"Abby, take Dave into town. Get some painting and plaster supplies. Three hundred dinar should cover it." Luka said absently, fishing some bills from his wallet.
The group watched his expression change as his gaze rested on the pictures of his wife and daughter. His hands trembled, the money fluttering from his splayed fingers and onto the worn hardwood floor.
"Luka, go with Abby. The rest of us can stay here and clean up, make some lunch for our 'farm hands'." Kerry smiled, and squeezed his hand comfortingly, before stooping and picking up the money, putting it into his hand and folding his fingers over it.
"If you're sure you can handle it by yourselves." Luka replied shakily. "I guess it's best that I escort Abby, just in case the shop keeper does not speak english."
"As for making lunch, I have a feeling that my uncle's icebox would be empty. I will get groceries too." Luka rifled through his billfold to see if he'd exchanged enough dollars to dinar to cover everything.
Abby and Luka walked to the rusted FORD pick-up and after a few dry starts the engine turned over.
"Are you okay Luka?" She snuggled against his ridgid form as they puttered down the dirt road. Luka shrugged, ignoring her and turning on the radio.
"-if you make sure you're connected, the writing's on the wall. But if your mind's neglected, stumble you might fall.. Stumble you might fall. Stumble you might fall..." He sighed.
"Stereo MC.. That is an old song..." Luka murmured. "I don't want to talk about that Abby.. Not now." He muttered angrily, the memories, the ache and the guilt boiling inside him like an infected wound.
"I'm sorry about Daniela, Luka.." Abby said softly.
"Nothing to be sorry for, Abby. You did not kill them, I did. I watched them die, I did not help. If I had taken her to a hospital. She would be alive." Luka said hoarsely as they drove to the market square.
"She would be alive and you would be with her." Abby swallowed pained, and stared out the window.
"Yes.. That is true. She was my wife, it is likely that I'd be with her. But that does not matter now. I am with you." Luka opened his wallet and stared at the faded photograph, torn and wrinkled from so many nights of being held in the hand of it's owner, comforting him in fitful nights of loneliness.
He removed it from it's plastic and stared at it before Luka took it in his fingers and ripped it in two. His large muscled frame collapsed against the steering wheel as he began to sob.
Abby stared at him, uncertain, before he lifted his great shaggy head from his folded arms and stared at her with swollen, red eyes. "I loved her. I loved her so much, that I love her still. Is it wrong to love her still, even though she's gone?"
With tender fingers she took the photograph from him and attempted to piece it back together. "Luka.. I know you loved her... She was your wife.. It wasn't like Richard and I.. Our separation was needed.. Wanted.. You and Daniela.. That wasn't planned.. It's normal for you to still love her.." Abby smoothed it out, staring sadly at the beautiful woman that stared at her beneath deep creases and folds.. From under the rippled, tear stained picture, her eyes still twinkled and Abby knew then that she'd never be able to measure up and be Daniela.. She could never be Daniela, all she could hope was that Luka would want Abby.. For who she was and not who she could be.
Abby carefully placed the torn photograph in her purse and unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the truck.
Luka handed her a fistful of bills. "G-go to the trzhnica.. Get some food.. Bread, milk, peanut butter, the usual staples.. I will be at the hardware store.. Some basic phrases Abby.. Da, is yes, ne is no.. Molim is please.. If all else fails, try 'Govorite li engleski?' 'Do you speak english?' Most people around here do. Okay?"
Abby nodded slowly, her fingers curling protectively around Daniela's picture. "Trzhnica?"
"Market.. The little grocery store over there.." Luka pointed to the rebuilt shop.
"Okay, no problem Luka.. Want me to get you anything special?" She smiled softly, kissing his forehead between his sad eyes.
"No... Nothing I can think of, thank you for asking." Luka smiled, the cheery expression, not quite reaching his troubled, deep, dark, eyes. He turned away from her, trudging to the hardware store, breathing deep the smells and the dust of his home country. It was scientifically proven that dust was made of skincells and other human debris.. As Luka breathed in, he wondered how much dried blood of his fellow countrymen, wives and children entered his lungs from the air that was vital for his living.
He shuddered, shaking his head sadly before he pawed the door open with a heavy hand. "Dragi Josip.." Luka nodded to the clerk, saying hello as he browsed through the shelves.
The clerk stared at him, he was familiar but it was obvious how he walked, his gait, that something troubled him deeply. Something the man, sooner forget, even though it haunted him greatly. The customer in his shop had returned from some place far away and he could tell Luka wasn't home on pleasure.
"Kako se zovete?" The man shouted to Luka, as the doctor stooped on his heels to reach a can of paint on the lower shelves. Luka looked up, started by the man's question, and banged his head on the shelve above.
"Zovem se, Luka Kovac..." Luka mumbled softly, returning to his shopping, aware that the clerk was staring intently at him now.
"Kovac.. Daniela Kovac?" The man murmured softly, emerging from behind his counter and walking to the shelves to help Luka pull an aluminum ladder off the wall.
"Daniela was my wife.." Luka whispered hoarsely.
The man nodded. "Daniela was my daughter.."
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