The Wolf Came on Christmas (Johanna and Alexander) novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130-1

He let out a laugh without desire, empty of all emotion. I felt another stab of sadness.

“If I had asked her for the divorce myself, she would be alive now,” he said, with a sigh. “Or if I had told her the truth from the beginning. But I was so afraid that I was a fool. I killed her. I should have stayed to defend my position instead of running away with the children. I should have fought for Anya. Maybe that would have opened her eyes, and she would have learned not to fear me…”

“I would have done anything for my wife, Johanna. Anything,” he concluded, with his teeth clenched. “I was sure that when Anya understood it, we would be fine again. And I did it wrong. I want to ask her forgiveness for everything, and I don’t know how.”

My hand had stopped gripping his forearm and ended up on his shoulder. I don’t know at what moment I leaned against him, in a half attempt to hug him. I almost began to cry as well. I realized that we were not at the same level in any sense; my pain over Paul’s loss did not seem even half as deep and tormenting as what Alexander felt for his beloved wife. He was a wolf–man, and he must feel that lost and bleeding bond with an intensity I would never come to understand. I didn’t feel capable of doing more, but I do know that I told him:

“It’s alright, Alexander,” I tried to be gentle. “At some point, you’ll find the words.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to get to this, but it was stronger than me.”

“…don’t worry. You know? Andre and I are friends. I would like us to be friends too, you and I.” I smiled weakly, and he looked at me with a dark and powerful serenity. “I’m sure it would be something good for both of us.”

It was another lie, but frankly, that was our reality.

He needed to speak with someone who would not judge him. I didn’t know whether to feel proud to deserve his trust, or disappointed to finally understand that my emotional attachment to him was useless.

It could be said that I was reaching a peak of desperation with my insipid need for him. Alexander needed a friend. A stranger, an escape from his reality. Did he find that in me? Did I feel worthy of helping him share his burden? I understood that Anya had never been an anchor. She might have died, but she was still there, inside him. She was not a ghost haunting him, she was never the villain of the story. She was only a lamentable victim of circumstances, victim of a series of badly made decisions in the heat of a terrible battle. I couldn’t help feeling pity for her. Anya was still alive in Alexander’s mind, and in his children. None of them needed a temporary replacement for wife and mother, and I would not have

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Chapter 130-1

liked to live by his side knowing that Alexander loved me only because I accepted him as he was and could serve as a substitute for that woman.

It frightened me how much it affected me to reach that conclusion. I had to step away.

So I silently accepted being his friend. It was the least I could do for Alexander, in honor of the fleeting bond that united us. After all, part of me already felt half like an aunt (because considering myself a mother was almost a forbidden word at that moment) to the children; that was the best role I could assign myself, as long as I did not stop hearing from them. If I lost them, nothing would ever be the same.

I learned that the best thing was to move forward, after all, and see life with different eyes.

I learned to love the three of them with a maternal affection that I kept to myself, without pretending anything more.

I think the best thing was that we never completely lost contact.

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Chapter 130-2

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Alexander always said that the debt of honor he had with me was unpayable, and that not all the money in the world would be enough to thank me for setting aside instinctive terror and having saved him and his children from an almost certain death. However, I am convinced that his own survival was what mattered least to him in the matter, that it was the commitment I had assumed for the children that drove him to be so rooted in that idea that he owed me “something.”

Or maybe, who knows? Maybe it was something else. Something I refused to see in him.

More than once, I also told him that it wasn’t necessary for him to keep thinking about that, he had his life in Russia and many responsibilities far more important than my simple person. I was satisfied (and very happy) with that promise of friendship and some sss with photos of the children, with a phone call from time to time, with an occasional visit. And the letters–Andre sometimes wrote me letters in the traditional way and sent them by mail; in them he said things I am sure he did not say to his father, because he trusted only me for that. For example, how much he missed his mother, and the happy anecdotes he had of her; that he shared them with me was a treasure beyond anything I could imagine.

But I figured that no matter how much I insisted, Alexander would never forget his responsibility” toward me. Canines are faithful to their principles.

One month after that encounter in London, Alexander and the children came to visit me in Wyoming. After that, I was there for my birthday, in another occasional visit; and for Christmas and New Year’s I had a videoconference with Andre and Sasha, and the little ones sent me a gift. I did the same; I could not simply not do it. My parents were pleased to meet him when they visited me on my birthday (my mother could not get over her astonishment and bombarded me with questions, she wanted to know everything about how I had become friends with such an important businessman, and it was almost funny the number of half–lies I had to invent) and they were also delighted with the children. Sasha was growing very fast and beautifully; she was truly a precious little girl. Andre was not far behind; at only eight years old he was already beginning to develop the height and strong build typical of his lineage, by leaps and bounds.

With the passing of the seasons, speaking with them and receiving them at home every few months became details I could not do without. In some way, Alexander and his children became a small part of my family; I felt them exactly that way. It did me good that they visited me, to be with them and share their experiences and my own. I felt very proud that Andre and Sasha were comfortable around me, and that Alexander showed himself more open and communicative. Sometimes we stayed in the living room while the children slept upstairs, speaking about everything and nothing. The things I learned from his own words

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have no price; Alexander shared so many secrets with me that sometimes I did not know what to do with so much information except keep it to myself.

It was our secret, and on my discretion depended that everything continued as it was.

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I remember that once, however, I dared to ask him about his relationship with Illya. Alexander answered evasively, saying that it no longer made sense to think about it and that I should not worry about anything he had told me that time, on the way to the sawmill. He did not give me room to say anything else, and I did not insist again. It was evident that it was a delicate subject for him, something that put him at the limit of his patience; and I preferred to see him relaxed and content. Besides, I was not sure I wanted to know all the details; I did not need to stir uncomfortable matters. We forged our own codes, without words.

I wanted to do him good, as much as his presence and that of his children did good to me. Because every time the four of us could gather at my house, I felt complete and happy.

Although… there was one occasion when Alexander came to Wyoming to see me alone, without his children. It was at the beginning of December, two years after the unfortunate events that led us to meet and form our bonds of friendship.

I will be the one who never forgets those days, I am sure.

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