Chapter 11 Vera
VERA
The room I share with Elvin is always dark.
You'd think he was a vampire, never letting me open the curtains unless it's cloudy out.
I set the tea tray on his nightstand and watch him struggle to sit up against the pillows.
His face is thinner than it was last week, the sharp angles of his cheekbones more pronounced, but his eyes are bright today.
"You don't have to fuss," he says, but his voice carries affection rather than irritation.
"I'm not fussing. I'm being helpful." I pour tea into two cups, adding honey to his cup the way he's preferred since we were children. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
I hand him the cup and settle into the chair beside his bed.
Through the doorway, I can see our father moving around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors.
He's been restless lately, prowling the apartment whenever he's home from work, as if constant motion can somehow fix what's wrong with our family.
I can tell he carries this on his shoulders too much, and I worry that my nights away and extra hours are pressing on him too much now.
"Batya's worried," Elvin observes, following my gaze.
"Batya's always worried," I tell him, but I see the tension in his shoulders and I know Elvin's right. This is more than normal worry.
"Not about me. About you."
I take a sip of tea and study my brother's face. Even weakened by treatments, he sees too much. "What do you mean?"
"You've been different. Distracted. And you're wearing new clothes.
" He gestures at my blouse, a soft blue cotton I bought last week after my dinner with Misha.
He said I could buy nice things for myself.
I felt guilty, but don't I deserve this with how hard I work to help my family? "Nice clothes."
Heat rises in my cheeks. "I can buy myself nice clothes." The justification feels weak. I have no way to explain the sudden splurging without making them afraid. Misha is harmless, but they will never see it that way.
"You can, but you usually don't. You save every kopeck for my treatments and Batya's medicine." His expression grows serious. "What's going on, Vera?"
Before I can answer, our father appears in the doorway. Anatoly Kovalenko fills the frame with his broad shoulders and worker's hands, but there's a gentleness in his movements as he approaches his son's bedside.
"How are you feeling today?" he asks Elvin.
"Better… Stronger too… Vera made tea." Elvin's face hides every trace of the skepticism he just showed me. He's a better liar than I am.
"Good. That's good." Batya's eyes shift to me, and I see the questions brewing there. "You're home early for a Saturday."
"I took the day off." I let one shoulder bob to dismiss his comment, but guilt knots my chest. A day off is something everyone deserves, but I never take them. The money is too crucial for us.
"You never take days off."
"Maybe I should start." The words come out more defensive than I intend them to. Batya's eyebrows draw together, and I know he's reading between the lines, searching for explanations I'm not ready to give.
"I've been seeing someone," I say quickly, before the silence can stretch too long.
The change in the room's atmosphere is immediate.
Batya's back straightens, and Elvin sets down his teacup with renewed interest. I know Elvin's been encouraging me to cut loose a little, but he is naive.
Batya, however, knows things are shifting.
More money, fancy clothing, days off, my not coming home at night.
It's adding up to things I know he won't like.
"Seeing someone?" Batya's tone has sharpened, carrying a protective edge. He has to watch out for his only daughter. "Who?"
"Someone from the track."
"One of those jockeys? Those boys who think they're hot shots because they can sit on a horse?"
"No, Batya. Not a jockey." My shoulders sag now, afraid to tell him the truth that I'm not even sure who he is. Just an owner with an eye for me.
"Then who?"
I wrap my hands around my teacup, using the warmth to steady myself. "He's older. Well-dressed. He's an owner…"
Batya's expression doesn't soften. If anything, he looks more suspicious. "How much older?"
"Does it matter?" I feel frustrated, a scowl creasing my forehead. Misha is perfect to me, maybe on the mature side, but he's right. Men my age don't respect a woman like me. I deserve someone who does.
"It does to me."
Elvin shifts against his pillows, and I can see him trying not to smile. "Let her talk, Batya."
"He treats me well," I continue. "Takes me to nice restaurants. Buys me things I need."
"Buys you things?" Batya's voice rises slightly. "What sort of things?"
"Clothes. Dinner. Normal things." My stomach feels like someone poured acid into it. His questions don't feel protective. They feel accusatory.
"Men don't buy women normal things without expecting something in return."
I feel my cheeks burn, not from embarrassment but from anger. "Not all men are like that," I tell him, but then I think of Misha's hands on my body, his desire to take me away for a weekend. Is he really like that?
"Most are."
"Batya," Elvin intervenes gently. "Vera's not stupid. She can take care of herself."
"Can she? She's been working herself to death for the past two years, barely sleeping, never taking time for herself. Now suddenly, she's got new clothes and a mysterious older man buying her dinners." Batya crosses his arms over his chest. "It sounds like trouble to me."
"It sounds like someone who cares about her," Elvin counters. "When's the last time anyone took care of Vera instead of the other way around?"
Elvin's question makes the room go as silent as a church in prayer.
I know he wants to defend me, but angering our father isn't the way.
I stare down at my tea, watching steam rise from the surface.
I've been letting the emotion of this carry me away and I haven't put much thought into how my father would react. But maybe he doesn’t need to know everything.
"How serious is it?" Batya asks, his tone slightly gentler.
"I don't know yet. We're still getting to know each other."
"And he knows about Elvin? About the treatments?"
"He knows I have family responsibilities."
It's not exactly a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.
Misha knows I need money and he's offered to help, but so far, nothing concrete has been said. I don’t want to taint whatever is happening by looking like a gold digger.
I'm doing fine with Sonya, though if he helps me get out of that arrangement, I'm not sure how I'll get the money for Elvin's appointments.
"Be careful, little bird," Batya says, using my childhood nickname. "Men with money often think it gives them the right to take whatever they want."
"This one doesn't."
"How do you know?"
Because he listens when I talk and looks at me like I'm worth seeing. But I can't explain any of that to my father without revealing how deep I'm already falling.
"I just know."
Batya doesn't look convinced, but Elvin grins from his pile of pillows. "I think it's wonderful. Vera deserves someone who treats her well."
"I deserve what anyone else deserves—love," I correct him.
"Maybe what you deserve is someone who makes your life better instead of just easier," Elvin says softly.
His words settle into my chest, but somehow, they make me uncomfortable. Is that what Misha is doing? Making my life better? Or is he just another complication I can't afford?
My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. The display shows a number I recognize but never want to see.
"I should take this," I say, already standing.
"Who is it?" Batya asks.
"Work."
I step into the kitchen and answer on the fourth ring.
"Yes?" I say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Batya hasn't followed.
"Vera." Sonya's voice is crisp, businesslike. "I need you at the track tomorrow."
"It's Sunday. I don't work Sundays."
"You do tomorrow. There are high-value bets that need to be placed. Multiple races, specific timing. This is important. I went there this morning to find you've taken off work."
"Elvin was unwell…" I lie, and something cold settles in my stomach. Sonya has never called me at home before, never pushed this hard for my participation. "How high-value?"
"High enough that mistakes won't be tolerated."
The implied threat is clear. I grip the phone tighter, glancing back toward Elvin's room where I can hear him and Batya discussing the morning news.
"What exactly do you need me to do?"
"Place bets exactly as instructed like normal, nothing new. I'll meet you at the south entrance at noon with the envelopes."
"Sonya—"
"Noon, Vera. Don't be late."
The line goes dead.
I stand in the kitchen, staring at my phone, while the chill from Sonya's call spreads through my chest. She's pushing me, calling me at home and demanding things I never promised I'd give.
I don't like it. Misha is right. This isn't safe.
The picture of that poor girl at the other track in Moscow, the one no one helped, is stuck in my head.
What if I turn out to be like her? Sonya doesn't like me so she disappears me? Then what?
"Everything alright?" Batya calls from the bedroom.
"Fine," I call back, sliding the phone into my pocket. "Just schedule changes."
I return to Elvin's bedside, but the warm morning atmosphere has been shattered.
Even as I smile and nod at their conversation about weekend plans, part of my mind is spinning through worst-case scenarios.
What if that new bookie notices the betting patterns?
What if someone connects me to the large payouts?
What if Sonya's pushiness means the people she works for are getting impatient?
"You look pale," Elvin observes. "Bad news?"
"No, just work stuff. Boring work stuff."
But it's not boring, and we all know it. I can see the worry creeping back into Batya's eyes, the way his hands tighten around his teacup. He knows I'm hiding something, even if he can't identify what.
"Maybe you should call in sick again," he suggests. "Spend the day with us tomorrow instead."
The temptation is overwhelming. To ignore Sonya's call, to pretend I never heard her voice, to spend the day in this warm apartment with the two people who matter most to me in the world.
But I think about Elvin's next treatment, about the bills stacking up on Batya's desk, about the promises I made when I agreed to help Sonya in the first place.
"I can't. They're depending on me."
"You matter too, Vera," Elvin says quietly. "Your life matters too."
I lean forward and kiss his forehead, tasting the salt of fever and medicine. "I know. But right now, keeping you healthy is what matters most."
He catches my hand as I pull away. "Promise me you'll be careful. Whatever you're involved in, promise me you'll put yourself first if things get dangerous."
His grip is weak but insistent, and I see fear in his eyes that has nothing to do with his illness. Even my brother understands that the money isn’t coming from extra hours at work.
"I promise."
It's another lie, but a necessary one. If things get dangerous, I'll put my family first, same as always. That's what love means—sacrificing your own safety for the people who need you.
But as I sit in that sunlit bedroom, listening to my father and brother discuss Sunday plans I won't be around to share, I can't shake the feeling that Sonya's call has changed something fundamental.
The pushiness in her voice, the lack of tolerance for mistakes, the high-value bets—it all points toward an escalation I'm not prepared for.