The idea arrived during a quiet June evening, Marina setting down her tea with an expression Ivy had learned, over this remarkable year, to recognize as the particular look her mother wore when working up courage toward something significant.
"I want to take you to Moscow," Marina said. "Before you leave for Princeton. Before this whole chapter of our lives properly closes and a new one begins."
Ivy set down her own cup, surprise and immediate, overwhelming interest tangling together. "Really? We've never gone back, not once, this whole time."
"I know. I was too afraid, for many years, of what returning might mean — facing the place where your father's career was stolen, where so much of our family's original grief actually happened." Marina's expression had gone thoughtful, weighing so
