In mid-August, Alena told me that she wanted to visit Tiasa. We had resettled in Vancouver, Canada, and she was well into her second trimester. She was in New York a week, leaving Miata and me alone to continue our respective convalescences and to pursue our slow search for a more permanent home.
The night she returned, Alena said, “She wants to come live with us. She doesn't want to go back to Georgia.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it's a good idea.”
“You talk to Cashel about it?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She thinks that Tiasa will need counseling, therapy, for a long time to come. That she needs stability. Safety. Love. She wonders if we can give her all of these things.”
“We can,” I said.
“Yes,” Alena agreed. “We can.”
In early October, Cashel and Bridgett brought Tiasa out from New York, to the house we'd purchased in Victoria. Alena and I met them at the airport. Tiasa hugged me when she saw me, and my right arm had recovered enough strength and mobility that I was able to hug her in return. She looked like a different person than when I'd last seen her in July. Somewhere along the way, somehow, she'd rediscovered her ability to smile.
Bridgett and Alena kept their mutual hostility almost cordial, more for Tiasa's benefit than mine. Bridgett stayed with us for only two days, but Cashel was with us a week. With her assistance, we were able to set up counseling and further treatment for Tiasa.
None of us had any illusions.
On the last day of the year, at thirty-six minutes past three in the morning, Alena gave birth to a healthy baby girl.
We named her Natalya, in memory of another lost friend.
All the while, even into the new year, I'd been following the news, trying to keep an eye on the various outlets I'd sent my FedEx packs to.
Some ran further with the story than others, and some ran with it not at all. Of the European outlets, Der Spiegel did the most with the material I'd sent, followed by The Guardian. In the U.S., as I'd seen, The New York Times took the lead, but in early October, The Washington Post began its own series.
It was, I knew, a drop in the bucket.
All I had to do was look at Tiasa, holding her baby sister as she sang Natalya to sleep, to see the memories still fresh in her eyes, to know the truth.