Faron and Ivanka left. Jo sat down at the table nearest the door and called Rok.
“Ah, Jo. Is all well?”
“Yeah. Sorry to bother you, but can I crash at your place tonight?”
“Always.”
“Thanks. Seven-ish?”
“Then.” He hung up with a soft click.
The screen on the phone went dark and she replayed the conversation with Maja. A flash of the doll’s freaky face. Helena’s amber eyes. The air in her chest felt heavy. How was she supposed to figure all this shit out? Less than a week ago, she didn’t know any of this existed. She would be more than happy to go back to that ignorant bliss.
A knock on the window brought her back with a start. Staring down at her from Matjaž’s bearded face were the same amber eyes that had drawn Jo to his sister. She stood and opened the door for him.
“I saw the light. I didn’t realize you were closed.” He looked into the empty shop.
“We’re closed until after Maja’s funeral.” She ran her hand through her hair again, hoping to smooth it back into place.
“I was very sorry to hear about Maja. I didn’t really come for tea though, I wanted to talk to you.” His expression changed, his mouth and eyes tightening
“Sure. Have a seat.” She stepped back and gestured toward the table where she’d been sitting. “You said you don’t drink tea. Can I offer you a glass of water? I also have an employee coffee stash.”
He sat, folding his long legs under the small table. “No. I’m fine, really.”
She sat back down opposite him. “What’s up?” She slid her hand into her pocket again. The stone was cold and still.
“I want to apologize.” He looked her in the eye, without pretense or guile. “About how I spoke to you at my house.”
She sat back in surprise. “You really don’t need to do that. It’s been–”
“No. I do. You were being kind, trying to comfort and I was rude. Especially after how my mother spoke to you. Polona filled me in. I’m sorry about that, too.”
“I… you really don’t need to apologize for your mom. She’s a grownup. Thank you anyway though.” The way he looked at her, the nakedness of it, reminded her so much of Helena. No need for a poker face when you were blunt or honest all the time. But Helena hadn’t been completely honest with her. Her fling with Faron had been a lie of omission.
“Polona was going to intervene, but your Gregor maneuvered you away.”
She chuckled. “Yeah. He knows me pretty well. I wouldn’t have made a scene… well, maybe… but your mother caught me off guard.” She wasn’t exactly proud of her occasional lack of filter. “I didn’t know Helena had talked about us, about me, to anyone in her family. We didn’t, um, talk about that kind of thing much.” She looked down at her hands, weirdly embarrassed to be alluding to sex with his sister. She thought of Ivanka’s downcast face and looked back up at him. He was smiling wryly.
“She didn’t usually mention her… friends. To Mother, at least. But she talked about you often. Not everything, mind you.” He must have noticed the brief flicker of horror across her face.
“Oh.” She wondered if he knew about Faron. She was glad he hadn’t brought it up if he did.
“Anyway. Helena was intrigued by you. She once said she thought you’d be better for me than for her.” He laughed awkwardly, as if he hadn’t meant to blurt that out.
She wondered how much he could see in her face. She was sure she hadn’t been good about hiding that she was attracted to him. She was also sure she couldn’t act on it. That might not be as bad as Helena with Faron, but it still seemed wrong. She was flattered that he’d said it though, even if he hadn’t meant to. She was a little embarrassed for him and a lot confused about how warm she felt all over in his presence. It just wouldn’t work, or do. Shit.
He put his hand on the edge of the table. “I should go. I’m sure you have stuff to do.”
“Yes. I mean no. I don’t really. I mean…” What did she mean?
He settled back into his chair. “Have you eaten?”
She thought through her day. Other than champagne at the funeral and tea and a cookie at Vesna’s there had been no food. “I haven’t.”
“May I buy you dinner?”
Shit. Rok. Faron and Ivanka. Maja.
Rok wouldn’t care when she showed up. He hadn’t even asked why she needed a place to crash. Faron and Ivanka could take care of themselves. Maja, well, Maja would wait. She had to eat, didn’t she? And maybe she could pump him for more information about Helena so she could figure out what the hell was going on.
“Sorry. I just thought we could continue our conversation.”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, you can buy me dinner. I just need to run upstairs and get my bag and a jacket.” She didn’t want to tell him she also needed a clean pair of underpants and a toothbrush. What would that sound like? She also needed to call Rok. “Give me five minutes.”
She and Matjaž walked down Breg to the Indian restaurant. She wanted to sit outside, but the proprietors had decided it was too cold or damp and the tables were stacked to the side under tarpaulins. The host seated them in a private corner. She must have thought they were on a date.
“Wine?” The server, dressed in a spangly embroidered tunic, offered Matjaž the list.
“Hm, I prefer beer with Indian but I’m game if you’d like to get a bottle.” He was looking at Jo.
“I’d prefer beer.”
They ordered their drinks and looked at the menus.
Despite not eating all day, her stomach was too full of butterflies to leave room for hunger. The fantastic smells from the kitchen were enticing though. It always took her too long to decide what she wanted, so she often ended up ordering the same things. She looked up at Matjaž as he pored over the menu. “Thali? Then we can get a few things without ordering too much food.”
“You seem to know more about this than I do.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Indian’s my favorite, though I mostly make it at home.”
“Of course. You’re a chef.” He smiled at her.
Sexy. Charming. Fuck. “Um, no. I’m a cook. A decent one, but not a chef. That implies a whole other level of mastery. Remember? I sling tea and make fancy sandwiches.”
His face darkened for a moment. “Yes. I had forgotten about our conversation at the reception.” He recovered quickly and smiled again, but it just barely made it to his eyes.
She hadn’t meant to cast a pall, but it was impossible not to reference the fact they’d met the night of his sister’s murder. For a brief moment she had almost felt normal again. No escaping for the wicked or something like that. She sighed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a downer.”
She shrugged. “And I didn’t mean to sigh out loud. It’s been a phenomenally shitty week. I think we are entitled to some honest emotion.”
“Yes. You’re right.” He closed his menu and slid it under hers on the table. “I’m going to ask you to order for us. And I’m going to enjoy the food and your company and we can talk about whatever. Please don’t feel like you need to spare me reminders.”
“Same.” She smiled back at him. He was very much like Helena, and he was very different.
The waiter covered their table with small dishes filled with spicy vegetables, a creamy chicken stew, sauces, rice and a couple slabs of garlicky naan. Jo scooped a little of everything onto her plate and tore off a piece of naan to eat.
Matjaž watched her as she put the saag covered naan in her mouth. “Are you supposed to eat with the bread?” He set his fork down on the table.
She chewed the bite and nodded. She swallowed. “Yes. I mean that’s how people ate when I was in India.”
“I guess the bread keeps you from getting your fingers covered in food.”
/> “Yeah. I thought it was probably filler, too. Bread is less expensive than meat or vegetables.” She took a sip of her beer.
“It’s very, um, intimate.” He scooped up some rice and saag with a chunk of naan and dripped some onto his beard. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“There’s that. My aunt always said not to order spaghetti or tacos on a first date, because it was too messy. I prefer food a little messy. People tend to fuck like they eat.” Why? Why had she said that? Her cheeks burned.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make themselves blush that much.” He laughed but it was kind. “I’ve never thought about it that way. I think you might be on to something.”
That didn’t help. Her chest was as hot as her face. She took another sip of her beer. Time to change the subject. “So, tell me about your business?”
He smiled. “There’s not much to tell. I work with an architect and we specialize in historic renovation. Mostly here, but in Austria and Italy as well.”
“It sounds interesting.”
“It can be. We’ve worked in some beautiful places but sometimes it’s really humbling, trying to keep time and water at bay.”
“Water will always find a way.”
“Yes. It will. Usually the path of least resistance. I’ve spent a lot of time in crypts and cellars slogging around up to my knees in the water trying to find its way to the surface. But what about you? How does an American wind up in Ljubljana? Why here?”
“Have you seen this place? It’s beautiful.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the door.
He laughed again. “It is. But I didn’t think Americans in, what?, the early 1990s, even knew this country existed.”
“I have to admit that I didn’t. Well, not really.”
“So, how then?”
“I ran away from home.”
“How old were you?”
“18. Just. I dropped out of college and took off to India with a guy from my photography class. We were going to be nomads and convince National Geographic to hire us.”
“That’s when you were there?”
“The first time. I’ve been back a couple times with Rok, a friend.” Why did she need to qualify that?
“How did you get to Slovenia from India?”
“On a train.”
He smirked at her. “That’s not what I meant.”
“India didn’t agree with Turner. He got sick all the time and decided he’d rather be somewhere in Europe. So we headed east. Interesting trip. He had a friend, a poet, he’d met at a writer’s thing in Chattanooga, that’s where I was in college. He thought this friend would put us up here. No such luck, but I liked it and wanted to stay for a bit. He liked the poet’s girlfriend a lot and the two of them wound up going back to Tennessee, or so I heard.”
“And you just stayed?”
“I didn’t want to go home.”
“No one was worried about you? The war, all that.”
“There’s just my aunt and my cousin Michael in the States. She sent me money occasionally and told me to do what I needed to do.”
“Parents?”
“My father drowned when I was a kid. My mother’s alive, but she’s, well, she and I… I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years. My aunt raised me after my father died.”
She said it nonchalantly. Over the years, it had just become a fact, like the fact that her eyes were blue. Even so, she could still feel a little dig in her chest, a little tingle in the scar on her cheek where her mother had thrown a plate at her in one of her rages. Jo took another bite of naan with rice and chicken. Recent events explained a lot, but the answers she was getting had thrown her childhood into stark relief against all she’d thought she knew about everything.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It was a long time ago.” A different existence even.
“And then you were here and got married?” He took a sip of his beer.
“You mean my son? No. I was never married.” Helena must have mentioned Faron after all.
“How did you get citizenship then?”
“I enrolled at the university to learn Slovene, then I finished my degree. I had some help from Gregor and his family.”
“I thought Gregor might be Faron’s father.”
“He isn’t.”
“You studied photography at the university, yes?”
“Umhm.” She had her mouth full. “How did you know that?”
“Helena went to one of your shows, at ŠKUC, I think.”
She almost choked. “She never told me that.” She hadn’t thought about that show in a long time. She hadn’t taken photographs in a long time either.
“Yeah. She said she was surprised when she’d met you and put the name together. How many American photographers are there in Slovenia?”
“Not many, but I’m not a photographer, not anymore.” Helena had a few other omissions.
“And Faron’s dad?”
“Do you really want to know that?” She really didn’t like to tell people. She always got the look.
“Yeah. How did you meet him?”
“He was my mentor, Dušan Črnigad.”
Matjaž almost choked on his beer. “The Dušan Črnigad?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know?”
“Of course he knows.”
“And he was…involved?”
“No. He’d already been offered a job in New York and it was a pretty easy way to get himself and his wife as far away from me as possible.”
“Does Faron know?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t hide that from my kid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that some other guy was a douchebag? That’s not necessary. We were fine.” With a whole lot of help from Gregor and Vesna and Rok. Faron had been raised by a village.
“So you ran away from home to get away from your mom and ran smack into an asshole?”
“I’ve never really thought about it that way but, yeah.” She shrugged.
“I’m impressed that you’re fine.”
“You do what you have to.” She finished her beer and looked at him, really looked at him, the embarrassment forgotten. “Isn’t that what you’re doing now? Isn’t that what most of us do?”
He met her gaze steadily and nodded yes. “I don’t know what to do next though.”
“Finish dinner?”
He laughed. “I mean after that.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“And you, tea mistress and lapsed photographer, what will you do?”
“Mourn my friends. And avenge them.”
Matjaž froze, a bite of saag halfway to his mouth. He rested his forearm on the table and stared at her. “You don’t mean that do you?”
“I do. I’m going to find out who killed them and make sure they pay.”
“Isn’t that a job for the police?”
“The police don’t seem to be getting very far very fast.”
“Still. We’re talking about someone capable of murder. I…I would hate to see you get hurt.”
There was a connection between them as sure as if they’d had their wrists bound together. A thousand times fuck. She really, really did not need this.
“Listen,” she said. “Would you or wouldn’t you do everything in your power to make it happen if – ” She paused, then forged ahead. “If you were certain Helena would know that you’d avenged her.”
He stared at her. “She wouldn’t know. Vengeance would only be for me.”
That’s what she used to think. “Maybe. Maybe there is more beyond this than any of us know.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I’m not sure what I believe right now
. I know that someone killed Helena. I don’t know why and I don’t know who. But I think the same person killed Maja, and if there’s something I can do about it, I intend to do it.”
Chapter 20
Matjaž insisted on accompanying her, so they walked in companionable quiet through Tivoli toward Rok’s apartment in Šiška.
Matjaž broke the silence. “How did you meet Rok?”
“Here in Tivoli. I was teaching Faron how to ride a scooter and he wiped out on one of the paths. He scraped his knees up pretty badly.” Faron’s knees still bore the scars, and she still felt guilty that he hadn’t been wearing kneepads. “He was four, maybe newly five. I picked him up and carried him to a bench, dragging the scooter. There was a lot of blood. Rok was passing by and he stopped to see if we were all okay. And then history or whatever.” She smiled to herself, remembering the furtive sex after Faron had fallen asleep. She’d had to put her hand over her own mouth not to scream. “But I’ve spilled all my secrets. What about you? No girlfriend? No boyfriend?”
Matjaž laughed. “Not a girlfriend. Not for quite a bit.”
“So there was someone?”
“You might say Helena got her wild ways from her older brother.”
“Oh.” Girlfriend was probably not the word then.
“I gave all that up a while ago to focus on work. Mostly, anyway.” She could almost hear him smile in the gathering darkness.
“That’s not much of a spill.”
“I’m not sure what you’d like to know.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” What did she want to know? “I think I’m just trying to figure you out.” Jo stopped on the path. The air was damp and smelled of rotting leaves. Tivoli’s main paths were lit, but they were off the paths, taking a shortcut onto Vodnik Street. She could almost make out his face in the gloom. “You are so much like her. And so much not.”
“More not than like, I think. Helena is, was…” He took a breath that caught in his throat.
She put her hand on his arm. Aside from a handshake, it was the first time she’d touched him in any way and she felt a crackle in the contact.
He took another deep breath. “Helena was happy. She loved her life. She was completely honest and she was a chameleon, all at the same time.”
Who By Water (Voices of the Dead Book 1) Page 19
