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I’m relieved once we’re alone again. Yet, once I start to relax, there’s another knock at the door.
In the hallway stands my older sister. Her thick, blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun. Petra’s wearing a terribly extravagant rose-covered bathrobe like a vixen out of an old mobster movie. Her blue-eyed gaze is focused down the hallway when the estate manager returns with the soup. Suddenly, she notices me peeking out at her.
Petra’s warm smile breaks me. My tears rush forward as she hurries inside and gestures for the estate manager to leave the food.
Wrapping me in her arms, Petra shushes my panicked mumbling. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. I just know today won’t end.
Petra takes control. She tugs me to the bed and introduces herself to my babies.
“I’m your aunt,” she explains and blows on the soup before feeding them. “I won’t keep you long. We’ll just get a little food in your tiny tummies. Then, we’ll get you tucked in bed. Tomorrow, you can meet my son, Laszlo. He will absolutely adore making new friends.”
Jacinda and Hector stare enchanted at her smiling face. I try to make sense of Petra being home.
“Are Vica and Shari here?” I ask of her ten- and nine-year-old daughters.
Petra shakes her head. “Brandon forced me to leave, but he insisted the girls remain with him.”
“When did this happen?”
My sister shakes her head again and asks, “Do you need a shower? We can discuss my drama another time.”
“Do I look awful?”
“Hideous. I barely recognized you,” she teases. “Maybe you can shower while I get to know your sweet babies. Aren’t you two just adorable?”
I hug my sister and thank her for helping me. She doesn’t scold me for running off or drill me with questions. Petra just takes over so I can clean up and get my thoughts sorted.
Despite the reprieve, I can’t relax. When the world falls silent, I think of the dumbbell in my hand or the kids screaming as Andrew dragged them away from me. My mind even rewinds to thoughts of Bear O’Malley and poor, sweet Ollie.
Exiting the bathroom, I hug my sister who insists on tucking me in bed in between the kids who are afraid to sleep in their own beds tonight. I don’t want Petra to leave. She feels like a life preserver keeping me above water. Yet, her young son is waiting for her, and the hour is late.
Soon, the room is dark except for “The Muppets Show” playing on my old TV. The kids crash quickly from the medication, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
After hours of restlessness, I can’t deny skipping the soup was a mistake. Wiggling myself free from the bed, I turn on the bathroom light and leave the door mostly shut. If the kids wake, they’ll assume I’m on the toilet and be less likely to panic.
Out in the hallway, I find the lights dimmed. Downstairs, an armed man stands watch in the foyer. I move soundlessly past him, feeling scolded by his lack of reaction.
The modern French-style kitchen is illuminated by large, west-facing windows. I’m halfway through the expansive kitchen when I realize I’m not alone. Freezing in my spot, I stare in horror as the man opens the fridge before turning to me.
My father is never startled. If he ever seems weak, it’s simply a ruse to trick an enemy.
With me, he offers a hint of a smile. Viktor turns back to the fridge, removing ingredients for a sandwich.
“You should have eaten the soup,” he says as I sink deeper into my spot. “Come help me eat this sandwich.”
Viktor sets two slices of sourdough on a plate and warms another plate filled with brisket.
I don’t dare mention how I prefer to avoid meat. My family’s never cared for my bleeding-heart beliefs.
I inch closer, afraid of more than his disappointment. Viktor hands me half of his sandwich. The thick brisket melts like butter in my mouth.
“Forgive your mother’s distance,” he says in his deceptively soft voice. “You broke her heart when you ran off and never called.”
“I thought I escaped and calling would help you find me.”
Viktor smiles and murmurs, “You always were a dreamer.”
Swallowing hard, I don’t know what to tell my father as his icy blue eyes pick me apart.
