for me to speak. A second later, the lock clicks into place.
Even if I broke the door down, I still wouldn’t know what to say to her once I was inside.
Which is the only reason I can think of for why, twenty minutes later, I find myself standing in the hospital room of the one person who knows Laila better than anyone else in the world.
Marie is in bed, her face turned towards the open window. She’s sunken into the sad excuse for a mattress, her skin as pale as the over-bleached sheets swaddled around her waist. Her eyes are wide and vacant, and for one frantic second, I think she’s already gone.
Then she turns to me, a smile spreading across her thin face.
At least someone is happy to see me.
“Sorry I missed our lunch today.”
“You had important things to take care of.” Marie points to the chair next to her bed. “Boy, you look like hell warmed over.”
“There’s that trademark Barnes flattery I’ve come to expect.”
“I take it the reunion didn’t go as planned?”
“There was no plan for the reunion,” I admit. “Which is a good thing, because it seems Laila’s plans involve avoiding me indefinitely.”
“She’s hurt and angry, Arsen. Can you blame her?”
“She’s punishing me.” My jaw flexes. “She’s my wife. My one job is to keep her safe. She had a ten-million-dollar bounty on her head?—”
She taps a finger on her bed rail, lips pursed, eyes thoughtful. “I know all this, Arsen. It took me a little while to see the light, but once I did… Well, I happen to think you did the right thing by sending Laila away.”
It felt nice to know Marie was on my side these last couple months. I only wish it made any difference where Laila was concerned.
“You and I are the only ones who agree on that. Even Dominik and Gedeon keep making snide comments about how I’ve been treating her.”
“I would have thought you could take a few jabs, Arsen. You’re a strong man, aren’t you?” She smiles, but it turns into a wince as she readjusts herself. There’s a clammy sheen to her skin. She looks waxy.
“Am I a fool to think she could forgive me one day?”
Despite the window being sealed shut, Marie shivers. I jump to my feet, grab the blanket folded on the end of the bed, and wrap it around her shoulders.
She accepts it without any fanfare. She’s gotten used to me being around the last couple months. At first, it was all for Laila—so I could update her on her mother and prove I was taking care of Marie.
Now, I can’t quite imagine a day without one of our little chats.
“You’re no fool, Arsen. But you’re delusional if you think you can get anywhere with my daughter without being honest with her.”
“I have been honest with her.”
Marie arches a thin eyebrow. “She knows all of your deepest, darkest secrets? The things that make you most vulnerable? You’ve bared your soul to her with no expectation of personal gain, just to give her the fullest picture of who you are as a man?”
I sigh. “Marie?—”
“Don’t ‘Marie’ me. You need to tell her why you sent her away in the first place.”
I slump back into my chair and stare out the window. It’s dark out, the sky a mottled smear of indigo, with the lights of the city vomiting a dull gloom on the undersides of the clouds. “I didn’t even plan to tell you why I sent her away.”
“But you did,” she reminds me with a gentle touch to my wrist. “Claim it as a mistake all you want, but I think you wanted me to know. You wanted me to understand your choices.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I was an evil bastard with no soul.”
“Who says I still don’t?” Marie smiles, and for one fleeting moment, she looks perfectly healthy. She almost looks like my mother. Then she sighs and the teasing grin disappears. “No, of course not. I never thought that, Arsen. I always knew you?—”
“You’re not going to get all sappy and sentimental on me, are you?”
“Sometimes, you tough men need a little sentimentality in your life. Now, are you going to let a dying woman talk or not?”
I hold up my hands in defeat. “My apologies. The floor is yours.”
“You’ve lost so many people in your life—to death, to betrayal. You don’t know how to let people in because you’re afraid they’ll disappoint you,” she explains softly, as if every word isn’t a thudding blow to my gut. “But if you don’t let Laila in, you’ll lose her.”
“The ship might have already sailed on that one.”
Marie chews at her lip. “I know my daughter. She loves you, but she’s going to see her exile as abandonment. Her father did a number on her, as you know.”
I grit my teeth. “I should’ve taken care of him when I had the chance.”
“Taking care of Laila is what you need to focus on. This is a problem you can solve with love, not more violence.”
“Violence is more my wheelhouse.”
“Then find a new wheelhouse,” she scolds. “If not, you risk losing your whole family.”
I close my eyes, steeling myself for the fight of my life. When I open them again, Marie is twisted around in her bed, sliding something out from behind her pillow.
The little bit of movement taxes her, and she’s breathless as she hands me a small stack of envelopes. “I finished these earlier today.”
I see my name written on the top envelope. “What is this?”
“It’s goodbye.” She forces them into my hands. Her fingertips are cold and blue. “Give them to Laila, will you?”
“You can give them to her yourself.”
She wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She looks frail and tiny beneath it, like parts of her are literally withering away. “It hurts to talk. I’m tired.”
The way she looks at me, waiting for me to understand, I know she’s saying something else. My throat tightens and my chest pounds like a drum.
“Laila should be here.”
“No!” She coughs at the force of her own voice and takes a sip of water from the cup on her bedside table before she tries again. “No, no. I saw her earlier. And I said what I needed to say in that letter. The least I can do is spare her the ordeal of watching me die. I don’t want her to remember me that way.”
“She’ll never forgive me if I don’t call her.”
In another life, I wouldn’t care what Laila thought. I wouldn’t be here at all.
“Don’t drag her out of bed. Let her sleep.” Marie swats me away, her colorless lips pulled into a thin smile. “We’re just being dramatic about nothing. I’m sure I’ll still be here tomorrow and the day after. I’ve got a lot of life left in me.”
There’s a knot in my stomach I can’t quite untangle, but I nod. “Alright.”
She slips back against the pillows, her eyes already sinking closed. “I have a good feeling about you, Arsen. Prove me right. Be good to her. Love her.”
I kiss her forehead, but she doesn’t stir. I think she’s already asleep.
Then, unable to stay here any longer, I rise. But as I cross the doorway, I stop and turn back one last time.
Her hands are folded over her stomach and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. She looks peaceful.
I close the door behind me and leave.
When my phone rings as I park the car in the drive, I know who it is before I even answer.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Adamov,” the doctor says, “but your mother-in-law passed away in her sleep. There was nothing we could do.”