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For a single second, I’m mortified that I’m talking family planning right now.
Then Arsen strokes his finger through the mess on my body, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “That sounds like a plan. Plus, we have so much lost time to make up for.”
He goes to the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth to clean me up, but by the time he’s patting me dry, my skin is buzzing again. He makes to slide off the bed, but I grab his face and pull him to me, prepared to beg for more.
Gentleman that he is, he doesn’t make me.
53
LAILA
“We should go back inside.” I grab a second blanket and force it around Mom’s shoulders. “It’s getting chilly, and you haven’t completely recovered from your cold yet.”
“No, it’s not. I’m fine.” Almost as soon as she says it, the wind whistles past us and she suppresses a shudder.
“See? Youarecold.”
“Honey,” Mom sighs, “for the first time in days, I’m comfortable. Let me sit here and enjoy the fresh air. Please?”
I frown. Her eyes are red and her lips are pale. If it was up to me, she’d be in bed with a cup of soup and a heating pad on her feet—whatever it takes to kick this cold.
But it wasn’t up to me. Arsen sweet-talked Mom and Evelyn into thinking some fresh air would do us all good.
She shivers again, and I hope he’s right.
Every day, I wait for her old strength to return.
Every day, I’m disappointed.
“Let me get you some hot chocolate then.”
“If that’ll make you feel better, it sounds perfect to me.” Mom turns towards Nina on the blanket beside us, grinning as my daughter sucks on her thumb and blows raspberries at the sky.
I leave them on the lawn and head into the kitchen. Polina is just setting up a tray with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “You read my mind, Pol.”
“Telepathy is a key part of the job.” She slides the tray and a manila envelope across the counter to me. “Zak also sent his pictures over. I thought you and Marie might like to look through them together.”
“That’s a great idea. Thanks, Polina.”
I walk the tray out and Mom’s eyes light up the moment she sees the envelope. “Is that what I think it is?”
I hand it to her with a sly smile. “Why don’t you open it and see?”
We’ve both been chomping at the bit to get our hands on these pictures. Formal family portraits were always outside the budget. These are the first ones we’ve ever had.
Mom tears into the envelope like it’s Christmas morning, and within a millisecond, there are tears in her eyes. “They’re wonderful,” she sniffles. “Look how perfect Nina is.”
She passes me the first picture. Mom’s holding Nina on her lap, and she’s right about one thing: Nina looks perfect.
But Mom… Mom looks sick.
Tears fill my eyes, but I’m crying for a very different reason.
I see her every day, so the changes in her are so slow and incremental that I hardly notice. But now, seeing her in this photo, it’s painfully obvious. Her skin is sallow, making her scar even more red and angry. Her cheeks are sunken-in. Her clothes hang off her body like she’s nothing but bones underneath.
“You okay, sweetheart?” She squeezes my shoulder, her fingers cold even through my shirt.
I blink back my tears before she can see them and put the pictures away. “I’m fine. Just thinking…”
