“We know it’s late,” Andrei says. “But we’re not yet finished.” His voice is not commanding, but there are distinct metallic notes in it. It is the voice Party leaders always have in textbooks, firm and assertive. “Why don’t you clear away all this,” he says and waves at the wreck of the breadbasket and plates and slips a bill into the waiter’s pocket, “and bring us some good cognac. And something to chase it with.”

A woman in an apron lumbers out of the kitchen and starts piling dirty dishes onto her forearm. A few minutes later, a bottle of cognac arrives, along with small plates of red beans spiced with tarragon and chicken in walnut sauce. He pours, and they drink. This day is ending with cognac, the same way it started. A few sips of alcohol in this empty restaurant remove the last bricks to the wall between them, loosen their muscles, untie their tongues. Sasha feels she may even be able to confront Andrei, tell him she knows the truth about his father’s death.

As she weighs the glass of cognac in her hand, she feels words crowding in her head, demanding a release. Is it the alcohol that’s prodding those words to break out of her mouth or the kiss she still can taste? Or is it Kolya’s voice reaching from the other side, the voice of honesty and Grandma’s softness? She doesn’t know, but she hears herself begin to speak.

“My grandfather told me what happened on the day of the fire,” she hears herself say. “What really happened.” She watches Andrei’s face tighten up as he leans back. “He was in the garden and saw it all. Your father was the one who set the fire. He didn’t die from the fall.” She pauses, as she paused before opening the box where Kolya’s letter had been hidden. “You killed him.”

Andrei balls his fists under his chin and stares down at the stained tablecloth. Does he see what she sees in her mind, the charred carcass of his house, his mother’s grave? Does Sasha want him to admit his guilt? Does she want him to repent, to say anything at all? For what feels like several endless minutes, he stares at the tablecloth, and she stares at his face. When he finally looks up, his gaze has lightened. He remains silent a few minutes longer, but she can see that his face has softened, eyes lit with relief.