There’s silence and then. “This is Alexei Petrov. Now you will tell me what this is about.”

Max holds the phone out to me. “Ask him.”

I breathe deeply and take the phone. “Mr. Petrov? Did you ever know a Tatyana Petrov?”

“Da—yes. She is my niece. She lives in America now.”

Olivia’s mouth drops open. “What even?”

Max motions for me to keep talking.

“Um… Do you…? Um… Are you still in contact with her?”

“I will need to know who I speak with before I answer this. Is she well?”

“Um…” Do I tell him? Max nods. Olivia nods. “I’m Tatyana’s granddaughter.”

There is silence for a second before the man’s voice booms loudly in my ear. “This is little Lulu? I am your great-uncle Alexei! Tatyana told me all about you and your brother.”

“Oh! Um, it’s nice to meet you.” Sweat beads along my forehead. What do I ask a long-lost uncle I never even knew existed?

“It’s nice to meet you?” Olivia whispers in disbelief. “Why would you say that? Ask him about your gram!”

I wave a hand in front of my face. I can barely concentrate with his heavy accent. I don’t need her and Max judging every word I say.

“You must come visit me in Russia!” Alexei exclaims.

“Uh, why did my grandmother and great-grandmother leave Russia?” I ask quickly.

The line crackles with static and silence. I’m afraid he’s hung up. “Hello?”

“You must ask Tatyana,” he says abruptly. “But I can tell you it was for good reason. I did not know where she was for very long time. After many years of silence, she finally could call me. We had much to catch up on.”

Why would no one tell me anything? First Yakov and now Alexei. What was the big secret?

“But the thing is,” I say, my gaze meeting Max’s, “she’s sort of forgetting things. I thought if I could learn as much as I can about her, maybe I could help her remember.”

Max looks down and kicks at the metal edge of the desk. Olivia comes and puts her arm around me.

Alexei mutters in Russian before he says in English, “I am most sorry to hear. This is what happened to Olga. It is very sad. My poor Tatyana. I would love to answer all your questions. Unfortunately, my wife is insisting I go back to bed. You will call me again, da? When it is not middle of night.”

“I’m so sorry for calling you so late. I promise, it won’t happen again,” I say. “Just one more thing. Is Tatyana’s papa still in Moscow? Do you have a phone number for him?”

“Nyet. My brother died a couple of years ago. Khorosho, chto izbavillis’.” He spits the words out.