“Oh. I forgot to tell him. Peter is coming over later to help me with a project,” Grant says. “For computer science.”

“Peter probably needs to be with his dad. Why would you ask him for help now?”

“I had asked him before,” Grant says. “He said he’d still help me. He needs to take his mind off Danielle.”

“All right, but if he changes his mind, don’t make a big deal about it,” Iris says. She glances in the pantry to make sure she has enough for an impromptu lunch or snack. Teenagers eat constantly. She needs to go to the store anyway, and now she dreads it. It’s a running joke that anytime she goes to the grocery she will see five people she knows. But they’re running low on peanut butter, and she needs to get the makings for the dinner she’s promised for Mike and the boys. “All right,” she says. “When is Peter coming over?”

“Around ten this morning, if that’s all right.”

“Don’t talk about Danielle,” she says. “Unless Peter wants to.”

“I don’t think he will.”

Iris hugs her son. “I know you’re worried about Mike. He’ll be fine.”

She feels Grant tense under her grip. Whatever she says right now seems wrong, but silence feels worse, so she keeps talking. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Mom, I love you,” he says into her shoulder.

“I love you, too, baby,” she whispers.

“You aren’t going to leave me, are you?”

She knows what he means. She won’t die. “No, no, no,” she says, like a spell, like a wish, like a promise.

17

From Iris Pollitt’s “From Russia with Love” Adoption Journal

It was a long flight to Russia. I imagined, sitting on the plane, the miles of land and water and ice we were flying over to come to you. To find you. To make you ours.

We didn’t bring your sister. She was too young, it was too cold—early December—and we would have our hands full with you. We didn’t get to bring you home this trip. That would require a second trip. Julia stayed with your dad’s parents.