He sounded fierce and she shivered. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“Just keeping you safe. Life is different here than back in Portland. You need to remember that.”
“Don’t worry. Except for this day of sight-seeing, my trip here will revolve around the orphanage and getting Natasha. I doubt I’ll get into any trouble with that.”
“Good point.”
He continued to drive around, showing her the sights. At last they parked and began to walk.
The June day was sunny and in the high sixties. David had brought her to a tourist area and she saw people from all over the world. She recognized a few of the languages spoken, but not all.
“Do you like it here?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How long are you going to stay?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve already extended my assignment twice. I could head back to the States if I wanted.”
“Do you want to, or is the spy business too good?”
He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I’m into the James Bond thing. It works with the ladies.”
“Like you need help there.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Seriously, David, you’re not actually a spy, right?”
“I’m an attaché with the Department of Information.”
“And…?”
“And here’s what I brought you to see.”
He stopped walking and pointed to their right. Liz was about to complain that he hadn’t really answered the question when she turned and saw the most amazing structure she’d ever seen in her life.
The building was huge, a mass of colors and different-shaped domes. Parts were familiar, as if she’d seen them in pictures or on television.
“St. Basil’s Cathedral,” David said. “Built in the mid 1500s by Ivan the Terrible. He was said to have blinded the architects after they finished so that they could never build such a beautiful church again.”
“The man earned his title.”
“In every way possible.”
David led her through the church. She couldn’t believe how beautiful everything was, from the flowers painted on the walls to the many icons. Restoration was under way in parts of the church, and she paused to drop money into a box for the fund.
“They’ll be intrigued,” he said as she finished pushing in a five-dollar bill.
Liz winced. “Oops. Rubles, right? I changed money before I came, but I forgot it back at the room. So much for being the sophisticated world traveler.”
He laughed and pulled her close. “I’ll take care of you. Speaking of which, what are you in the mood for, lunchwise? I can offer you everything from traditional Russian cuisine to a place that serves pretty decent Tex-Mex.”
“Let’s go traditional,” she said with a grin. “I’ve always liked beets.”
The restaurant was small, dark and intimate. Liz liked how the wooden tables were covered with thick white cloths and how the oversize chairs seemed to swallow her up.
She and David were seated by a window with a view of the street. Sunlight danced on the polished wood floors.
“Everything is good here,” David said as he handed her a menu.
She glanced down at the laminated cardboard, then laughed. “It’s all in Russian.”
“You did say traditional.”
“Then you’re going to have to translate.”
“Fair enough. What are you in the mood for?”
They sat close to each other, their knees touching, their arms bumping. This afternoon was thousands of miles and nearly five years from their last lunch, but there were still similarities: the need to discover everything about him all at once. The sense of there not being enough time. The wanting that lurked just below the surface.
“Liz?”
“Hmm? Oh, lunch. Why don’t you decide for me?”
He placed their order, then smiled at her. “Nervous about tomorrow?”
“A little. I know Natasha is too young to remember me from my first visit. I just hope I don’t scare her. I’ll get to spend some time with her, but she won’t be returning to my hotel with me for a couple of days.”
“You’ll both need to adjust.”
“Me more than her.” She bit her lower lip. “I want to be a good mother.”
“Why would you doubt yourself?”
“Lack of experience.”
“So you’ll learn as you go. Isn’t that what usually happens?”
“I guess.”
What she didn’t say is that many new mothers had assistance from family members. There were other women around who knew what the different cries meant and what to worry about and what was no big deal.
“How old is she?” he asked.
“Four months.”
“Can she do anything? Walk? Talk?”
Liz laughed. “She’s just learning her multiplication tables, but we’re going to have to wait another week until she masters fractions.”
He grinned. “Is that your way of telling me no?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m not a baby person. I don’t know from timetables.”
“She can hold up her head and will soon be rolling over.”
He leaned closer. “Sounds exciting.”
A wild and potentially insane idea popped into Liz’s head. She tried to let it go and when she couldn’t, she opened her mouth and blurted it out.
“Would you like to come with me tomorrow when I go see Natasha at the orphanage?”
Three
L iz shifted impatiently in the passenger seat of the station wagon. Beside her, Maggie Sullivan navigated the route from the hotel to the orphanage.
“Nervous?” the Portland-based social worker asked cheerfully.
“You bet.”
“There’s no need to be. All that’s going to happen today is that you’ll get a chance to spend some time with Natasha. If the connection is still there and you want to adopt her, then we’ll move forward with the process. If not, you’re free to leave.”
Liz stared at the other woman. “Does anyone ever do that?”
The pretty blonde smiled. “Not usually.”
“I’m ready to bring Natasha home.”
“Then we’ll make that happen.”
Liz hoped so. The foreign adoption process had been long enough to give her plenty of time to be sure of what she was doing. Her only concern lay in being good enough.
Behind her, the couple in the back seat talked quietly to each other. She’d met the Winstons last night at the hotel. Maggie had arranged a private dinner for the prospective parents to all get to know each other. There were eight couples and Liz. As the only single parent, she had found herself feeling slightly out of place.
Too many people going