Loving the Right Brother. Marie Ferrarella

front door and saw who was standing on his doorstep, joy exploded all over his sun-weathered face. The rugged ex-miner looked at least a full decade younger than his seventy-nine years.

      He gleefully swept his granddaughter into a fierce, warm embrace as, momentarily lapsing into Russian, he offered up several words of thanksgiving that she had arrived safely.

      Creating a little space between them, he anointed first her left cheek, then her right in a traditional, exuberant greeting.

      “I am so sorry that this is not being a happier occasion for you,” he confessed, pulling her to him once more. “I did not think you are coming until later. Why for you did not call me?” he asked, his accent thickening in the wake of his excitement at her arrival. “I would have coming to get you.”

      Looking over her head, Yuri realized that his granddaughter was not alone. One arm around Irena, he motioned Brody in with the other. “Ah, Brody, thank you for bringing her to me.” He quickly closed the door to keep out the cold.

      Brody smiled as he shook his head. Yuri should know better, he thought, placing her suitcase on the floor. “No one ‘brings’ Irena, Yuri. She drove herself here. I just followed to make sure she got here safely.”

      Yuri turned toward Irena, confused. Had she driven from the Anchorage airport? “You are driving? With a car? How is this possible?”

      Very few vehicles could make, or even attempt to make, the trip from Anchorage to Hades this time of year. September was the beginning of the six-month period that, before Shayne Kerrigan had bought a plane, the citizens of Hades found themselves completely cut off from the rest of the world.

      “June flew me in, and she insisted that I use her Jeep,” Irena explained. “I offered to rent it, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

      Yuri nodded with feeling, his shaggy gray hair swaying. “Ah, now I am understanding. June, she is a good girl.” Beaming, he framed Irena’s face with his massive hands. “Let me looking at you.” Joy vibrated in every word he uttered. “It is being much too long, Little One.”

      “Yes, it has,” she agreed. She’d forgotten how much she loved this bear of a man with his gentle touch and flowing mane. “You and Ursula should come and visit me more often.”

      “Ahh,” he made a little noise as he waved his hand at the suggestion. “I am not liking all that city noise. Better that you are here. How is your mother? Well, I am hoping.”

      “She’s very well,” Irena assured him. “And very much in love.”

      “Love is good,” he said with feeling, again nodding his head. The pronouncement led him to think of the larger than life woman he had finally talked into marrying him. Thoughts of Ursula always made him smile. “Ursula will be so happy to be seeing you.” And that led him to yet another thought. “Oh,” he said as if suddenly startled.

      “Oh?” Irena echoed, both amused and curious. Glancing at Brody, she saw him raise his shoulders, letting her know that he had no clue why the older man looked as if he’d just become aware of something.

      “I am needing to leave. I must picking up my bride from where she is working.” Yuri went to the coatrack and removed his parka. “I am telling her she should stop, but she is refusing.” He lowered his voice, as if to share a secret. “She likes being the post person.” Shoving his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, he sighed dramatically. But it was obvious that he wasn’t really upset about the situation. “Ursula is doing what she is wanting to do.” Pulling a colorful scarf out of his pocket, he draped it over his neck. “I will be coming right back,” he promised.

      Yuri paused to peer out the front window. “The snow, it is stopping. You bring me good luck,” he announced, kissing Irena on both cheeks again. And then he turned to Brody. “You will staying to keep her company until I be back?”

      She didn’t want Brody to be put on the spot. “Grandpa, I don’t need a babysitter.”

      “No babysitter. Friend,” Yuri answered innocently. He glanced at Brody for confirmation. “And everyone is needing friend, yes?”

      “Yes.” She laughed. Irena tucked the ends of her grandfather’s scarf into his jacket and then pulled up the zipper for him. “Be careful.”

      “Always,” he said solemnly, kissing her forehead. And then, just as he was about to leave, he tossed off, “And when I coming back, we go.”

      Surprised, Irena caught his arm to stop him. “Go? Go where?”

      Yuri looked at his granddaughter incredulously. “Where we always are going to celebrate. To the Salty Dog.”

      Brody merely smiled at Yuri’s statement as the older man left the house. Once Yuri was gone, Brody looked at Irena. “I told you there’d be a get-together at Ike’s.”

      She appreciated that her grandfather was happy to see her, appreciated that old friends wanted to see her, but the truth of it was, she didn’t feel very festive.

      “I’d rather go to the funeral parlor,” she told Brody.

      “There’s not much point in you going, especially not tonight.” He saw the quizzical look that came into her eyes. “It’s a closed casket,” he explained. “Nathan and his wife couldn’t make Ryan presentable enough for viewing.”

      He left it at that, not elaborating that Ryan had obviously placed the muzzle of his gun underneath his chin. It was the ultimate irony. Ryan’s looks were what his older brother had always traded on. His face had been his free ticket to countless bedrooms, and in the end, he’d destroyed it. Intentionally? There was no way of knowing, but he did have his suspicions.