Page 15 of Salvation

“About what she’ll face out there? Or about being left behind?”

The question hit too close to home. I stared at the roller coaster, watching as the next group of riders was secured into their seats. “Both, I guess.”

Yulia’s hand settled on my forearm, her touch featherlight. “You’ve given her a good life, Salvation. A safe one. That’s more than most can say.”

I turned to face her, struck by the certainty in her voice. “We both have,” I corrected. “Don’t sell yourself short, Yulia. You’ve been as much a parent to her as I have.”

Something flickered in her eyes -- surprise, maybe, or gratitude. “I’ve tried. She made it easy to love her.”

“Like her mom that way,” I said, the old grief a dull ache now, not the sharp pain it once was. “Carina had that same quality.”

Yulia nodded, her fingers tracing absent patterns on my arm. The touch sent heat spiraling through me. “Clover talks about her sometimes. Asks me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“If I think Carina would be proud of her. If she looks like her.” Yulia’s eyes met mine. “If you still miss her.”

My throat tightened. “What do you tell her?”

“That of course Carina would be proud. That yes, she has her mother’s eyes and smile.” She paused, her gaze dropping to where her fingers still rested on my arm. “And that missing someone doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.”

The words hung between us, loaded with meaning. Around us, the fair continued its chaotic dance -- children laughing, barkers calling, music blaring from rides. But in our small bubble on the bench, the world had narrowed to just us two.

“Yulia,” I began, my voice rougher than intended. “About the other night --”

“I know.” She lifted her gaze to mine, something vulnerable and brave in her expression. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah.” I shifted closer, the popcorn forgotten between us. “But maybe we need to do more than talk.”

Her breath caught. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with eleven years of unspoken feelings. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, I raised my hand to her face. My thumb brushed across her cheekbone, and her eyes fluttered shut at the touch.

“Salvation,” she whispered, leaning slightly toward me.

I closed the distance between us, drawn by a force I’d been fighting too long. Her breath, warm and sweet, mingled with mine as our lips hovered a hairsbreadth apart --

“That was awesome!”

Clover’s voice shattered the moment. We jerked apart, Yulia nearly knocking over the popcorn as she straightened. My daughter bounded up to us, hair windblown, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Did you see that last drop? I had my hands up the whole time!” She flopped onto the bench beside me, oblivious to what she’d interrupted. “Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.”

I cleared my throat, struggling to shift mental gears. “Sure. What do you want?”

“Corn dogs. No, funnel cake. No, wait -- both!” She jumped up again, energy seemingly inexhaustible.

I glanced at Yulia, finding her cheeks flushed, eyes bright with what might have been disappointment or anticipation. When our gazes locked, a silent promise passed between us: Later. We would finish this later.

“Come on, slowpokes!” Clover called, already several steps ahead.

I stood, offering my hand to Yulia. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, her fingers sliding between mine as if they belonged there. Neither of us let go as we followed my daughter into the crowd.

* * *

I felt the satisfied fatigue of a night well spent with the two people who mattered most. I caught Yulia’s eye as Clover examined a henna tattoo stand, and the small smile she gave me sent warmth spreading through my chest. Later, I promised myself. We’d finish what we started.

“We should head back,” I said, checking my watch. “It’s getting late.”

Clover groaned, clutching the oversized tiger I’d won her at the shooting gallery. “Just one more ride? Please?”

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