Chapter 14

Three months later

Connecticut, United States

Over breakfast, Georg came to the table with a single sheet of paper. “Here it is, Miss Clara,” Georg said.

Clara replied, “Here what is?”

“The letter you’ll need at the lawyer’s office,” he said.

She looked at the paper. It said; “I hereby certify that Antonin Sternmann has been missing for over ninety days.” It was signed “Georg Kuznetsov.”

Clara: “I don’t understand.”

Georg: “You take this note to Mr. Antonin’s lawyer. I believe that he will give you some papers. But I am not sure of what will happen.”

...

At the well-appointed offices of Yarkey, Solomon and Poe, she was eventually admitted to David Poe’s office. She handed over the letter and explained who she was. Poe rifled through some papers on his desk, in turn, asked a few questions to make sure she was who she said she was. He looked at her driver’s license, her passport, and finally decided she was legit.

“I’m sorry that I had to do all that, but Mr. Sternmann’s instructions were specific,” Poe explained. “I am to give you this package of documents, show you to a private room and leave you until and unless you call me back. I will say now, that I have nothing else on this matter from Mr. Sternmann, except his will. We will not get to the will unless his body is discovered, or several years have passed.”

He paused a moment then continued, the packet of documents in his hand. “I am very sorry for your apparent loss. It must have been very traumatic. You have my sympathy.”

She took the packet. It was a large cardboard FedEx document envelope on which Antonin had scrawled his signature across the closure. Clara followed Poe to a conference room that was unoccupied. He left, shutting the door behind him. She ripped the envelope open.

A handwritten sheet was on top.

Clara,

I’m sorry to give you this in a situation that must be distressing to you. I love you and I loved your mother. Please forgive me for not giving you this information earlier. I thought I was doing the best, for you.

Antonin

She turned to the next sheet. It was a note from her mother

Antonin, my love, I can no longer live with myself unless I tell you about the man who is dear Clara’s father.

I was living near the Chernobyl electric plant, as you know. In the days after the accident, I met a man. He was very handsome, and I was just a young girl -- very impressionable. He was broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted. I was lost in his arms. He said that he worked in the damaged plant, and that maybe I was poisoned by the radiation. I was scared.

He reassured me that I was to live for decades. We shared meals, we sat together in the evenings and just talked. Eventually we went to bed together, and he was wonderful. We never had sex. I am most sure of that, and I was a virgin at Clara’s birth. He did, though, kiss me and stimulated me to a level that I had never experienced. He stimulated me between my legs and his hand must have been a blur. I was excited beyond belief. So much so that I passed out.

I swear that we never did more than kiss and touch, but he kissed me deeply and for a long time. We spent three nights together, accidentally at my most fertile time. The next month, somehow, I turned up pregnant. I shall never understand how that happened, but it DID happen.

I never saw him again after that, but I will never forget his deep blue eyes, that matched the color of his work uniform -- a one piece, pants and shirt. He always wore red shorts and red boots. Nor the stylized ‘S’ in a triangle that he wore on his chest. He said it represented his name, but he never told me his last name. He told me to call him Cal.

That is my story, dear Antonin. While I do not understand how I came to be pregnant, I am sure that he is Clara’s father. I named her after him.

Alicia

Clara let the letter fall from her hands. She looked in the cardboard envelope but there was nothing else in there. She read her mother’s letter two more times. Walking over to the side table, she lifted a stopper on the crystal decanter she found there, and inhaled deeply. Satisfied, she poured herself a half glass of amber liquid.

She rarely drank strong spirits, but she downed the glass of single malt Scotch in two gulps. It was a waste of fine Scotch, because she didn’t even taste it. It barely registered when it hit her stomach.