Page 19 of Wayward

“I am sorry for the father you have.”

“Yeah,” I husked. “My mother had terrible taste in men.”

“Yes,” he said softly, putting his hand on my cheek. “But she loved her sons.”

And that was the gospel truth right there.

When I woke up later, it was dark. Sava was still there, sitting beside me in a recliner that had been brought in, leaning back, watching something on his laptop, having changed into yet another hideous tracksuit.

“Those really are terrible,” I apprised him.

“Because you have no taste.”

“I’ll miss you when I go,” I confessed.

“As I will you,” he promised, leaning forward to touch my hair. “I was originally going to send you overseas, but why? You’re dead. Who will be looking for you on the other side of the country?” He shrugged. “I say, you get in the car I give you and head west. See where the wind takes you, yes?”

It seemed as reasonable as anything else.

“You lost a lot of blood, Maks, and the wound was bad. It didn’t hit anything vital, but still, the scar will be something.”

“When was I ever vain? One more, who cares?”

“Okay.”

Something occurred to me. “Do I have any money?”

“No. I’m sorry, but your father already drained all your accounts. Your place belongs to Lev now. Your clothes, artwork, all the rest has been disposed of. There was nothing I could do.”

I figured that.

“All the things that belonged to your mother, the paintings she did, the artwork she collected, all that went to Pasha. I understand he’s having it hung in his home in Highland Park. At least you know he’ll treasure it all.”

He would. I knew that.

“Your necklace wasn’t recovered from the crash,” he told me at the same time he drew my mother’s 24K gold locket from his pocket. I had worn it, along with my cross, a Russian Orthodox one, on the same gold chain since she passed, eleven years ago. When she was alive, the locket had a picture of me and Pasha inside. Now, there was a picture of her. I nearly broke down when he handed it to me. “And your father wanted it found.”

Of course he had. It would be yet another assurance that I was dead.

“He was furious at Lev for leaving it behind.”

That was good to hear. I liked the idea of Lev disappointing him.

“I must tell you, as I had it in my pocket when I went to convey my condolences at your funeral, there was some satisfaction in that.”

I smiled at him.

“You know, when I told Pasha you were alive, he didn’t believe me until I showed him the locket.”

“He doesn’t take much on faith,” I reminded him. “You know that.”

“No. But he believed me then, and he wanted it, but I said no, it would be too dangerous for him, plus, you needed your mother now more than him.”

I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t know it was our father, does he?”

Sava shook his head. “No, and even if you went to him today”—he shrugged—“he wouldn’t believe you if you told him.”

I knew that. Pasha wouldn’t think our father capable of having me killed. It would be beyond his imagination to conjure. And I was going to tell Sava I agreed, but suddenly, the way he was looking at me was strange. Almost like he wanted me to grasp something. As though he’d come to some conclusion I needed to reach.