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“I went through some archives two months ago and found some old photos of you and Alek. I thought you might want them,” she says as she pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.
I furrow my eyebrows. “Do I seem like the sentimental type?” I ask as I take them.
She laughs again. “Anya, most people would say thank you.”
My lips draw thin as I open it out of curiosity. Most gifts I receive are diamond encrusted, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt to look.
I flip open the envelope to reveal four old and worn photos. I maintain my expression as a smile dares to form. A photo of me hanging off Alek with a big smile. He looks miserable. I’m missing a front tooth and almost want to choke on a laugh at how feral we look with dirt on our faces. A different time and place.
The next one is a photo of me screaming so audaciously you can see my tonsils, and Alek is trying to console me.
The third is a photo of me and a young girl yanking on Alek’s arm, fighting over him. My eyebrows furrow. I vaguely remember the girl, and this particular moment. She didn’t stay with us for long. My gaze dips to the child’s foot and see she’s wearing worn-out imitation ballet shoes.
“I don’t remember this girl much,” I say pointedly to Lucy as I raise the photo.
“Cinita? She wasn’t here for long. Fostered out rather quickly, actually. I heard she became a dancer. I try my best to keep tabs on all my children who pass through here.”
I tuck that information away. Could this be the dancer Alek is chasing? It’s a slim chance, but I’m willing to go off anything right now.
“I’d love to know what you have on my brother and me now,” I say with a tight smile as I push the photos back into the envelope and pocket them in my long black jacket.
Lucy’s face seems grim as she quietly says, “Business owners, right?”
“Business owners,” I agree. Lucy, for all of her nurturing nature, is also a highly intelligent woman. I have no doubt the moment the old bitch walked in, she understood exactly what type of woman she was. As expected, anything can be paid for. Hell, I make a living off it.
“Thank you for the gift, Lucy. And make sure you use some of the money to get your back checked out. It’ll become a nuisance for your workers here if you can’t pick up wailing children,” I scold.
“Thank you for caring, Anya,” she says from behind me as I walk out the door. “It’s good to see you.”
I walk out with my chin held high, noticing the same door that was slightly ajar is now fully open. The same girl peers around the edge of the doorframe. She’s no older than I was when I first came to this place.
She stares at me and slowly points at the black glasses she now has atop her head.
I look down the hall and notice no one else is there. Curiosity gets the better of me as I come to a stop in front of her door and crouch down to her level. I hold my knees to try to make myself as small as possible.
“Did you put those glasses on because they look like mine?” I ask.
The girl offers a smile, revealing one missing tooth, and I can’t help but offer her a small one back. A reminder of the photos I’d just been given; one in particular of me with the same missing tooth.
I pluck my glasses from my hair and look at them. I have a million of these anyway. I offer them to her. “These are Versace. Very expensive. Very beautiful. If I give these to you, you have to look after them.”
Her eyes go wide. “Will I look like you in them?” she asks quietly and clings to the doorframe shyly, and another small part of me breaks. A reminder of the child I once was. A time when I, too, understood innocence until it was taken away.
“Even better,” I whisper as I hand her the glasses. Because every part of me hopes that with the financial contributions I offer to this establishment, the only problem this little girl will face is whose heart she wants to break next.
I stand and notice Lucy watching from the end of the hall with a smug smile. My jaw tics as I hold my chin high and walk back out the front to be greeted by Clay waiting at the door.
“I told you to wait by the car,” I scold.
“But then you went inside,” he says unapologetically. I adjust the hem of my jacket but proceed to stride across the road, two steps ahead of him.
I fish out the envelope of photos. “There’s a photo of a girl in here during the time we stayed in this orphanage. I want you to find out everything you can about her.”
He says nothing as he plucks it out of my hand.
Every time I leave here, a small part of me feels like I’ve done at least a little bit of good in this world. This time feels different, though. And it’s as unsettling as it is loud.
Fucking River Bently.
