He frowns, lowering his mouth to my forehead. “That is a strange question to ask after sex.”
I have to croak out a laugh at that. “I’m serious. Humor me. Did you?”
He purses his lips, thinking it over. Then he nods. “Yes. I think I sang to her. Some silly song about a group of hens. It was the only thing to come to mind—”
“Was it in French?” When he raises an eyebrow, I add, “Sing it to me?”
He sighs, but slowly, his voice forms the words of a lilting melody. He sounds rougher, and reluctant, but I can barely smother the shock dawning on me like a blow. It’s the same song.
“Satisfied?” Vadim asks playfully when he finishes. “Though I will admit that in terms of ways you might seek to exploit my devotion, forcing my humiliation via song was fairly low on my list.”
“You said she was on a ventilator,” I say, referring to Magda. “But was she awake at all? Is there any way she could have heard you?”
His expression darkens. “No. She was in a medically induced coma. The moment she regained consciousness, I left.”
“But you were there for days,” I point out.
He nods. “Over a week. Day and night. She wasn’t placed with a family then, so I could pull the right strings to have access. Why are you asking this?”
I bite my lip, torn between telling him my suspicion or staying silent. It’s a stretch, yes. But so is the fact that a seven-year-old who’s only grown up in America could know the same obscure French melody about “a group of hens” sung perfectly in tune to his halting rendition. Though…
As much as it stings to admit, she could have learned the song from anywhere.
“What made you sing that to her?” I ask him. “Why that song?”
His eyes go distant, and I fear I might have gone too far. Softly, he says, “My mother used to sing it to me. I was so young… I have no idea how I’ve remembered it. As for why? I don’t know. What else could I do? I read to her, sang to her, recited the laws of physics as Hiram did for me… And yet I couldn’t even face her the moment she got well. I ran. I left her. What good is a fucking song now?”
He releases me and rolls onto his side with his back to me. “Goodnight.”
I nestle into him, melding against his rigid contour even as he stiffens against me. I stroke my fingers down his forearm, finding his hand and capturing it. Then I settle my mouth against the crook of his neck and inhale him deeply.
“I think it meant more to her than you know,” I tell him. “Your presence meant more to her. I think that you don’t need to spend thousands on ponies or pianos to buy her affection. You have it. But she’s as stubborn as you are. Trust that she’ll come around. I think you’re connected to her, more than you know. She feels it too.”
In fact, I suspect that Magda may know far more than she’s led him to believe...
If he feels the same, he doesn’t admit as much out loud. Maybe it’s easier for him to ignore the small, subtle signs?
I let him have this one victory and remain silent. God knows he’s earned it.
I don’t know what startles me awake. Just that I wind up blinking through the darkness as Vadim stirs beside me.
“Did you hear that?” he asks, his voice sharp with concern.
It’s enough to make me shrug off exhaustion entirely and sit upright. Together, we strain through the silence until…
“Magda!” He lunges from the bed, stopping only to grab a pair of boxers before peeling into the hall. I follow him, snatching a robe for myself. The further I go, the more apparent the sound becomes—sobbing.
Magda’s. She’s huddled beneath her blankets, her face buried in the crook of her arm.
“Ma chérie,” Vadim murmurs, switching on her light. He crosses to the bed and crouches down, stroking her hair until she faces him. “Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas? What’s wrong?”
Redness paints Magda’s cheeks, and I can almost see the battle within herself. To recoil from him even as a part of her is lulled by his soothing tone. There’s no denying his concern. No ignoring the fact that he would do anything in this moment to help. She can’t resist.
“It,” she says, though she looks at me as she does so. “I lost him. I think he’s out there.” She points to the window where a flash of lightning illuminates the landscape, making her flinch.
“Is that all?” Vadim stands. “Stay with her,” he tells me as he enters the hall.
Sighing, I sit on the bed beside her. She lets me pet her hair, and I try not to notice as she inches closer to my side. It might break the spell. Together we wait as the storm rages beyond the window until finally, heavy footsteps ascend the steps, and a soaking wet Vadim reappears.
“Is this what you were looking for?” he asks, brandishing a relatively dry It by one of his floppy arms.
Magda sniffs and reaches for him, swiping away any lingering tears with the back of her hand. She cradles the bear to her chest, and Vadim’s expression softens in a way I’ve never seen. Hopeful.
At least until she catches him staring and flings the bear violently across the room.
“I don’t want him anymore.” She burrows beneath the blankets, drawing them over her head. “Can you get out, please?”
“Yes…” Vadim retreats, his expression stricken.
I remain behind just long enough to switch off the light, but as I close the door behind me, I notice a tiny figure crawl from the bed and dart across the room for a small object that she crushes to her chest.
These two will be the death of me.
When
