Chapter nine

"What?"

Startled, Jack instinctively pulled the receiver slightly away from his ear. The woman had answered didn't sound all that friendly.

"Is this Katya?"

"Who is this?" Her tone was less gruff now, more wary.

"I have a message for Katya." Jack paused. "From Rishka."

The woman hung up.

Jack stared at the phone for a few seconds, hardly hearing the dial tone. He sighed, then punched in the numbers again.

"Who the hell are you?" the woman asked.

"I –" He bit his lower lip, thinking. "Just a messenger."

"Just a messenger?" There was silence from the other end of the line, then, "Don't call again."

"Wait. Rishka says to meet on the beach."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who wants to help."

Another silence. "Prove that I can trust you, then. Tell me where you are."

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

She laughed. "You're the one who called me."

Jack thought of the alternative – taking Irina back with him. He sighed, then started talking.

Irina leaned against the wall of the shower and slowly soaped her body. Her fingers brushed across her rib cage, and she felt the bones protrude. The soap clattered to the floor. She'd lost so much weight; how was it possible she had survived?

Her hand dipped lower, coming to rest on her stomach. She closed her eyes. It occurred to her that losing Nadia was her punishment for betraying Jack and Sydney. Though she tried to shake the thought away, it stuck in her mind.

Sydney, so beautiful and smart and perfect, who at the age of four solemnly announced that when she was big she was going to be a teacher "just like Mama". Irina thought of afternoons at the park, watching Sydney go around and around and around on the carousel. She remembered nights curled up on the couch, reading Alice in Wonderland.

And she'd left. She'd walked away from her child. No wonder Nadia had died; Irina didn't deserve to be a mother.

She didn't deserve this second chance Jack was giving her.

She stood under the water, letting it rinse the soap off her, then stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her. The scissors Jack had used to cut her hair were still on the counter. Irina ran her finger along the blade; it wasn't that sharp, but she knew how to cut.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Who was this broken, damaged woman staring back at her? Bruised, scarred, empty. She flung the scissors at her image, then flinched as the glass shattered. She picked up one of the bigger shards; it was sharper than the scissors.

-- Jack dances with her on the beach, the waves playing around their feet, the sun setting on the horizon. She thinks, how is it possible I can be this happy?--

A tear trickled down her cheek as she pressed the edge of the glass to her wrist.

-- "Mommy, how come you and Daddy kiss all the time?" Sydney has a look on her face that Irina recognizes; Sydney is not sure she's going to like the answer, but she wants to know anyway.

"Because I love Daddy."

"But kissing's gross."

She laughs. "Not when it's between me and Daddy."

Sydney doesn't look convinced. –

"Irina? I'm back."

Jack's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She dropped the piece of glass and stepped away from the mirror.

"Where are you?" Jack continued.

She didn't answer. Staring numbly at the broken mirror, all she could think was: what is wrong with me?

"Irina?" Jack knocked on the bathroom door. "Is everything okay?"

At her silence, he tried the handle. Too late, she realized she'd forgotten to lock it. She pulled the towel tighter around her body and slowly raised her head to look at him.

His attention was focused on the mirror, his expression unreadable. He turned to look at her then held out his hand. "You're going to get sick if you stay like that."

She nodded and carefully stepped towards him, avoiding the mess on the floor.

"I spoke to Katya," he said. "The plan's changed slightly."

She said nothing.

"We'll meet her tomorrow night. She's coming to India." He touched her cheek, something he'd done often with Laura, and Irina felt what was left of her heart shatter further. "So, why does she call you Rishka?"

"It's a pet name."

"I like it." Jack was still touching her. "Can I call you Rishka?"

For a moment, she leaned into his touch, then pulled away. "Don't do this, Jack. Please."

"Do what?"

"Don't pretend that this – that we get a happy ending. We both know better than that."

She felt Jack's gaze on her though she refused to look at him. When he turned around and left the room, she told herself she was glad.