Chapter thirteen

Los Angeles

Jack paid the taxi driver, then walked up to the front door of his house. It was almost midnight, and only the porch light was on. Though he had hoped to get home earlier, the CIA had insisted on dragging his debrief on for eight hours. He hadn't lied about the last few days: he'd been captured but managed to escape, and made his way across the border into India with the help of some locals. He'd mentioned nothing about Irina, though she was never far from his thoughts.

Finally, tired of all the questions, he'd said, "I'd like to see my daughter now."

It was clear from the expressions on his colleagues' faces that they weren't entirely happy with his report, and he wondered if they still thought of him as a traitor. It didn't matter, he decided, as he left CIA headquarters. Nothing mattered except Sydney.

Now that he was finally home, he stood at the foot of the stairs and couldn't help but think of previous homecomings. His wife would be waiting in their bedroom, the intensity of her welcome differing depending on how long he'd been away. He wondered where she was now.

Slowly climbing the stairs, he thought of Katya's revelation, and he felt ill. Her brother. He'd killed her brother.

Though he'd learned to compartmentalize, he knew Sasha's death would never leave him. It didn't matter that he hadn't known at the time. It didn't matter that it was in defense of his own life. He'd hurt his wife, and seeing Irina in pain was something he'd never been able to bear.

He opened Sydney's door. Moonlight spilled into the room from a gap in the curtains, and he was filled with a sudden wave of love.

-- He holds the baby awkwardly, afraid to drop her. He's never seen something so fragile or so perfect in all his life.

Laura laughs. "She's not going to break, Jack."—

He loved Sydney in her own right, of course, but he loved her all the more for the traces of her mother she bore. During his six months in prison, he'd sometimes wondered how he could ever be able to look at Sydney again without seeing the woman who had betrayed them both. Knowing what he knew now, he was glad of the resemblance.

He wondered if that made him masochistic, and decided it didn't matter.

Sydney stirred in her sleep. Jack crossed to the bed, intending to just give her a kiss goodnight. But as his lips brushed her forehead, she woke up.

"Daddy?"

"Shh, go back to sleep."

She threw her arms around his neck. "You came back."

"Of course I did, sweetheart."

"I don't want you to go away again, Daddy."

Jack pulled her closer, his heart breaking at the pain in her voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

When he tried to lay her down again, her grip tightened and she buried her face in his neck. Jack kissed the crown of her head, then lay down next to her.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

"I was dreaming about Mommy." Sydney burrowed into Jack's chest in an attempt to get closer still. "She wanted to come back to us but the other angels wouldn't let her."

He couldn't tell her it wasn't angels keeping Irina from coming home, so all he said was, "Mommy loves you, sweetheart. If she could come back, she would."

"Miss Andi says Mommy's watching us from heaven." Sydney was already drifting back to sleep; her voice sounded far away. "She says one day we'll see Mommy again."

"Who's Miss Andi?" Jack was fairly certain the nanny's name was Trish.

"Sunday school teacher."

"Sunday school?"

"Lucy invited me. Had fun, Daddy. Can I go back?"

Jack blinked back tears, suddenly realizing how much of his daughter's life he'd missed out on. "Sure, sweetheart. Now get some sleep."

"Love you, Daddy."

Jack closed his eyes, and wept.

Cape Town, South Africa
July 1982

Irina stood on top of Table Mountain, her thick jacket and scarf doing nothing to keep the chill of the wind from striking her to the bone. She wasn't sure what had driven her to come here, of all places; all she'd known was that one more minute under her cousin's watchful eye would drive her insane.

Every day for the last two weeks Andrei had asked how she was doing. She always responded with, "Fine."

She didn't want to be here, living on Andrei's farm, tasting the wine he made, talking about the children they'd once been. She wanted Katya, and the promise that she would never be alone again.

She shivered as a gust of wind blew in from the sea. No, if she was truly honest with herself, she didn't want Katya. She wanted that which she could never have: Jack. Sydney. Her family.

She wrapped the scarf more firmly around her neck and tugged the woolen beanie down to cover her ears. She missed her hair.

It was easier to think about the unimportant things. If she mourned her hair, she didn't have to remember what else she'd lost.

Papa.

Tears stung her cheeks. She should have been there with him, at the end.

She thought, bitterly, her entire life consisted of should-have-been's.

Andrei had been waiting for her in the kitchen. He'd poured a cup of coffee for her, then slid a scrap of paper across the table. A telegram. She read the words once, burning them into her brain, then crumpled the paper into a tiny ball and shoved it into her pocket. Then she grabbed Andrei's car keys and calmly walked out of the house.

Papa's dead. Sorry. See you soon.

Irina had been trying so hard to be strong, but it was becoming more difficult with each day that passed.

Someone bumped into her, jolting her from her thoughts. She looked down; a brown-eyed girl with dark hair smiled up at her. Sydney, she thought, then shook her head. This child's skin was more tanned, she had no dimples, and her ears were different.

"Jammer, Tannie," the child said through her giggles. Irina just smiled; she had not yet learned Afrikaans, though it was easy to understand the girl was apologizing.

Irina watched the girl skip back to her mother. She glanced around at the other people who had come up with her in the cable car. Locals, tourists . . . she wondered if any of them felt as lost as she did right now.

She gazed back across the ocean again. In the distance she could make out Robben Island. A political prison.

Why had Katya sent her to a place where she would be reminded of Kashmir? She shuddered, then turned around, keeping her back to the island.

She'd been lying to Andrei. She wasn't fine. Everywhere she looked she found reminders of her past.

She had to move on. She had to let go.

Easier said than done when her world kept falling apart.

Jammer, Tannie – literally: sorry, Auntie. Most Afrikaans-speaking children call adults auntie or uncle, regardless of whether or not they're related to one another.