Natasha was picked up from the oncology ward by her cousin, Liz. Liz was a successful artist with an open, kind, and cheerful personality. She was always straightforward, so as she supported Natasha on the way to the car, she said things exactly as they were:
“Nat, your Vadik is living with someone else. But don’t worry. You’ll have a place to stay. I won’t abandon you, and I’ll help however I can.”
After her surgery and several rounds of chemo, Natasha was bald, thin, and pale. Usually, this would be the part where someone would faint or weep uncontrollably, but she had no hair left to tear out.
Sure, she could pretend to faint and fall into a puddle, but she didn’t want to ruin the white coat Liz had put on her, given the cold autumn weather.
Once in the warm car, Liz wrapped her sister in a fur blanket, fastened her seatbelt, and drove her toward a fresh start. Along the way, Liz explained, “I bought a house for myself two years ago, thinking I’d live and paint there in the summers. But I realized it wasn’t for me. I’m too used to the convenience of big stores and bustling crowds. I can’t stand silence. I was there yesterday—the heating works, and the water runs. You’ll manage the rest. There’s a small grocery store, but I brought lots of supplies. I’ll visit often.”
A large ginger dog was sitting in the yard, wagging its fluffy tail enthusiastically. It ran up to Natasha and nuzzled her knee. She petted the shaggy ginger head and looked at Liz questioningly.
“Nat, I took him out of the shelter yesterday. You’ll need a friend out here. Don’t worry; I bought enough food for him to last a month. He’s called Johnny.”
The small two-story house was warm. Boxes of canned goods, grains, pasta, flour, and biscuits were piled in the dining room.
“You’ll sort it all out and know where everything is. The fridge is stocked. You’ll find clothes for every season in the wardrobe. We’re the same size. Let’s have some tea before I head off.”
Putting on her coat, Liz tried to catch Natasha’s eyes, but Natasha turned away.
“Nat, this dog was in a cage for three years. No one wanted him because he’s big and not exactly young. I get it—you’re having a tough time, but you have me, and now the dog has you. We all need something to hold on to. Forget Vadik. Everything will be alright. Oh, by the way, this is your house now. I put everything in your name—the papers are in the bedroom, along with some cash. Let’s keep going, Nat. I’ll come back in a week. Call me if you need anything.”
Liz gave Natasha a kiss and drove away.
Night had fallen, and Natasha sat with her legs tucked under her, face buried in her knees. First, she cried, then she vented her misfortunes to herself, and finally, she cursed Liz for saddling her with a dog. Feeling desperate, she thought, “I could just lie down and give up. I don’t have any strength left.” But then she realized the dog needed feeding.
Natasha put on a jacket, glanced in the mirror at her bald head, muttering, “Let’s not scare the dog—it’s not his fault,” and put on a hat. She found the dog food, poured it into a bowl, and went outside.
After eating, Johnny licked the bowl clean, then gently licked the salty tears from Natasha’s face. He lay down beside her on the porch step, resting his head on her knees.
Stars began to dot the sky around the bright, full moon. Natasha found the Big Dipper, smiled, and blew it a kiss. She hugged the dog and said, “Alright, Johnny, tomorrow I’ll make you a proper meal, with meat.”
Throughout the week, every morning when Natasha saw herself in the mirror, she flinched a little and thought, “Aelita…”
Sometimes the thought crept in: “Why continue this life? Who needs me?” But then her eyes would land on Johnny, nestled comfortably by the fireplace, and she’d decide to stick around a bit longer.
This existential debate was settled when Liz returned a week later, as promised. She arrived with a box in her arms, setting it on the sofa, and said, “Nat, what should we do? A stray cat gave birth in the entryway, and it’s chilly out there! I brought food too…”
Inside the box was a skinny ginger cat, her paws wrapped around two tiny kittens. That evening, as Liz was leaving, she paused at the door, pulled a slip of paper from her coat pocket, and handed it to Natasha.
“Nat, Vadik came by looking for you. I didn’t tell him anything. Here’s his new phone number. It’s up to you.”
Natasha walked Liz to her car, waved her off, and returned inside. She stroked the cat and said, “I’ll call you Murka. Let’s get you some milk. Everything’s going to be alright.”
As she passed the fireplace, she tossed the slip of paper into the flames.
