Never Ask Me

by Jeff Abbott

  Ned answers, and the press call out to him a barrage of questions. He ignores them, and she hands the foil-covered casserole dish to him. Then she turns to face the reporters. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “His mother is dead. If he has something to say, he’ll say it to people who aren’t standing in the street. I know you’re just doing your job. Isn’t there another way to do this? And by the way, I’m a minor, and my parents and I don’t give you permission to air what I’m saying to you.” She turns back and goes inside.

  “Wow,” Ned says.

  “Hey,” she says. She wants to tell him about what she’s done in the game and about Marland threatening her, but then she sees his father looming in the dining room that connects the foyer and the kitchen.

  “Hello, Julia,” Gordon Frimpong says. “I am so glad to see you. It’s been a long time. What a beautiful young woman you’ve become.” He has a deep voice. Tall, a wiry but strong build; she guesses he was a looker when he was younger. He still is, if you’re into older guys. She can see echoes of his face in Ned’s. Stylish glasses. Expensive sweater and slacks. He doesn’t look like he’s exhausted from a flight overseas or jet-lagged. He looks like someone ready to question her.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I’m sorry to see you again under these circumstances.”

  “It is terrible,” he agrees in his courtly voice. “But how fortunate Ned is to have you as a friend.” He takes the enchiladas dish from Ned, carefully balancing the salad bowl atop it.

  “I’m also making you dessert. Cookies. Nothing fancy. They’re still in the oven. My dad will bring them over.”

  “Ah. And how is your little adopted brother? Grant, yes, the one from Russia?”

  Even when she doesn’t always get along perfectly with Grant, Julia is sensitive to any suggestion that he is somehow not her true brother. “Yes, my brother is well,” she says.

  “This is so thoughtful of you all. What do you say, Ned?”

  “I was about to thank her, Papa,” Ned says. Ned gives her a quick wink, which his father can’t see. She doesn’t wink back.

  “Forgive me, Julia. I’m rather a solitary old lion, and I tend to think of Ned as a small child when he’s nearly a man.” He goes into the kitchen, and Ned rolls his eyes and he and Julia follow.

  “I think there are a few less reporters than there were before,” Julia says, thinking that it’s best to find a sliver of something positive right now.

  “I’m not really familiar with enchiladas, but this smells delicious.” Gordon places the dish on the granite counter. It’s beyond strange—this isn’t this man’s kitchen, and Danielle is dead and gone. All the food in the refrigerator is stuff she bought and will never eat. The suddenness of her passing hits Julia like a fist.

  She takes refuge in talking about the food. “It’s not too many jalapeños. Mom knew you weren’t used to them.”

  “How very thoughtful,” Gordon says, and she wants to say, Do you always sound like you talk from a book? But she doesn’t. “It’s so appreciated. I hope I will get the chance to thank your mother for her many kindnesses to my son. And to Danielle.”

  “We all loved Danielle,” Julia says. Ned looks as if the very life is draining out of him.

  “Yes,” Gordon says. “Well, I have some phone calls to make. There are so many arrangements to handle. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  Ned gives her a pleading look, but she says, “I can’t, and the two of you should have private time together.” She has a lot to say to Ned, but not in front of his father. Looking at him, she feels this weird mix of longing and anger and frustration.

  “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome.” Gordon nods and goes into the kitchen, and in a moment they hear him talking quietly, presumably on his phone.

  “His girlfriend back in London,” Ned says quietly. “He calls her about every fifteen minutes. Short leash.”

  “I shut down what you were doing inside the game. For now. But I got an angry message. From MagickMan. Is that your friend Marland?”

  Ned’s face is like stone. “Why would you interfere?”

  “He says if he can’t deal with you, he’ll deal with me. That you can’t quit. And that means I can’t quit, although it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  The smiling face that winked at her is gone. Now he just stares at her blankly. “I’m going back to London with my father. It’s decided.”

  She stares at him. She thought his reaction to all this would be Oh let me handle it and he would be full of his fire to stay here in Lakehaven.

  “When?”

  “After the funeral. Or whenever the police say I can go.”

  “Don’t you want to stay here?” With me, with your friends, she thinks but doesn’t add.

  His voice is barely a whisper. “The police found a bit of blood here. In the house. They cut up some carpet. I heard them talking, explaining to my dad, when we came back here. So I think my mom was taken from here and killed in walking distance, and no, I do not want to stay here if that is true. Do you understand? It’s like living in her grave.”

  He’s leaving, but he can’t be leaving you to deal with his mess. Not on purpose. Right? “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just stay out of it. I’ll get Marland to leave you alone. And keep your mouth shut.”

  But he doesn’t know what to do; she can see it in his face. It’s weird; she thinks of times when they were kids, when someone teased or bothered her, and Ned—not exactly a brawny physical specimen—was the one who would stand up for her. Always. She feels a hot mix of rage and anger and hurt and betrayal.

  “I need to go get the cookies, or see that Dad hasn’t burned them.” Her tone is dulled. And Ned, right now, keeps looking at a spot near her left foot.

  The doorbell rings. Ned goes to answer it, returns with Kyle, and a plate of cookies. He and Gordon shake hands. Kyle gives condolences. “I thought I’d walk Julia back through the press scrum,” Kyle says.

  “They didn’t bother me,” Julia says. But she doesn't want to linger. The silence is awkward.

  “You look like you were in a fight with someone,” Ned says suddenly to Kyle.

  “I fell. In the greenbelt. Jogging,” Kyle says.

  “I could use a good run. Can you tell me what route you take?” Gordon asks.

  Kyle tells him, standing at the back window, pointing to the greenbelt, his voice sounding just a shade odd. “Yes, you can just run along there… The path follows the creek. There are mile markers…”

  “Well, I know metric,” Gordon says.

  It’s not the time for a joke, and the comment feels leaden and dense in the air, and no one says anything more but goodbye.

  * * *

  Locked in her bathroom, Julia opens her phone, starts the game, and rereads the message from MagickMan. She sends to him: I’m not part of this. You’ll have to take it over. He can’t do it anymore.

  You are part of this because you’re part of the solution. You and I have to talk. Bring Ned if you can. Meet me at the abandoned house. Tonight. 8 PM. I’ll make it worth your while.

  She knows where he means. Why won’t this man leave her alone? She closes the game.

  24

  From Iris Pollitt’s “From Russia with Love” Adoption Journal

  2002

  I was trying not to be paranoid.

  The warning woman wasn’t on the plane.

  Blur: airport, customs, nice hotel in Saint Petersburg. Kyle unpacking, not looking at me. “Don’t be mad at me, Iris,” he said.

  “You didn’t believe me.” I got under the sheets, turned my back to him. I craved sleep; I wanted to look my best for Grant, for the officials, for anyone who was watching. They would not shake me.

  “I did. I just wanted to calm you down, and if I went along with what you were saying, we might not have made our flight. How would that have looked? American couple misses flight to adopt child because of airport fight wi
th weird stranger?”

  I closed my eyes. He snuggled next to me. I felt his warm breath on my neck.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too,” I said. My eyes felt hot. (Your dad is the love of my life, and it’s important to me that you know that.) “I think that woman sat near us in the airport café. She might have been one of those Russians who disapprove of Americans adopting Russian babies. Remember I told you about that article I read about it?” I hadn’t, but Kyle wouldn’t remember and wouldn’t want to say he doesn’t.

  “OK,” he said, his lips close to my ear.

  “So I think she heard us talking about adoption and decided to mouth off to me when I was alone.”

  “Oh. OK, babe. People are crazy.”

  “People are crazy,” I repeated. Then we talked a little more and fell asleep curled into each other. I woke up four hours later. I got dressed and brushed my teeth. I was still tired, but I was ready to face the day.

  I checked my stash of, well, bribes. Filling one of my suitcases was an array of gifts to smooth our road: expensive bags of coffee, cartons of cigarettes, makeup from a really nice store in Austin. Boxes of chocolates. Stuffed toys—cartoon characters I hoped Russian children would know, as well as safer choices: plush little otters and ponies and kittens. It was hard to know what to get for the older children—all the board games I found are in English. I didn’t know if they have computer game consoles. I imagined not. I didn’t have time to go shopping for more here. We were expected at the orphanage at a certain time and we could not be late. I moved the goodies into a pair of nice-looking Louis Vuitton knockoff totes, which would also double as gifts.

  Kyle was showering again because even after four hours of sleep he had serious bedhead, and I went down to the ornate lobby to get coffee for us both. I needed more sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  Across the lobby I saw Danielle. She had her back to me. Talking to a man, not our driver, Feliks, maybe the interpreter that GAC is providing—even with Danielle having an OK command of Russian, it was better to have a professional interpreter, and a Russian one.

  I started to go say hello, but something stopped me. I watched them. Danielle did not smile or chat. The way the man spoke to her, waving his arms a little bit, it was intimidating. I didn’t like it, and I started walking toward them.

  The man was quite a bit taller than Danielle, thin, a face of sharp edges along his nose, his jaw, even his glare. Dark hair. He wore a good suit, a silver tie. Then he gave Danielle a smile, not a warm one, but apparently the argument was over. He turned and left.

  I saw her hand go back to the seat behind her, as if she leaned against it. Then she turned and saw me, offered a smile. I hurried the rest of the way across the lobby.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Is everything all right?” Meaning: Is our adoption in danger?

  “Oh. Yes. That man is an official. I was meeting him about another adoption case. Nothing to do with yours.” Her voice shook a little, but she put on a smile.

  “Danielle, don’t lie to me. Did he scare you?”

  “Oh, no. These guys, they fume, they demand. A bad temper is part of their style. He just caught me before I’d had coffee and so I wasn’t quite ready for him.” She offered a stronger smile, a shrug.

  “Then let me buy you some coffee and we’ll head out to the orphanage.”

  She nodded. There was a swank-looking lounge at the other end of the lobby, currently serving coffee, espresso, and hot tea instead of cocktails. I ordered three coffees.

  Why didn’t I believe Danielle? A finger of paranoia ran along my spine. I shouldn’t tell you all this, but here we are and I am. I thought you should know it. I thought the paperwork was honestly the hardest part about this. But now I think something worse is happening, and I don’t understand it. All we wanted now was our son. Russia picked him for us. Why did it feel like something was closing in on me? I thought this was going to be a day of joy. I’m meeting my son—we’re meeting our son.

  I told myself to put all this worry aside and enjoy today. It would be a great day.

  Through the glass windows I saw the dark-haired man with the silver tie. He was on the street, talking on a phone. He frowned. He gestured. His face wasn’t so impassive anymore. Then he turned off the phone, tucked it into his pocket. A Mercedes SUV pulled up by the curb. A huge young man got out from the passenger side, opened the door, and the man with the silver tie got in the back. They drove off.

  An adoption official? I thought. In that kind of car? With a hulking bodyguard? Then I remembered I had a suitcase of “gifts” (otherwise known as bribes). I knew this was how Russia operated. But it unsettled me. That man didn’t look like someone you wanted to have as an enemy.

  While I waited for the coffee orders, I scanned the lobby for her. The warning woman. No. This was ridiculous. This woman, this stranger, wasn’t going to ruin this glorious day for me, for Kyle, for our soon-to-be Grant. I took a deep breath. I got myself centered. I had to be Iris Grant Pollitt, supermom, songwriter, wife, woman who feared nothing and no one. I went to the entrance and looked out on the cold, gray day.

  “Russia, here I come,” I thought to myself. “I’m going to take a prize from you.”

  25

  Iris

  Mike looks bad to Iris. Gaunt, tired, pale, as if Danielle’s death has sunk into him like an illness. He opens the door and she walks in with the dinner, the one she cooked and split between him and Ned and Gordon, with Grant following her, carrying the side dishes. The house is quiet and dark: no sound of television, or music, or anything but the absence of Danielle.

  “How are you holding up?” she asks, setting the casserole dish down on the counter.

  Mike is giving a sideways hug to Grant. “I am just taking it hour by hour.”

  “How’s Peter?”

  Mike shrugs. “He has a project to work on… He throws himself into that. It is avoiding how he feels, but if that is what works for him…?”

  Grant bites his lip, which Iris notices.

  Mike says, “How is Julia? I am worried for her. The shock.”

  “She’s all right. She’s mostly worried about Ned.”

  “Ned,” Mike says, shaking his head. “His father is not good medicine right now. Gordon is more interested in doing what looks right than what is right for Ned.”

  “Can I stay here with Mike and Peter for a bit, Mom? Please?” Grant asks.

  “Well, that’s up to Mike,” Iris says. “He might not feel up to company right now.”

  “Yes, fine, of course. Just for a little while. Then I’ll eat and try to sleep. I didn’t sleep last night.” Mike pats Grant’s shoulder.

  “OK, then.” Iris leaves, and while walking home she gets a text from Francie: Call me. I found out who threatened Danielle.

  26

  Grant

  Mike makes himself a cup of hot tea in the microwave, heating the water, dropping in a tea bag, then stirring strawberry jam into the mug.

  “That’s weird,” Grant said.

  “That is how some people drink tea back home. My brother would keep the jam in his mouth to sweeten the tea. Or we put in honey.”

  “I’m sorry about Danielle.”

  “I know. Maybe, when a few days pass, I will go fishing again. You can come with me, OK? If you want.”

  “OK,” Grant said. Mike drank his tea, and Grant helped himself to a soda from the refrigerator.

  “Is your sister really all right?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t think so, but we all have to say we are fine. Why is that?”

  “It’s just what people do.”

  “Don’t people care how you really are?”

  “People mostly care about politeness. After my wife died, people would ask how I was, and even before I answered they were looking over my shoulder, bored. People are odd, chlapec.”

  “Peter said you were going to marr
y Danielle.”

  “Maybe. We talked about it a couple of times; once Peter heard us. She didn’t want to get married again. I’m not sure how Peter would have reacted to me marrying.”

  “Didn’t he like Danielle?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. But it is a huge change to go from Dad’s girlfriend to stepmother.”

  “Are you really, truly going to stay in Austin? Peter’s graduating in a few months and maybe he’ll want to go back to Canada and you’ll go with him.”

  Mike looks at him with a sad, knowing smile. “Little man. Would it make you sad if I left?”

  “Yes. I don’t want you to go. I want us to go fishing, and—” And all the things Dad doesn’t have time to do with me because he works all the time.

  “Sometimes…I think I’ll go back to Canada with Peter. Or even back to Slovakia. My money would last a lot longer there than in Austin, when I want to retire.” He sits down across from Grant. “But, Grant, you have your parents here. If I leave, it really won’t matter. You understand? Your father and your mother love you very much.”

  “Yeah,” he says, but he lets the tone of doubt shine through.

  “Do not be giving me the whole ‘they don’t understand me’ stuff,” Mike says. “You know that’s not so.”

  “You listen to me, but they don’t.”

  “We are friends. But I am friends with your parents, too, and so I will listen to you but not listen to you complain about them. You are the center of their world, you and Julia.”

  “Peter should hang out with my dad, and they could silently work on their endless projects and you and I could go fish. It’s a better arrangement.” And Grant knows as soon as he says this he shouldn’t, that it’s somehow unfair to both Peter and his father. But, to him, it’s true.

  “If everyone was exactly like their parents, how dull the world would be,” Mike says, trying to lighten the moment.