In a way, it was simpler for Luka. If he headed east long enough, he would be home. Back to the sea that he missed so much, the familiar streets, the pews of the same church where he had sat with his mother and listened to the music. Or at least he could imagine it that way if he tried hard enough, when things went wrong. He could pretend there was still some semblance of a life for him in Croatia- something he could piece together from the ruins he had left behind, despite being too afraid to follow through. In a way though, it would always be harder.
Alone and exhausted, he had taken Joe to that church in the weeks after his father had died. Maybe it was an impulse. Maybe something like muscle memory, to walk there with his child in his arms. Late in the afternoon, the little one down for a nap and his family gathered around the table downstairs, Luka locked the bathroom door, turned the tap on, and cried until his eyes burned and his chest ached.
Until that morning, he hadn't known his son could remind him so much of Marko. Marko, transfixed by the processional, but swinging his tiny legs restlessly through the liturgy, asleep before everyone had taken communion. Of all the grief and of the last time he'd stepped foot in that church with the family he'd lost. Then again, the reminders were everywhere. One family was gone, another falling apart. Who could bear it? How many times had he told himself he couldn't?
At least the little one who lay in his childhood bedroom was happy and safe.
And at least it wasn't Vukovar. At least there were places he could escape to.
Before then, he hadn't cried since that night in Chicago with Abby, hadn't cried for his father, not even during the funeral. But he was a doctor, after all. Doctors didn't cry over cancer. Certainly, he didn't deserve to cry for someone he had all but abandoned for years. An afterthought on a humanitarian trip, an excuse (unused, at that) to leave town after another failed relationship. No, it was too little, too late. Or at least he would tell himself those things, still sleepless at dawn. Anything to abate the guilt.
When, after what seemed like a lifetime, Abby joined them, he didn't take her to the church. To Stari Grad, down Stradun and to walk the city walls and see the forts- Zvijezdan, Minčeta, Lovrijenac. They strolled along the beach and laughed together while they watched Joe run barefoot along the edge of the water. But never that church.
"Remember when he wouldn't even get in the bath without screaming?"
"Well, now he tries to swim in it. Good luck getting him clean."
Abby reached to take Luka's hand and it didn't feel quite right. She didn't feel quite clean enough herself. It didn't feel entirely wrong though, not like when she was in rehab. Had he hated her then? She almost hoped so. They both knew there were secrets. More will be revealed. She was still thinking in slogans. Stupid fucking slogans. Stupid AA. Stupid me for doing this to us.
As long as they were there though, Luka could pretend. She was next to him, finally. He had needed her next to him so badly all of those weeks in between. Hand in hand, they walked over to the retreating tide, Luka leaning down to scoop up Joe.
"Hajde, sine moj. Hajde da idemo doma, al' vratit ćemo sutra." He hoisted the boy, whose feet were plastered in wet sand, onto his shoulders, and turned to look at his wife. "Abby? You're ready to go home?"
"Yeah." Abby smiled softly as she spoke, and Luka's stomach sank. Being with her truly had felt like home again for a moment. Not like fear and anxiety. Not the tension between them every time he'd kissed her, or confusion at the way she had slept with her back to him, since that night she had asked him for help. "Yeah, let's go home."
When the secrets spilled out, he knew, it would kill him.