Chapter 1: "When You're Ready"
Luka sat down to write the letter he dreaded.
Goodbye Tata. Thank you for understanding. I know this is hard for you, as it is hard for me. Things have changed and for a time, I cannot be here. I need the comfort of newness. Don't worry about me, just focus on everyone here.
Love Luka
He slipped the note on the counter for his father. He could have just said these words to him, but wanted to leave the man something. He picked up his suitcase and surveyed the room a final time. This house had raised him as a child, and again these last few weeks.
Luka's father was accompanying him to the airport in Zagreb, which would be his final memory of Croatia, at least for a while. He didn't know if he would ever return. It pained him to be here. He loved his country, but it had betrayed him.
"Good bye Luka. Take care of yourself. When you're ready, come home. We love you," the old man said softly, kissing his son's cheeks.
"I love you too, Tata," Luka whispered.
His father pulled him in an embrace and tucked a slip of glossy paper in Luka's hand.
"We only part to meet again, my son."
Now Luka, on the plane, opened his palm. He knew what it was as soon as it was in his hand, but had been hesitant to look at it. It was the picture of Jasna. Everything of Luka's had been destroyed, and even if there had been anything to salvage, he hadn't returned to his home sift through remnants of a family now gone. Luka's parents had something though. They had a single picture, the one of Jasna at her birthday. There was nothing of Marko or Danijela. Not even a wedding portrait.
As the plane flew over the ocean, Luka thought about his living family. He'd requested that only his father be there when he departed the country. His mother had said her goodbyes the night before and had been at the church all morning, praying for Luka, her grandchildren, and her daughters-in-law. She would have sat by the fresh graves of people too young to be buried there. There were many of those these days. She wasn't convinced Luka leaving Croatia, was a good idea, but then again, neither did any of his siblings. But nobody objected. Luka was fragile right now. A porcelain figurine propped at the very edge of a shelf. It was best to let him be. There was no farewell party. There was nothing to celebrate.
Luka hadn't been the only one devastated by the war. His older brother, Dusan, had been living in Krasna. Serbs had murdered his fiancée. Like Luka, he had gone back to his parents, who wanted nothing more than to protect their kind and beautiful children from the terrible reality that was their lives. Vesna, Luka's younger sister had been in France before the war started. She was a photographer and traveled all throughout the world. She had been safe from the bombs and guns, but had been unable to comfort her family when they needed her most. Luka's youngest brother Stipo had still been living with his parents, and had been unharmed as well. None of them would ever consider leaving Croatia. Luka himself was an unlikely candidate for move, considering the close relationship he shared with his father. But Luka was a changed man.
The doctor considered what his wife would think of his move to America. She never wanted to leave Croatia, except when the fighting started. But she was traditional. Danjiella would never have moved to America. Danjiela would have understood though. Understood why Luka needed to get out, needed a change of pace. She herself would have been strong in Luka's absence, stronger than Luka was in her's. He just loved his family so much, and they were gone, each and every one of them. He hadn't enjoyed enough the time he had spent for them, for he'd been working. It was the story for so many parents. They worked so hard to make a life for their families, and missed out on their family's lives.
"Sir, would you like a pillow?" asked a young female flight attendant. Her nametag declared that her name was Rosaline.
"Thanks to you," Luka said in fresh English, accepting the pillow from her manicured hands.
Luka propped his head on the tiny square of a pillow. He closed his eyes and fell into the first nightmare-free sleep in a long time.