Miraculously, Anna falls asleep. She dreams in fits and starts, dreams of the roily zalew waters. When the plane touches the ground Anna's eyes fly open, and she lifts the window shade and is greeted by the blinding white glare of snow.

"Where are we?" she asks, bewildered.

"Tahiti," the man next to her answers. "Where do you think we are, lady? Polska."

Anna turns back to the window. The sky is white and gray, just like the ground. Where is the sun, the green fields in the distance? Anna is confused and then she realizes that this is Poland in winter, something she hasn't seen in eighteen years, something she has no recollection of at all. Around her, pa.s.sengers start to stir and gather their things. And yet, she is aware of only one thing: that old feeling, that old rapture, bursting in her heart.

"Polska," she repeats to herself. "Polska."

Kamila.

Kielce, Poland.

"Really, Natalia, my eyes. I can't take it ..." Kamila tries to wave away the cigarette smoke that is visibly settling in gray layers in the stinky green Peugeot.

"What? The f.u.c.king window's open!" Natalia laughs and takes another puff, turning her mouth to exhale the smoke toward the tiny crack in the driver's side window.

"I'm trying to quit, but gimme a break. Besides, beggars can't be choosers, Kamila. It's either this or the 10:25 osobowy from Warszawa to Kielce." Kamila rolls her eyes and then closes them. She wasn't able to sleep on the plane, terrified not of the turbulence, but at the thought of landing in one piece and having to face Emil. She was actually doing this.

Her parents had begged her to give them Christmas, their first one together in almost six years, and Kamila agreed. Two days ago, she accompanied her father to midnight ma.s.s. They walked silently in the snow and as they got closer to the Polish church, more and more people fell into step with them. The ma.s.s was long and solemn, but the carols were as beautiful as Kamila recalled them from her childhood. Her father stood beside her, mouthing all the prayers, shaking hands with acquaintances, kissing their cheeks. On their way back, Kamila glanced at Wodek, who seemed more alive and content than she had seen him her entire visit.

"You miss it, don't you? You miss home."

But her father just patted his heart and smiled. "I don't miss home, Kamila. Because it's always right here."

Kamila didn't know if she bought that, but she linked her arm through his and put her head on his shoulder.

"What I miss is you, corciu. But I'm glad you're going back. It takes courage to go back to anything."

Natalia flicks her cigarette out the window and rolls it up. "I think you should get a dog."

Kamila opens her eyes and squints at Natalia through the smoky haze.

"You know, when the smoke clears. Hahaha."

"A dog?"

"A puppy. A little yellow puppy."

"A puppy?"

"Yeah. A f.u.c.king puppy. When my dad died last year my mother was this close to slitting her wrists. So Stas and I got her this little dog, a miniaturka poodle, you know, the ones that don't grow? I swear to G.o.d, that thing saved her life."

"My husband didn't die, so I'm sorry to say I won't be replacing him with a dog."

"Dziewczyno! It's called dogoterapia and it works in fending off major bouts of depression. Like the ones that might follow the breakup of someone's marriage due to her husband's closeted h.o.m.os.e.xuality."

"I'm fine."

"You're a skeleton. I thought America fattened people up. All right, forget the puppy for now. What's your plan of attack?"

"I thought I would stay with you and your mom for a few nights, to get my bearings."

"Wrong. I'm dropping you off at the doorstep of your f.u.c.king apartment and you are gonna walk in and order that gupek to pack up and hit the road."

Kamila sighs. How can she explain that it's not Emil's s.e.xual preference that has destroyed her, but the years of shrouding, when really, he could have just told her a long time ago.

"Natalka, you're a dear friend for chauffeuring me today but I can't deal with it now, I just can't. And if you won't let me stay with you I'll check into a hotel."

Natalia suddenly swerves toward the roadside and pulls over. She turns to Kamila. "Marchewska, you did not fly across half the world to go cower in a hotel room. You'll just lose momentum. And I'm sure you have dozens of speeches prepared, so when you see him just pick one and let him have it."

"I don't have any speeches prepared." But Natalia is right. She does have speeches prepared, diatribes and monologues that have been brewing for months. There's a speechless option too, the one where she walks into the house unannounced, doesn't even look at Emil, but just matter-of-factly starts chucking all his belongings off the balcony.

"Your life is pa.s.sing you by, minute by minute. I wouldn't be a friend if I let you hide," Natalia insists. "And I'm not driving until you agree."

"Then I'll walk to Kielce. I'm tired and jet-lagged and I don't want to see him now. I need to sleep some of this s.h.i.t off."

"You're going to confront him today. End of story."

"The story ended months ago, Natalia. There's no story left."

This time Natalia doesn't say anything. She steers back toward Route 7. Kamila stares out the window, past the snow-capped roofs of the huts that line the roadway, each one stooped under the weight of snow. The homes break her heart and she realizes how much she's missed Poland.

When Kamila opens her eyes, the car is parked and Natalia is gone. She glances at her wrist.w.a.tch, set to Polish time because she never bothered to change it. It feels later than half past one. Natalia appears, juggling two coffees and a paper bag. She mimes for Kamila to lean over and open the door for her.

"We're just forty kilometers out but I needed a jolt. Doesn't help having Sleeping Beauty in the pa.s.senger seat. Here." Natalia divvies up the goodies, a scorching coffee, fries, and a box of chicken nuggets.

"I f.u.c.king love McDonald's," Natalia says, stuffing a handful of frytki into her mouth as she turns the engine on again. "h.o.m.o, here we come!" she bellows.

"Stop it," Kamila admonishes and turns up the radio, in time to hear the familiar strains of "Jolka Jolka." Immediately Natalia starts singing along.

"Z autobusem Arabow zdradzia go, nigdy nie by ju sob, o nieeee! Can you believe it, cheated on the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d with a busload of Arabs? They don't write songs like this anymore, eh, Kamila ..."

The song gets to Kamila, haunts her, and she doesn't care if Natalia catches her out of the corner of her eye, crying.

It's good that Kamila's having this moment now, instead of an hour from now, when she will be standing face-to-face with Emil. She can't help wondering what Anna Baran would say. She'd hug Kamila and tell her it was all going to be okay, that Kamila was strong and deserved better, the very things she told Kamila time and time again, every summer since they were fourteen. Did Anna remember the anguish and the elation of those summers, the way they held hands on their way down Toporowskiego to meet Justyna by St. Jozef's Church? Did she remember the hours they spent on the steps, ogling boys, cracking up over nothing and everything?

"Good, have your cry now, Kamila," Natalia says softly, eyes on the road.

When they drive up to her apartment building, Kamila can feel her heart thumping throughout her whole body. Even her toes are pulsating. Suddenly Kamila knows that Natalia's right; it's now or never.

"Take my credit card and book me a room at the Hotel Pod Ro. A suite, with a balcony, if they have it."

"For him?" Natalia's eyes grow incredulous.

"No, Natalka, for me. I'm going to have my say, and then I'm checking into the hotel. I can't stay here, and I don't want to. I'll sell this apartment and in the meantime you and Stasiu can move in. Give your mom and that dog a break." Kamila smiles.

"Na serio?"

"It's the most lucid thought I've had in days. Take it or leave it."

"I take it! I take it!" Natalia throws her arms around Kamila's neck.

"I'll be back for you in an hour?"

"Half hour."

"And if he's not there?"

"He's there. Look." And she points with her chin toward her apartment, where the kitchen light is on.

"Kamila. Trzymaj si. You'll feel so much better afterward."

"Well, I can't feel any f.u.c.king worse, right?" Kamila gets out of the car and watches Natalia drive off, waving at her as she heads up Wiejska Boulevard. Kamila feels her coat pocket for her keys. They jangle rea.s.suringly. The stairwell is dim and alive with obiad aromas.

She slowly turns the key in the lock to her apartment and the door clicks open. She pushes it with her foot and steps into the przedpokoj, and just like that she sees Emil, his broad back, at the kitchen sink, scrubbing dishes. Wojtek's head pops in from the bedroom. When he sees Kamila, he yells in surprise.

Emil drops a dish at the sound. He turns his head and sees Kamila, who glances away quickly. The apartment is spotless and warm.

"Honey, I'm home." Kamila doesn't plan on saying it, and certainly doesn't plan on saying it in English, but there it is. Right away, Wojtek is scrambling to find his shoes, retrieving his coat from the rack next to Kamila. She grabs his shoulder. "You're not staying? By all means, stay. I won't be long." There are tears in his eyes, and Kamila feels a pang of pity and regret.

"Kamila. Please." It's all he says and then he's out the door. Kamila shuts it behind him.

"Take off your coat." Emil's first words to her are spoken quietly but firmly. Kamila obliges, allowing her Calvin Klein wool coat to drop to the floor.

"Tea? I've got a fresh pot ready. As soon as I sweep this." He points to the shattered plate at his feet.

"Sure."

Kamila sits down. There's a small plastic Christmas tree replica on the table with tiny plastic ornaments dangling off its skinny little branches. She feels the fight in her die. Emil brings over a cup and saucer and sits down across from her. He's grown a beard and put on a few pounds. Love allows for a lapse in personal maintenance.

"I know. I got fat." Emil smiles sadly and starts to cry.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"That I gained weight?" His laugh comes out like a hiccup. "You should have just told me, Emil. When we were twelve, or when we were sixteen and I tried to dry hump you at every sleepover we had."

Emil wipes his eyes. "I thought you'd figure it out and leave me on your own. But I prayed you wouldn't."

"Dlaczego?"

"Because I didn't want to be alone. Because I couldn't name it, Kamila. I didn't even know what it was, not till a few years ago, I swear to you. I thought it was a phase. Like pimples, and that in time it would clear up on its own. Please don't hate me."

Kamila sips her tea. She doesn't hate him. She wants to believe him. She also wants to chew him out, rail against the injustice of being spurned all those years. But they are somehow having an adult conversation, meaningful and quiet. It isn't any of the ways that she imagined this moment, but perhaps this is better.

"I can't even go into what I'm feeling, Emil. I could have spent my teenage years running around town with some deserving guy, who would have wanted me. Who would have used me, or pined for me, or just ... f.u.c.ked me at the very least. You led me on."

"You let me," Emil says, quietly. For a moment, Kamila wants to slap his face, but instead she gulps down the rest of her herbata.

"You were everything to me, Kamila. You still are."

"No, I wasn't. I'm not. Isn't that clear? There wasn't anything real about it, and a lot of that was my fault, I suppose." Kamila pauses. She reaches for his hand and holds it briefly.

"It's going to be hard for you here, now that ..."

"I know. It's already hard. Maybe Wojtek and I will pack our bags and go somewhere else. Warsaw, or London."

"Well, wherever you go, just don't go 'back in the closet,' " Kamila says in English.

"Bek een da clazet?" Emil smiles, confused.

"It's an expression I picked up in America. It just means, don't hide anymore." Emil nods, grateful. Kamila smiles and finishes her tea.

"Here's the deal. I can't stay here, Emil. But neither can you. You have a week to find someplace. I won't throw you onto the street, but please, a week is not a long time, so you better get cracking. I don't want to see you for a long time. I wish you well and I'll call you soon so we can talk about the divorce."

"Divorce?"

"Absolutely. What else can there be? Live your life, Emil. Obviously, you don't need me anymore to do that." Kamila picks up her fancy coat, dusts it once, and drapes it over her shoulders. She walks out the door but turns around, one last time. Emil stands up.

"You look beautiful, Kamila," he says, and she believes him.

Justyna.

Kielce, Poland.

They say you fall in love with your child instantly. They say it's a sudden-impact situation and that it happens moments after birth, right when they place the baby on your chest for the first time. They say that love bears down on you like a stone, till you can't breathe. And it does.

But Justyna doesn't talk about this love. She tucks it away, beneath her bravado and fear. She talks about her son as if Damian was a stray she took in years ago. In public she yells at him, to shut up, to scram, go away and find something else to do. She smacks his rear in grocery stores, pulls on his earlobe to hurry him along, while older women purse their lips and scowl in her direction, as if they had never felt the same impatience. Other mothers, Justyna has found out, are the most judgmental of them all.

Justyna didn't fall in love with Damian moments after birth. Moments after birth she was dying for a cigarette, and left him simpering in his ba.s.sinet to sneak down to the lobby for a smoke. When Justyna returned, the nurse on duty was cradling her son and feeding him a two-ounce bottle of formula. "Smoking inhibits your milk flow," the nurse warned. Justyna shrugged her shoulders, got back into bed. "Well, then, turns out it's good for something. I'm a mother, prosz pani, not a cow."

She didn't fall in love with him when they got home either. He was colicky and fussy and the last thing Justyna wanted to deal with, as her own mother lay sick and dying. The moment it happened, the moment she finally felt her heart surge, was when Damian was two and a half and landed in the hospital with a bad case of pneumonia. Justyna watched him as he struggled for breath, hooked up to IVs and heart monitors, all but lifeless for a day. Justyna felt like she too was fighting for her life. When his eyelids fluttered open, and his hand reached out as if searching for hers, she ran to his side, crushed Damian in a hug, and placed her ear against his rattling chest. That's when it happened. That's when she finally felt it.