Page 75 of Her Passionate Hero

“What do you mean?”

“Before that, Táto always held on to some sort of dream that he would go home to Czechoslovakia, or maybe our block would turn into Little Prague, and he would be mayor. Somehow, he would get to relive his old glory, but that day, when he saw me somewhat acclimated to America, that killed it for him. Something went wrong. His dreams started to slowly die, and it was Maminka and my fault.” She shivered, Hunter rubbed her arms, and she huddled closer.

“I could have handled it. I was used to people hating me for some unwarranted offense. Maminka had gone from being the apple of her parent’s eyes to living with my father. She adored him, and the more he pushed her away or resented her, the harder she tried to be perfect.” Her voice trailed off.

Hunter knew as much as she said she could handle it, Aliana would have been just as hurt as her mother. His little Alia always tried to be perfect for everyone, and everyone stomped on her.

“Tell me.”

“My mom was eighteen when she married my dad. She went straight from her father’s house to a little apartment her husband provided. There was only ever one car, so there was no need for her to drive. I remember when I was twelve, for no reason at all, Táko got mad at Mom because she couldn’t drive to the big warehouse store across town—she always walked or took the bus most places—I thought he was going to hit her. She didn’t cry, she just apologized for weeks. Her dad was dead, so she had her mom teach her to drive.”

“He didn’t teach her?”

“That night, he said she was an anchor, that he had to do everything, that she was nothing but another responsibility hanging around his neck, just like I was. She was too scared to ask him.”

Hunter felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He remembered her saying she was relieving him of all responsibility. Was this what it went back to?

Hunter didn’t bother asking stupid questions, like why a man would think something like that. As far as he was concerned, her father should have kissed the ground his wife and daughter walked on. He was the problem, never bothering to acclimate, spending his time bemoaning the life he had lost, instead of cherishing the gifts he’d been given.

“So, he was a selfish bastard,” Hunter bit off.

“Not always. Maminka showed me the yearbooks of the university where he taught. He was praised by all of his students and was constantly going above and beyond. Occasionally, I think I’m like him,” she gave a sad laugh. “Pretty scary, huh?”

“You’re nothing like him.” Hunter hugged her fiercely. She clutched him back just as tightly. He waited until her breathing evened out.

“Tell me about the day he killed himself.”

She flinched against him.

“I’m sorry, mi Cielieto, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t, I just… I just…” She brought her feet up on the couch, her knees to her chest. It was almost the same pose she’d had under the bleachers those many years ago. He wrapped both arms around her, and she tugged them tighter and buried her face in the crook of his arm.

“I got out of school early, it was parent-teacher conference day. When I got home, the door to the apartment was unlocked. I called out to see who was home. Táto came out of the bedroom and said Maminka was over at Babička’s house making jam. He went back into his room, but he left the door open. I needed to talk to him. I thought he was home because he knew someone had to go meet with my teachers.”

Hunter could barely understand her. It wasn’t her beautiful accent, it was that her voice was thick with tears.

“I’m right here. You’re in my arms. You can tell me anything, and you’re safe, right here in my arms. I have you, Alia, you’re safe,” he said over and over again as he stroked her hair.

Aliana seemed to go inward. He waited, letting her tell the story in her own time, her own way.

***

Aliana had never shared this. Not even with the psychiatrist she’d seen in college who had helped her with so much. But here, in the safety of Hunter’s arms, she could bring the nightmare out into the light.

Her parents’ room was dim, the curtains were drawn. It smelled of roses. It was her mother’s favorite scent. Her dad stood out, sitting on the flowered bedspread in his overalls.

“Papa? Are you home to go to meet with my teachers?” she asked in Czech as she stepped into the room. A sliver of sunlight escaped the drapes and hit the barrel of the gun in her father’s hand. He had it pointed upwards at himself. He was staring down at it. The blue-black steel looked evil. Now that she saw it, she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“What do you need now? What is it this time that I have to do for you? It’s always about you and your mom. What would you have me do?” he sneered.

Aliana heard him, but she couldn’t answer. His thumb traced the tip of the gun, the cloying smell of roses was assaulting her nose.

“Answer me!”

She jumped and stumbled further into the room.

“Look at you, you can’t even keep your feet. You whine about being made fun of, but you’re clumsy.”