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There’s no version of this that stays contained in my bedroom, no matter what I tell myself.
Anya pokes at a strawberry with her fork. “Papa?”
I blink, realizing I have been silent too long. “No,” I say, keeping my voice even. “It is not weird.”
I set my coffee down.
There’s something caught in my chest now, something I don’t have a name for and don’t have the patience to examine.
“She’ll be here soon,” I tell her.
Anya nods and eats her strawberry.
I look toward the doorway.
For the first time all morning, I don’t think about Elara naked under my sheet.
I think about her leaving this house with a suitcase in her hand, Anya standing on the stairs, losing the one person she has completely opened her heart to after her mother.
By afternoon, I know I have to do something about the bed. I’ve already ordered the replacement, but the other one needs to be removed too.
I ask Sergei to arrange the removal and make it discreet.
At two, three workers arrive, and they’re anything but discreet.
I’m in the hall when they start bringing the pieces down. Elara’s near the staircase with Anya’s workbook in her hand.
The mattress comes first, folded between two men.
That part’s fine. Then the headboard appears. That part is not fine.
There’s a dent near the lower edge, exactly where there should not be one, and Elara sees it the same second I do.
She turns her head slowly toward me. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was looking at the banister.”
“You were looking proud.”
“I was looking concerned for the banister.”
She narrows her eyes. “You are impossible.”
Then the side rail comes down, and even I have to admit the situation is difficult to defend. The crack runs almost through the middle. The worker carrying it keeps his face carefully blank. His ears are red.
Elara whispers, “Oh, God.”
Anya looks up from her workbook. “What?”
“Nothing,” Elara says.
Anya points with her pencil. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”
I turn toward the workers. “Take it out through the side entrance.”
