Part V
After Dubrovnik we spend a couple of days in Zagreb. Ivica hands over the keys to his place saying we should make the most of it because it won't be his place for much longer and yes, Luka, Mrs Gavrilic has cleaned so you can take that look off your face.
He's right, the apartment is clean and fresh and about as crazy as Ivica himself. Luka's a little flustered that we'll be sleeping in his father's bed and I tell him that the single bed he occupied when he lived there is barely big enough for him let alone the two of us. He's such a kid around his dad and it makes me want to laugh. I wonder for a moment how many furtive, feverish moments he spent on that single bed with Danijela but I can't ask. And then, holy shit, he says "Doesn't seem right . . . I mean being here with my girl in a comfortable bed. Cramped and anxious is how I remember it."
"I can do cramped and anxious if that's what works for you" I smile.
"Yes?"
"I did a little cramped and anxious myself as a kid, I think I can remember how." Maybe even six months ago I wouldn't have been able to have this conversation but shit, Danijela must be everywhere here and it looks like he's decided to go for broke and plough straight through the memories, sink or swim. So far I think we're swimming.
"Dani did it very well." Dani. Dani. He's never called her that to me before. Dani.
"And always knew where to draw the line?"
"Always. Not that the line wasn't, you know, a way out there . . . "
I can hear the anxiety in his voice; he glances away from me often and I know he's wondering how far he can go with this, how far I can go with this. I'm willing him to understand that if he can stand it then so can I. Jesus, I don't want to have to make love in his bed to exorcise her ghost but if that's what it takes . . .
"She's gone" he says and I think my heart might break for him then.
"I know."
And then dammit, if he doesn't go and do it again, he pitches me a curve ball and I don't see it coming. "No, I mean - gone. I can't feel her here." Tears are making my eyes sting, but he smiles at me. "No ghosts, Abby, no ghosts." I think we must be the bravest people in the world.
It's beautiful, Zagreb. I don't know how he'll bear Chicago after this and I wonder how he's stood it all these years, carrying the knowledge of these places around with him. I'm starting to think like Ivica. We go to the medical school, he shows me the church where he and Danijela were married, self consciously dipping his fingers into the holy water, crossing himself, genuflecting, unable to stop himself I guess. He's from another world, a whole other world; and he tells me a story about a police horse as we walk by the river. But the attempt to contact an old friend from medical school who still works there as a surgeon stalls though when he learns that she's vacationing in Italy and I can't say I'm sorry. I'm sort of feeling all Croatia'd out.
Still, in the end I don't want to go back either. Back in Vodice, out on the little boat, warm sun, cool sea breeze. I've done a little swimming and can't believe how clear the water is. I remember Carter telling me about scuba diving in Belize or someplace and it makes me smile that Luka grew up with this right on his doorstep. He's trying to coax me back into the water. He's a good swimmer, fluid, powerful. Me, I'm OK but it's a lot more fun to see him move through the water, in his element.
"Nah," I say.
"C'mon, why not?"
"I like to watch" I smirk. Get me.
But, leave we must and as we let ourselves into our own house the silence is sort of soupy and the sense of anti-climax depressing. I'm grimy and tired and out of sorts. It's like getting out of a warm bath and now I'm cold and exposed and vulnerable all of a sudden. I'm not liking it.
"OK?" he asks
"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie.
You know I once complained to Carter that Luka couldn't read my moods? Bullshit. He read them alright, he just never pandered to them. Took me at my word. Well, that worked real well back then. Not. I know I should just tell him how I feel but right then he proves that not only can he read my moods he can just about read my mind too.
"Run you a bath? Then you can get straight into bed."
"It's only 5.30, Luka" I say irrelevantly
"So? Come on, you're tired, why don't you just let me take care of you?"
"What about you?"
"I'm fine. I'm not pregnant."
"You figure?"
"I'm a doctor. We have ways of knowing these things, tests we can do. Trust me."
And you know what? I do.
After Dubrovnik we spend a couple of days in Zagreb. Ivica hands over the keys to his place saying we should make the most of it because it won't be his place for much longer and yes, Luka, Mrs Gavrilic has cleaned so you can take that look off your face.
He's right, the apartment is clean and fresh and about as crazy as Ivica himself. Luka's a little flustered that we'll be sleeping in his father's bed and I tell him that the single bed he occupied when he lived there is barely big enough for him let alone the two of us. He's such a kid around his dad and it makes me want to laugh. I wonder for a moment how many furtive, feverish moments he spent on that single bed with Danijela but I can't ask. And then, holy shit, he says "Doesn't seem right . . . I mean being here with my girl in a comfortable bed. Cramped and anxious is how I remember it."
"I can do cramped and anxious if that's what works for you" I smile.
"Yes?"
"I did a little cramped and anxious myself as a kid, I think I can remember how." Maybe even six months ago I wouldn't have been able to have this conversation but shit, Danijela must be everywhere here and it looks like he's decided to go for broke and plough straight through the memories, sink or swim. So far I think we're swimming.
"Dani did it very well." Dani. Dani. He's never called her that to me before. Dani.
"And always knew where to draw the line?"
"Always. Not that the line wasn't, you know, a way out there . . . "
I can hear the anxiety in his voice; he glances away from me often and I know he's wondering how far he can go with this, how far I can go with this. I'm willing him to understand that if he can stand it then so can I. Jesus, I don't want to have to make love in his bed to exorcise her ghost but if that's what it takes . . .
"She's gone" he says and I think my heart might break for him then.
"I know."
And then dammit, if he doesn't go and do it again, he pitches me a curve ball and I don't see it coming. "No, I mean - gone. I can't feel her here." Tears are making my eyes sting, but he smiles at me. "No ghosts, Abby, no ghosts." I think we must be the bravest people in the world.
It's beautiful, Zagreb. I don't know how he'll bear Chicago after this and I wonder how he's stood it all these years, carrying the knowledge of these places around with him. I'm starting to think like Ivica. We go to the medical school, he shows me the church where he and Danijela were married, self consciously dipping his fingers into the holy water, crossing himself, genuflecting, unable to stop himself I guess. He's from another world, a whole other world; and he tells me a story about a police horse as we walk by the river. But the attempt to contact an old friend from medical school who still works there as a surgeon stalls though when he learns that she's vacationing in Italy and I can't say I'm sorry. I'm sort of feeling all Croatia'd out.
Still, in the end I don't want to go back either. Back in Vodice, out on the little boat, warm sun, cool sea breeze. I've done a little swimming and can't believe how clear the water is. I remember Carter telling me about scuba diving in Belize or someplace and it makes me smile that Luka grew up with this right on his doorstep. He's trying to coax me back into the water. He's a good swimmer, fluid, powerful. Me, I'm OK but it's a lot more fun to see him move through the water, in his element.
"Nah," I say.
"C'mon, why not?"
"I like to watch" I smirk. Get me.
But, leave we must and as we let ourselves into our own house the silence is sort of soupy and the sense of anti-climax depressing. I'm grimy and tired and out of sorts. It's like getting out of a warm bath and now I'm cold and exposed and vulnerable all of a sudden. I'm not liking it.
"OK?" he asks
"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie.
You know I once complained to Carter that Luka couldn't read my moods? Bullshit. He read them alright, he just never pandered to them. Took me at my word. Well, that worked real well back then. Not. I know I should just tell him how I feel but right then he proves that not only can he read my moods he can just about read my mind too.
"Run you a bath? Then you can get straight into bed."
"It's only 5.30, Luka" I say irrelevantly
"So? Come on, you're tired, why don't you just let me take care of you?"
"What about you?"
"I'm fine. I'm not pregnant."
"You figure?"
"I'm a doctor. We have ways of knowing these things, tests we can do. Trust me."
And you know what? I do.