CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Theresa had been sorting through one of the crawl-space boxes when she found the pictures. The Harrisons had been big fans of their camera. She remembered every hallway in their house being lined with framed family portraits as well as candid snapshots. She’d been lucky if her dad remembered to send money in on picture day so that she could come home with a single eight-by-ten. And the wallet-size photos all the kids passed around like trading cards? Forget it.
The photos in her hand now had been tucked inside the original paper envelope, along with the negatives. Alicia had gone through them to pick out the ones she wanted to keep—only one, a snapshot of the five of them in the Sterns’ backyard, sitting around the old picnic table with platters of hamburgers, hot dogs, and potato salad in front of them. The ones of her sister and Ilya she’d looked at without comment and tucked back into the envelope, then put them into the pile of stuff she planned to toss.
The idea of simply destroying the pictures had bothered Theresa enough that she’d pulled them from the discard pile when Alicia wasn’t around. Other than that one Alicia had kept and promised to make a copy of, there were no good ones of Theresa, just a glimpse here and there of curly hair and a flash of a brace-faced grin off to the side. Most of the pictures were of Ilya, a few of him with Jennilynn, both of them looking into the camera in vintage selfie poses.
Jennilynn had taken these pictures; Theresa knew it. She vaguely remembered a small pink camera attached to the older girl’s wrist, along with commands to “Smile.” Of course it made sense Alicia wouldn’t want to keep the pictures. It wasn’t likely she needed any kind of reminder that the man she’d married had been in love with her sister first. Ilya, however, had the right to decide if he wanted these memories.
She hadn’t texted him first, but his car was in the driveway. She did knock, though. There’d been a number of times, even recently, when she’d let herself into the house like family, not a guest, but it didn’t feel right to do that now. She was smiling when the door opened, though it faded at the sight of Galina.
Galina looked surprised. “Hello, Theresa.”
“Hi. Is Ilya here?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me when he comes and goes.” Galina looked around Theresa to the car in the driveway. “His car’s here.”
“I saw that. Are you going to let me in?” she asked finally when Galina had made no move to step aside.
“Sure. Come in.” Galina moved out of the way so Theresa could get through the door.
The older woman headed back toward the kitchen without even seeing if Theresa was going to follow. She was pulling out a kitchen chair when Theresa came in behind her. She gave Theresa a calm, bland look.
“Sit,” Galina said.
Theresa might have been obedient at fifteen, but she’d grown out of it. “I’m all right, thanks. Can you please go see if he’s upstairs? I have something for him.”
“What did you bring?”
Theresa had the envelope in one hand, but she didn’t show it off. “Some pictures. Can you please go see if he can come down?”
“What pictures?” Galina made no move to get up from the table. She had an array of books and papers spread out in front of her, which she began tidying, stacking the papers and tucking them inside the books.
“Some old pictures I found in Alicia’s crawl space, that’s all. Look, I could just go upstairs myself, but—”
“You could. You’ve certainly made yourself at home here often enough over the past few months.” Galina looked up at her. “I have something for you, too.”
Theresa eyed her warily. “What is it?”
Galina got up and went to the cupboard, where she pulled out a small green plastic box. Theresa hadn’t seen it in years, but she knew what it was. Galina slid the plastic box halfway across the table, keeping one finger on it as she looked up at Theresa. “It was my mother’s. I thought maybe since you and Ilya were going to be using her recipes for this new diner thing you have going on, you might want to have the actual recipes. Not just work from memory.”
The older woman may have been poison wrapped in a candy shell, but Theresa was moved enough to reach for her offering. “Babulya’s recipe box.”
“She sometimes told me her best recipes were the ones she held in her heart,” Galina said.
Theresa nodded, not yet flipping open the lid. “She told me that, too. It’s why I tried so hard to memorize her recipes when she taught them to me.”
She inched the box closer to open it, looking inside at the collection of various-size index cards. She looked at Galina without taking any of them out. The other woman’s expression was neutral, although there might’ve been the faintest hint of grief in her gaze.
“Thank you, Galina. I’m not sure I can take this from you—”
“Oh, just take it,” Galina said with a bit of snap in her tone. “I’ve no use for it, and it belongs to Ilya as much as anyone, now that my mother is dead.”
“But you’re not giving it to him,” Theresa said quietly. “You’re giving it to me.”
Galina stood. “If you don’t want it, then throw them away.”
“You know, it might work on your sons and maybe all the men in your life, I don’t know, but that?” Theresa gestured with her fingertips in Galina’s direction. “That does not work with me. You brought me this box of recipes, and I’m happy to have them, but not if it means you’re going to play some kind of head game with me about it.”
“You’re so much like your father. You have a nasty mouth.”
Theresa sighed and angled her gaze upward, as though she could see through the ceiling. Her head had been aching for the past couple of days, typical for this time of year, and it didn’t help the pain when she hollered, “Ilya!”
“And a loud one,” Galina added.
Theresa pulled out her phone to thumb in a message, since there’d been no answer from upstairs. I’m downstairs.
“Keep the recipe box,” Galina said. “I do want you to have it. I know it’s hard for you to believe me, Theresa, but I’ve never wished you harm. If you want to hold what happened in the past against me forever, then you’re the one who’ll have to bear that burden.”
“You kicked us out with only a few hours’ notice! You married my father, told me I was the daughter you’d always wished for, and you booted us like neither of us meant a damned thing to you. I never heard a word from you after that. Do you think that somehow that wasn’t supposed to hurt me? Whatever might’ve happened with my father, Galina, did it ever occur to you that a kindness from you might’ve made a big difference to me?” Theresa swallowed hard to keep her voice from shaking. Her throat itched with tears.
Galina stared at her. “You don’t understand. You have no idea what happened. If you did—”
“I can’t think of anything that could’ve made what you did all right,” Theresa said. “No matter what my father did to you.”
“It wasn’t me,” Galina began, but Theresa didn’t let her finish.
“If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Are you telling me that my dad made it up?” It wouldn’t have been the first time her father had lied to make himself the victim of a story, but somehow Theresa couldn’t believe it had happened in this case. The finer details, maybe. His responsibility in what had happened, yes. But not the bare truth: Galina had kicked them out.
Her phone buzzed.
Come up.
“I’m going upstairs,” Theresa said. “Thank you for the recipes.”
Galina didn’t answer.