He must have sensed my unease, because he did exactly what I wanted him to do. He let it out:
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Anya,” he said suddenly, I think when the silence between us became unhealthy. “Since she returned to Russia and the police investigation procedures ended, since I was allowed to give her the Christian burial she deserved, it’s the only thing I can think about.”
So that was it. I should have imagined it. A stab of pain gripped my chest.
“…it’s natural,” I told him, and leaned beside him, under the shelter of his warmth and his imposing presence. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”
“It’s all right, Alexander. You can tell me.” I tried to reassure him and the only thing that occurred to me was to place my hand on his forearm that had once been broken, sque
