“That is so not true,” Nina said. “I was the good daughter. You’re thinking of Meredith. Remember that fit she threw when you wouldn’t let her go to Karie Dovre’s slumber party?”

“It was nothing compared to the way you made us all pay when Mom didn’t wave good-bye to you before that soft ball tournament,” Meredith said.

Nina stopped in the middle of the dock and looked at Mom. “It was the train,” she said. “You couldn’t put me on a train and watch it go, could you?”

“I tried to be strong enough,” Mom said quietly. “I just couldn’t watch . . . that. I knew it hurt you, too. I’m sorry.”

Meredith knew that there would be dozens of moments like this between them. Now that they’d begun the reparation process, memories would have to be constantly reinterpreted. Like the day she’d dug up Mom’s precious winter garden. It was as if she’d pulled up headstones and thrown them aside. No wonder Mom had gone a little crazy. And no wonder winters had always been difficult.

And the play. Meredith saw it all through the prism of her new understanding. Of course Mom had stopped them from going forward. She and Jeff had been blithely acting out Mom’s love story. . . . The pain of that must have been awful.

“No more apologies,” Meredith said. “Let’s just say it now—once—we’re sorry for all the times we hurt each other because we didn’t understand. Then we’ll let it go. Okay?” She looked at her mom, who nodded, and then at Nina, who nodded, too.

They walked into Sitka and found rooms at a small bed-and-breakfast at the edge of town. From their decks, they could look out over the placid bay, to the green humps of the nearby islands, and all the way to the snowy peak of Mount Edgecumbe. While Nina took a shower, Meredith sat out on the deck, with her feet up on the railing. A lone eagle circled effortlessly above the water, its dark wingspan a sliver coiling around and around above the midnight-blue water.

Meredith closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. As had been true all day, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and memories and realizations. She was reassessing her childhood, taking the pieces apart, reexamining them in light of her new understanding of her mother. Strangely, the strength she now saw in her mother was becoming a part of Meredith, too. Jeff’s comment, You’re like her, you know, took on a new significance, gave Meredith a new confidence. If there was one thing she’d learned in all of this, it was that life—and love—can be gone any second. When you had it, you needed to hang on with all your strength and savor every second.

The door behind her slid open and clicked shut. She thought at first it was Nina, here to tell her the bathroom was free, but then she smelled the sweet rose scent of Mom’s shampoo.

“Hey,” Meredith said, smiling. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I cannot sleep.”

“Maybe it’s the color of the night.”

“I cannot sleep with the tapes in my room,” Mom said, sitting down in the chair beside Meredith.

“You can put them in our room.”

Mom coiled her hands together nervously. “I need to give them away tonight.”

“Tonight? It’s nine-fift een, Mom.”

“Da. I asked downstairs. This address is only three blocks away.”

Meredith turned in her chair. “You mean this. What’s wrong?”

“Honestly? I do not know. I am being silly and old. I know this. But I want to be done with this task.”

“I’ll call him.”

“There is no listing. I called information from my room. We are going to have to just show up. Tonight is best. Tomorrow maybe he will be at work and we’ll have to wait.”

“With the tapes.”

Mom looked at her. “With the tapes,” she said quietly, and Meredith saw the vulnerability Mom was trying to hide. And fear; she saw that, too. After all that Mom had been through, somehow holding on to the physical evidence of her life was the thing that had finally scared her.

“Okay,” Meredith said. “I’ll get Nina. We’ll all go.” She got up from her chair and started to go back into the room. As she passed Mom, she paused just long enough to put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Through the cable-knit wool of the hand-knit sweater, she felt the angular sharpness of bone.

She couldn’t walk past her mother lately without touching her. After so many barren, distant years, that was a miracle in itself. She opened the sliding glass door and went into the small room. Inside, there was a pair of twin beds, both dressed in red and green plaid, with moose-shaped black pillows. On the walls were black and white prints of Sitka’s Tlingit past. Nina’s bed was unmade already and piled with clothes and camera gear.

Meredith knocked on the bathroom door, got no answer, and went in.

Nina was drying her hair and singing Madonna’s “Crazy for You” at the top of her lungs. With her short black hair and perfect skin, she looked about twenty years old.

Meredith tapped her on the shoulder. Nina jumped in surprise and almost dropped the hair dryer. Grinning, she clicked it off and turned. “Way to scare the crap out of me. I need a haircut. Badly. I’m starting to look like Edward Scissorhands.”

“Mom wants to drop off the tapes tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Meredith couldn’t help smiling at that. There, in a nutshell, was the difference between them. Nina didn’t care what time it was, or that it was rude to stop by without calling first, or that Mom had had a hard day and should be resting.

All Nina heard was a call to adventure, and she always answered that call.

It was a trait Meredith was determined to cultivate.

In less than ten minutes they were on their way, the three of them walking up the sidewalk in the direction the innkeeper had shown them. It still wasn’t full-on night; the sky was a deep plum color, with stars everywhere. From here, they looked close enough to touch. A slight breeze whispered through the evergreens, the only real noise out here besides their footsteps on the cement. Somewhere in the distance a boat’s foghorn sung out.

The houses on this street were old-fashioned-looking, with porches out front and peaked roofs. The yards were well tended; the smell of roses was heavy in the air, sweetening the tang of the nearby sea.

“This is the house,” Meredith said. She’d taken charge of the map.

“The lights are on. That’s cool,” Nina said.

Mom stood there, staring at the neat white house. Its porch railing was the same ornate fretwork as they had at home, and there was more ornate decor along the eaves. The embellishments gave the place a fairy-tale appearance. “It looks like my grandfather’s dacha,” Mom said. “Very Russian, and yet American, too.”

Nina moved in close to Mom, took her arm. “You sure you want to do this now?”

Mom’s answer was to move forward resolutely.

At the door, Mom drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and knocked hard. Twice.

The door was opened by a short, heavyset man with thick black eyebrows and a gray mustache. If he was surprised to find three unknown women on his doorstep at nine-thirty, he showed no sign. “Hello there,” he said.

“Phillip Kiselev?” Mom said, reaching for the bag of tapes in Nina’s hand.

“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” he said.

Mom’s hand drew back. “You are not Phillip Kiselev?”

“No. No. I’m Gerald Koontz. Phillip was my cousin. He’s gone now.”

“Oh.” Mom frowned. “I am sorry to have bothered you. We have mistaken information.”

Meredith looked at the piece of paper in her sister’s hand. There was no error in reading. This was the address they’d been given. “Dr. Adamovich must—”

“Vasya?” Gerald’s mustached lip flipped into a big, toothy smile. He turned, yelled, “They’re friends of Vasya’s, honey.”

“Not friends, really,” Mom said. “We are sorry to have bothered you. We will recheck our information.”

Just then a woman came bustling toward them; she was dressed in silky black pants with a flowing tunic blouse. Her curly gray hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail.

“Stacey?” Nina said in surprise. A second later, Meredith recognized their waitress from the Russian restaurant.

“Well, well,” Stacey said, smiling brightly. “If it isn’t my new Russian friends. Come in, come in.” To Gerald she added, “They stopped by the diner the other day. I broke out the caviar.”

Gerald grinned. “She must have liked you on the spot.”

Nina moved first, pulling Mom along.

“Here, here,” Stacey said. “Have a seat. I’ll make us some tea and you can tell me how you found me.” She led them into a comfortably decorated living room, complete with an ottoman bed and a holy corner, where a trio of candles was burning. She made sure each of them was seated, and then said, “Did Gere say you are friends of Vasily’s?”

“Not friends,” Mom answered, sitting stiffly.

There was a crash somewhere and Gerald said, “Oops. Grandkids,” and ran from the room.

“We’re babysitting our son’s children this week. I’d forgotten how busy they are at that age.” Stacey smiled. “I’ll be right back with tea.” She hurried out of the room.

“Do you think Dr. Adamovich was confused? Or did Maksim get the address wrong?” Meredith said as soon as they were alone.

“Kind of coincidental that these people are Russian and that they knew the doctor,” Nina remarked.

Mom stood up so suddenly she hit the coffee table with her shin, but she didn’t seem to notice. She walked around the table and across the room, coming to a stop at the holy corner. From here, Meredith could see the usual decorations: an altarlike table, a couple of icons, a family photograph or two, and a few burning votives.

Stacey came back into the living room and set her tray down on the coffee table. She poured the tea and handed Meredith a cup. “Here you go.”

“Do you know Dr. Adamovich?” Nina asked.

“I do,” Stacey said. “He and my father were great friends. I helped him with a research study for years. Not academic help, of course. Typing, copying. That sort of thing.”

“The siege research?” Meredith asked.

“That’s right,” Stacey said.

“These are tapes,” Nina said, indicating the wrinkled paper sack at her feet. “Mom just told her story to Dr. Adamovich and he sent us here.”

Stacey paused. “What do you mean, ‘her story’?”

“She was in Leningrad then. During the war,” Meredith said.

“And he sent you here?” Stacey turned to look at Mom, who stood so still and straight she seemed to be made of marble. "Why would he do that?"

Stacey went to Mom, stood beside her. Again the teacup rattled in its saucer. “Tea?” she asked, looking at Mom’s stern profile.

Meredith didn’t know why, but she stood up. Beside her, Nina did the same thing.