by Yasmin Angoe
“Gorilla,” Silas finishes amid a chorus of laughter from his compatriots, lemmings who pretend his asinine jokes are funny.
I squint up against the sunlight.
“That’s what you do, innit? Live in bushes like wild people, naked, and shag animals?” he asks, his voice getting louder. Students crowd around, sensing a good show is about to commence.
“Bloody hell, check out the likes of you. You’re so black. The only time we can see you is at this very time.”
My fingers tighten around my spoon; images of using it to scoop out his blue eyes flash to mind.
“Silas Balderdash the Third.” Elin’s voice rings out. The crowd of onlookers makes way. There she is with her two besties flanking her. She marches through them right up to where Silas looms above me. Elin and I make eye contact, and for a moment, she sees murderous intent in mine. She holds a hand flat, a signal to say, Be calm. “You should leave her alone.”
“Fuck off. What’s it to you?”
“There are two things you should know, you mongrel,” she says, getting up close and personal to the boy. “You will stop teasing my sister and calling her racist names. You understand that?”
Silas laughs. “And what’s the second thing?”
She rocks back, cutting his laugh short when her foot shoots up and smashes into his groin. The crowd’s gasp is collective, and Silas is bowled over, dropping to the ground. His body curls into a tight ball, the pain so paralyzing he cannot scream or breathe.
Elin bends over him. “Second thing is I will fuck you up worse than this if you”—she looks up at the rest of the spectators—“or any of you fuck with her again.”
They never again call me names at school.
Later that night, when Elin finds me clutching my throat in the throes of another nightmare reenactment where Monsieur’s giant paws are around my neck, she hugs me, opening a tiny fissure that I finally walk through.
I grip her, not wanting to let go, the need to relieve my burden so great it is like I am suffocating from beneath it until I finally say, “I need to tell you my story.”
49
AFTER
Nena and Georgia were putting away all the hair-care materials when Cort stuck his head in the room.
“Hey,” he said, then stopped when he saw his daughter’s perfect braids coiled upward into a high bun atop Georgia’s head. It didn’t look dissimilar to the low version Nena sported. “Wow, look at you, Peach. You look amazing.”
Georgia gave a tentative pat of her hair. “Thanks. I wanted Nena to do one like hers.”
He nodded, shooting Nena an appreciative smile, then gazing again at his daughter, free of the tears and turmoil from earlier. “God, I almost forgot. Nena, you have a guest.”
Nena stilled. “Me?” she said, sharper than she intended. No one knew she was here, except . . .
“Your sister?” Cort said, a little unsure if he’d delivered good news or bad. “She’s waiting out front.” But Nena had already pushed past him without another word.
Elin wouldn’t. Nena marched toward the front door, half expecting Elin to be waiting for her there, nose in the air as she gave the lived-in home a once-over with her highly expensive, highly critical eye. Elin wasn’t in the foyer or the living room. She wasn’t in the house but rather was leaning against the driver’s-side door of her white-as-snow Tesla. She looked as annoyed as Nena felt.
“What the fuck?” Elin said as her little sister neared her. “You don’t answer messages or my calls now?”
“What do you mean?” Nena frowned, feeling her pockets for her phone, which wasn’t there. Rucksack, she thought. “You rang me?”
“No, I just popped up to make bloody small talk.” Elin rolled her eyes, pushing off her car and sauntering toward Nena, tall and regal as usual. And annoyed. Couldn’t forget that.
Nena scanned the street. Where was Elin’s security? She asked, but Elin waved her off. “Is it Mum or Dad?”
“They’re fine. And I don’t need security when Oliver’s with me.”
Nena did a double take. Not only had Elin appeared, but she’d brought Oliver, when she knew how much Nena wanted to keep the Baxters separate from their lives for now.
“You brought Oliver?” Nena strained to see around her insufferable sister. “What’s so damn important that you had to hunt me down? And with him?” Nena gestured toward the car. She couldn’t see him through the tinted glass.
Elin flipped her hand. “We’re on our way to Vegas. And because my sister refuses my calls.”
Nena had never wanted to wring her sister’s neck as much as she wanted to at this very moment. “What. Is. It?”
“A warning. That little spa day you had not too long ago? It’s been noticed.”
Nena made no response. She’d expected as much. Maybe not this soon, but still. “All right.”
“Intel came in through Network about it. I don’t think it’ll make big waves because no one knows or cares about the bastard. But if it’s coming through Network, it means your big bad has likely heard through his own channels. You need to watch your back until we find Paul, wherever he is.”
Too late, Nena thought grimly. Paul was already found.
While Nena had told Elin about the intel Witt had provided, she hadn’t told her sister who Oliver’s father was. She couldn’t do that to Elin just yet, burst her idealistic dream by telling her that her boyfriend’s dad was a sadistic monster. Plus, Paul’s threat against her family weighed heavily on Nena’s mind—heavier now that he likely knew Kwabena was dead.
“Has anyone else said anything? Oliver?”
Elin scoffed. “Are you mad? Oliver is an altar boy. Give the man a financial sheet, and that’s the most excitement you’ll get from him. I can’t even get him to go anal on me, he’s so fucking squeaky clean.”
“Please,” Nena begged, the vision of her sister and Oliver assaulting her. She was used to Elin’s garishness but wasn’t ready for this.
Elin was grinning down at her squeamish sister, proud of knocking her down a peg. “I just came to say be careful.”
Nena nodded. Her eyes were on Elin’s car, whose inside light had suddenly come on. The passenger-side door opened.
Elin continued, “Stay the course, right?”
Right. Nena already knew. No more detours until she knew what play Paul would make. She thought of her conversation with Witt, of how she might have poked the bear.
“Your man’s joining us,” Nena warned in hushed tones, her pulse quickening. She didn’t like this. Didn’t want Oliver here, much less these two sides of her life colliding.
A sly smile slid across Elin’s face as she gazed past Nena’s shoulder in the dimming light. “So is yours. And the kid.” She sounded much too gleeful.
Sure enough, there they were, Cort following a now-glowing Georgia down the walk. Nena faced a smirking Elin, warily watching Oliver make his own approach.
“Look what you’ve done,” she growled.
Elin was loving it. “Aww, sis, are you ashamed of your family? Don’t you think it’s time I met this illustrious man who”—she lowered her voice, leaning in as both sides were nearly upon them—“made you disobey orders for the first fucking time? I rather enjoy seeing you flustered. Another first.”
Elin straightened, brandishing a huge smile as the Baxters stopped before her and Oliver came from the rear. “So you’re Georgia.” She held out her hand, which Georgia took and pumped energetically, surprising Elin.
“You’re Nena’s fancy sister.”
Elin’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what Nena called me?”
Georgia shrugged. “Kinda hard to miss,” she answered, indicating Elin’s attire and her car.
Oliver laughed as he moved beside Elin, his eyes sweeping Georgia, then lingering on Cort, then Nena, then back to Cort. “It’s true,” he said. “She’s very fancy. You’re pretty astute, er . . .”
“Georgia,” she answered. “And I know.”
“
Peach,” Cort warned, shaking hands with Oliver and introducing himself.
Elin looked down at Georgia, her nose flaring in distaste. “So you’re the reason my little sister had to run off and wasn’t answering my calls.”
Georgia pursed her lips and, without missing a beat, replied gravely, “You’ve had her all to yourself for a long time. Time to share Nena with the world.”
Elin’s mouth dropped open in a most unbeautiful manner as she was struck speechless, despite Oliver laughing as if he were at a comedy show and Cort placing a firm hand on his daughter’s shoulder while trying to mask his amusement.
“She’s a regular spitfire, yeah?” Elin said, bemused. Elin wasn’t used to someone having faster quips than she did. She quickly regained her ultracool. “You may borrow her for a little, but you must return her every so often, because I rather like her.”
Georgia nodded. “Deal,” she said.
“Okay, enough of that,” Nena said, feeling warm inside and anxious to get Oliver, who was chatting it up with Cort, out of here. “You two should be off now. I’m also about to head out. Have to sort some things out.”
Elin raised her eyebrows as the men said their goodbyes. “Stay the course, little sister.”
“I appreciate your concern, Elin.” Nena tried to be as cool as she could manage.
She watched Elin and Oliver return to the car, and then Elin sped off far too fast for the neighborhood. She begged off an offer of dinner from Cort and asked for a rain check. She got in her Audi, waved at the Baxters, and drove away wondering what the hell had just happened.
Later that night, when she was back home alone eating takeaway lemon-pepper wings and blue cheese, which Keigel had graciously brought her, and watching Pet Sematary, her phone chimed.
CORT: Ty 4 what U did 4 Georgia. She’s going thru her mom’s stuff looking for a keepsake.
NENA (after wiping her fingers): Good.
CORT: UR something else, NK.
If only he knew. Heat rushed Nena’s cheeks. She didn’t know how to respond to that. All she could do was reply with: TY. Not so bad yourself, CB.
He ended with good night, but as Nena continued to watch the movie, she wondered why the husband buried his wife in a cursed cemetery knowing what it would do to her. Maybe the message was that it was better to have those you loved in any capacity—even if they came back murderously evil—than to not have them at all.
She shifted in her seat. If she were honest with him, could Cort decide to be with her, in any capacity? Like that husband? Nena couldn’t answer that, but how would she ever know what they could be, if she didn’t at least try?
50
BEFORE
Two weeks after I take Elin into my confidence, the mornings are brighter, and I feel as if some of my burden has been lifted.
Elin and I are different in every conceivable way. We are opposite bookends. She is stylish and highly sociable, assured and unabashedly unafraid. She speaks her mind and can be as tactful as a royal or as brash as a sailor.
I refrain from commenting. I question every decision I make. I prefer clothes that cover my developing body. I wear what allows me to blend into my surroundings so I may go unnoticed.
Mr. Noble, Ms. Delphine, and Elin are already at the breakfast table when I come down to eat. Ishmael excuses himself to gather ingredients for lunch from the pantry. Margot sets a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of me, velvety and topped with whipped cream. She knows how partial I am to sweets. She hovers over me a second too long, and when my eye catches hers, I know she knows everything and that Elin has told them all.
Despite all my caution, I have grown to love this family and become comfortable in these new settings. But now they know of my disloyalty, of how I betrayed my first family by surviving. And now, instead of being dead with them, I am living lavishly in a lifestyle fit for royalty.
Elin offers an apologetic smile. I am not upset with her for breaking my confidence. To be honest, I feel nothing but relief that the job was done for me.
“Darling,” Ms. Delphine says solemnly, “will you sit?”
“Yes, Ms. Delphine.”
She hates when I refer to her like that, but what other options have I?
“Nena.” Mr. Noble folds his newspaper, then lays it on the table beside his partially eaten scones and scrambled eggs. “We won’t dally around. Elin told us what you told her.”
I am nodding and swallowing, forcing my eyes to remain on the melting white cream. I try to save them the trouble.
“Yes, sir.” I swallow down the painful blockage in my throat. I rocket to my feet, prepared to leave immediately. My story, who I am, is more than these people have bargained for.
A long stretch of silence passes, and I cannot tell what any of them are thinking. I finally chance a look at Ms. Delphine and find not the disgust or pity I expected but sadness. She has tears in her eyes, and her lips are trembling. Mr. Noble appears just as stricken.
Mr. Noble begins, “Nena—”
“Darling, we would never ask you to leave,” Ms. Delphine cuts in. “Never.”
Mr. Noble silences his wife with a steady hand. “We had no idea what you have endured. We cannot fathom what has been done to you and your village, your father and brothers.” His voice cracks.
In wonder, I watch him overcome with unexpected emotion; his eyes are so unbelievably sad I have a fleeting urge to comfort him.
“I have already made calls to locate Paul and his men. We’ll find them and deal with them accordingly.”
Why? The question does not transmit from my mind to my lips. I clear my throat and repeat it aloud.
Mr. Noble looks baffled. “Why what, Nena?”
Ms. Delphine holds Elin’s hand. Elin looks at me, wide eyed and worried.
“Why did you take me in? Why are you doing this?” This has been on my mind for months. I drill an imaginary hole into the tabletop, awaiting their response.
“Nena, I owe you my wife’s life. You risked your life for hers. There are people I pay to do that, but you did it without a second thought, without an expectation of payment. You did it with no thought to your own safety.”
His voice gains strength. “The moment Delphine brought you into this house, I knew you were meant to be a part of our family, another daughter for me. I know you are loyal, and you are brave.”
I shake my head. “I’m not. I am neither brave nor loyal. If I was, I would not have sat idle as my family was slaughtered.”
Elin reaches out, nearly touching my hand. I slide it back before she has a chance. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“I could have died with them.”
Ms. Delphine sucks in air at my truth. “Don’t ever say that, darling. You have done nothing but survive. That is the best thing you could have done for your family.”
“I was selfish.”
“You survived,” Mr. Noble corrects.
I fall silent. There is no moving me—or him.
“What is it that you want more than anything right now?” Ms. Delphine asks. “Anything in the world?”
The answer comes out as quickly as breath. “To not be afraid anymore.”
Elin looks at each of us worriedly, her face unable to hide her feelings.
Ms. Delphine says, “But you’re safe with us. No one will ever harm you again, darling.”
How can she ever understand what I mean? There is no amount of safety to keep you from harm. There is only the safety you can give yourself, and that type of safety is what I need for me.
“No, ma’am.” My palms are sweaty. Their requirement for me to articulate my wants has me in a near panic. “I want to be able to make myself safe. I want to learn how to protect myself, to know how to this time, to keep others safe. I want to walk around without fear.”
How do I explain my burning need to make sure no one ever touches me uninvited? To once again revisit how it felt when I plunged the chopsticks and then the scissors into Monsieur’s face
and body, and the knife into those men in the alleyway, in defense of myself? How do I explain the assurance of being able to stop someone else from hurting me?
Mr. Noble nods, absorbing my words. “You want your power back.”
I look him squarely in his eyes, my heart lifting because he understands what I want, what I need to begin to heal.
He shares a knowing look with Ms. Delphine. “We can give that to you.”
51
AFTER
“Whose grill is this?” Cort growled at his longtime friend and lead detective for the Miami-Dade PD, John “Mack” McElroy. Curiously, Nena observed the two men bickering back and forth as they stood before the rectangular god Cort called a grill, which was currently emitting noxious plumes of smoke that Nena was pretty sure was the wrong kind of smoke.
It was her first time meeting Mack. Both Cort and Georgia were always talking about the sandy-haired, ruddy-faced man with warm brown eyes. He now gesticulated emphatically at the pieces of meat that ranged between charbroiled and barely singed. She immediately decided she liked him.
Nena wasn’t used to consorting with so much “goodness,” and knowing that brought about twinges of unease . . . about herself. Like, what was she doing here? What would her lifestyle bring down upon this family? But she pushed those thoughts away because the men’s continued bickering was much more entertaining.
“The temp’s uneven, man!” Mack griped as Cort stiff-armed him with one hand from coming any closer, while holding a bottle of lighter fluid in the other. Nena frowned, utterly perplexed at this display of male behavior.
Georgia pulled out her cell with a sly smile. “What do you like on your pizza?”
In the patio seat next to her, Nena gave her a quizzical look. “What about your dad grilling dinner?”
“Unfortunately, he still continues to try.” Georgia looked at the grill wistfully.
There was a flare-up, and Cort quickly shut the grill top to smother it, gray ropes of smoke streaming out of the edges.
