“Are raisins your favorite snack?” she asked.

“Put raisins in the vodka, let sit overnight, perfect.”

“Ah,” she said, laughing at his pronunciation. “And then you eat the raisins?”

“Nyet! Drink the vodka!”

She was a little shocked, even though she had remembered that Mikhail liked his wodka, especially after the trials or competitions were done. She laughed softly. “Right,” she said.

* * *

Virginia let them into the cottage and then discreetly left the room. Winnie was standing beside the sofa. There was a tray of hors d’oeuvres on a small table, a couple of wineglasses sitting out and an ice bucket.

Mikhail dropped his duffel and put his grocery bag on the short counter in the little galley kitchen before entering and going to Winnie. “Winifred, this is lie I am told, that you are sick.” He put his hands on her face and kissed her cheeks. In high society they stuck to air-kissing, but Mikhail always gave the real thing in loud smacks. “You are beautiful.”

“It’s all fading,” she said.

“Sit down, my dove. You are tired? Weak?”

“Things don’t work like they once did but I’m getting by fine. Can we get you something? Food? Drink?”

“Ice,” he said. “A glass and ice.” He brought his grocery bag to the chair adjacent to her and pulled out his bottle of vodka, putting it on the coffee table. Grace quickly fixed his glass for him.

“As refined as ever,” Winnie quipped.

Grace took one of the chairs near them. It had the feel of a reunion, the way these two poked at each other, but the affection between them was so obvious.

“Is perfect,” he said. “What do we give you?”

“I’m fine, Mikhail. After you’ve had a drink, we can order some dinner. Grace,” she said. “Will you have dinner? A glass of wine?”

“Nothing for me. I have a drive ahead.”

“And your young man?” Winnie asked.

Mikhail peered at her.

“He’s working tonight, his part-time job. I’ll see him later.”

“Grace is in love with a schoolteacher,” Winnie said.

“You could not find her a prince or dictator?” Mikhail asked with a smirk.

“I choose my own men,” Grace said. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go home now so you can visit. I have to open the shop in the morning, Mother. I have a new employee coming early to train. If you’re feeling well, maybe you’ll come and look at my little town?”

“Let’s see what the morning brings, Grace.” Then she shook her head. “This new name. It just doesn’t fit you.”

“You’ll get used to it.” She gave her mother a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

* * *

Left alone, Mikhail fetched the tray of snacks and placed it on the coffee table, within reach. He sampled a small toast square with tapenade and hummed his approval. He sipped his drink. “What is your plan, Winnie?” he asked.

“Plan?”

“Do not do this coy with me, it is Mikhail you talk to. You have plan. Like always.”

“I want to take Izzy to San Francisco. Home. But she doesn’t want to go.”

“Then why? Leave the child to have her life. She will visit.”

“There’s an estate to settle. A complicated estate. Furnishings, jewelry, art, investments. I can’t wave my wand and have it done. It’s hers. She has decisions to make. I don’t know what she wants to do with all of it. I can’t just leave it behind.”

“Ah, you will take it with you?” He chuckled and sipped his vodka. “If anyone can, is you.”

“I just want to make sure it’s all properly dealt with. All the possessions.”

“She looks better than I’ve ever seen her,” Mikhail said. “I think it is because the weight of all the world is not on her back. All the burdens of the world—gone. The need to win for her mother, for her team, her country, is done now. Behind her. And she thrives. That is your legacy, Winnie—Izzy. She is your estate. Think on this.”

“I have a responsibility...”

“She has had hard life, working to bring home gold when she is only a child. You gave birth to champion, Winnie, and she spent her life to give you what you could not get for yourself. You want her to miss you when you are gone? Set her free. She doesn’t work for us any longer.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Is truth.”

* * *

When Grace was back in Thunder Point, she texted Troy to tell him she was home with food and wine. If there wasn’t so much going on, she’d be out at the beach, keeping him company while he served. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine, got out her laptop and checked messages. Ray Anne had sent her a dozen listings to look at and she breezed through them with disappointment. There was one with a Pacific view that was spacious and beautiful, but the kitchen was dated and the bedrooms were all upstairs. Just like the San Francisco house.

Did her mother really want to die in that house? That small mansion? The thought made her shudder. Was that a conversation that had to take place? Two days after she learned about Winnie’s degenerative disease? She was up to the task of saying, I think you should live near me, where we can be close to each other. But the subtext of that discussion would be, Come to Oregon where I can be available when the end is near. That’s what this was really about, wasn’t it?

From all she read, she wasn’t sure what was involved in taking care of someone with ALS. They could hire nurses. Hospice seemed to be the end-stage necessity. But were specialists required? Because Winnie would have to have the best, she’d demand it. It seemed many ALS patients needed feeding tubes. IVs. Respirators.

She’d have to see Scott Grant, talk to him. Maybe he could tell her what she’d need and whether it was all available here.

She started to cry. It came at the most unexpected moments and she told herself it was because she was so tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well and the pressure was back, that pressure to do the right thing, to please. And this time she had to get it right because her mother was terminal. As soon as she managed to get her crying jag under control, she went back to her internet research.

Finally a text came in from Troy. Nice night on the beach. Won’t get there till around ten.