by Sophia Henry
Okay. It probably wasn’t that bad. And they probably sounded more Russian than German…but the point is, the Berezins had kept a brother from Auden, and she blew up at her family over it. I think their relationship is almost back to normal—or as normal as it could ever be in a family that hides members from each other.
I’d never understood that way of thinking.
Deal with it and move on.
All of this happened during Auden’s junior year at Central State. So, the best thing that came out of the unbelievably crazy situation was having a year and a half to get to know her before she graduated and moved.
That was something, right?
Auden waved to me from a coffee station in the back corner of the restaurant, where she stood filling up a brown porcelain mug. When I walked past the cash register at the entrance, I knocked softly on the glass top of the counter and winked at Rhetta, Lil’ Chef’s longest-employed waitress, and oldest, at eighty years young.
Anyone who saw Auden at the coffee nook pouring a cup of joe probably thought she was a server. Just like anyone who saw her push through the kitchen doors to grab a plate off the line might make the same assumption.
But she wasn’t. Not at Lil’ Chef, anyway.
“Why can’t you just sit and be waited on?” I asked.
Auden smiled. And it wasn’t the weird, tentative smile of a stranger, but the genuine smile of a sister who was happy to see me.
My heart slammed against my chest, still learning how to react to seeing her. It always amazed me that she wanted to build a relationship, rather than turn me away.
She set the steaming mug down before wrapping me in a hug. When she pulled away, she said, “I’m helping Rhetta. She’s been here since three thirty this morning, and she’s here for another half hour. Her knees can’t take all those hours.”
Auden’s not perfect, by any means, but that’s really the kind of person she is. Compassionate, helpful, always thinking of others. She told me once that it was her way of combating what an unlikable, selfish kid she’d been.
But I don’t think she has anything to make up for. She’s not any more selfish than the average person. I’d grown up in a house with dozens of angry, grieving foster kids who acted out because they didn’t know how to handle their grief. Auden was a textbook case. She didn’t know how to handle her grief and she didn’t get the right kind of support, because her entire family had been grieving as well.
She scanned my warm-up pants and hoodie sweatshirt. “Where’s the uniform?”
I slid into the booth she’d secured for us before she’d taken over Rhetta’s tables. “Just came from the gym.”
Auden looked over her shoulder toward the front of the restaurant, where Rhetta stood greeting another table. She grabbed a thick lock of her blond hair and began twirling it around her fingers.
From all of my previous interactions with Auden, I knew she was anxious by nature, the kind of person who worries about everyone and everything. But her vibe seemed off.
“Hey.” I reached out and touched her other arm, which was resting on the table. “You seem upset. Is it about Rhetta, or is something else wrong?”
Auden turned around. Her usually wide, bright-blue eyes seemed to hold a hint of sadness. “Today’s the anniversary of Mom’s death.” She paused. “Valerie. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, she’s your mom, but—” Confusion stopped me from blurting the first thought that came to my head.
Auden had come to town to get married. Though she and Aleksandr live in Charlotte, North Carolina, they wanted to tie the knot in Bridgeland, because this is where her grandparents live. They wanted them to be at the wedding without having to travel.
“What?” Auden asked.
“Why would you want to get married around an anniversary like that?” I asked.
She shrugged, still twisting hair between her fingers. Every time I looked at my sister, the similarities in our features stuck out. It was like sitting across from a female doppelgänger. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it.
“Why not have something to celebrate, so I don’t have to be so depressed this time every year?” she asked, as if everyone should understand her logic.
“Ever think it’ll backfire and you’ll spend your wedding anniversary depressed instead?”
Auden’s features might as well have been attached to a string on her wrist, because when her arm dropped, her entire expression did, too.
I’d delivered the line as softly as I could without whispering, but I could tell by her reaction that it struck the wrong chord.
“Been hanging around Gribov?” she asked, referring to Pavel Gribov, one of Aleksandr’s teammates, who had a reputation for being a huge ass.
“What?” I leaned back, confused at her comparison.
“Sounds like you two are neck and neck in the Dickbag of the Year contest.”
Do not engage. Do not engage.
Auden was a little girl when her mom was murdered. It’s been sixteen years and she’s still grieving. I get that.
“Sorry. That was totally uncalled for. I didn’t even realize how mean it sounded.”
Auden sat in cryptic silence, proving I still didn’t know my sister very well.
“Did I ever tell you…” I began. The inherent need to fix things consumed me, but I almost didn’t want to finish.
Fuck it.
“I looked into your mom’s case,” I blurted out. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Auden’s head snapped up and her eyes met mine. Still no sound, but I had her attention, and that was all I needed to continue.
“I called a friend of mine who’s a cop in Detroit. He ran the file.”
My sister leaned forward, her hopeful eyes begging me for new information—any information on the cold case. Ice fucking cold. Just like more than half of the unsolved murders in Detroit.
Why did I even bring it up?
“But he didn’t find anything new,” I continued. “The case hasn’t even been touched since a few weeks after it happened.”
“Oh.” She slumped back in her chair and flicked at the straw in her water glass.
“Sorry.” I just clinched Dickbag of the Year by getting her hopes up, then stomping on her heart.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, lifting her eyes to mine. “That was really cool. You didn’t have to do that. And I appreciate it.”
“Well, I didn’t do much. I was, I don’t know…” I said, then sighed. “Trying to help, I guess. Not sure how.”
“The thought. I appreciate that you thought of doing something like that for me.” She tucked the lock of hair she’d been twirling behind her ear. “It’s not like we get updates, ya know? No matter how long it’s been, tragedy always eats away at you when it’s unsettled.” She laughed and shook her head. “Wanna hear something funny?”
I nodded.
“I mean, I know it’s not funny. At all. But I used to wonder if her murder was a planned attack. Like, was it our sperm donor? Or was it the Russian Mafia?”
Her description of our father, as much as her conspiracy theories, made me laugh. “The Russian Mafia?”
“Hey, Dedushka is Russian.” She spread her arms palms up in front of her as she shrugged. “Maybe he’s got some enemies.”
Dedushka, the Russian term for Grandpa, is what Auden calls Viktor Berezin. I still call him Viktor, even though he’s my grandfather, too. Getting to know Auden has been my first foray into my biological family. I’d only recently begun to get to know Viktor and Catherine Berezin by having lunch with them every once in a while.
I dismissed her idea, though Viktor Berezin probably did have Mafia contacts. “Speaking of Russians, when does Aleksandr get in?”
“Next Wednesday.”
“And the wedding is on Thursday?” I asked, my voice taking the disbelieving tone I use when I’m interrogating someone.
“Yeah. He’s gotta leave on Friday morning. Aviators have a game in Minnesota that nigh
t.”
I tried to blink away my shock. “Why don’t you guys just wait until summer?”
Auden shrugged. “For the same reason I’m wearing the shoes I bought for the wedding today.”
She twisted in her seat and lifted her feet off the ground, giving me a better view of red heels that looked like a glitter bomb barfed on them. Dorothy would be proud.
“Why wait to do the things that make you happy?” she continued, tapping her heels together. Then she twisted around so her feet were hidden under the table again. “Every day I wake up is a special occasion. I’m here. I’m alive. Can’t say that about tomorrow, can I?”
If any other girl sat in front of me and said something like that, I’d ask her where she got the weed she’d been smoking—and if she had a prescription for it. But if I’d learned anything about Auden since I’d met her, it was that she truly believed that. Aleksandr had given her a new outlook on life.
Live in the moment. Love in the moment. Appreciate the moment.
Wasn’t a bad philosophy.
If only it was one I could wrap my head around. I was too concerned with the future to enjoy the present.
Chapter 6
Indie
It was one of those mornings where everything goes wrong.
Mom left the house before five a.m., because she’d picked up a shift at the casino for another server who’d gone on vacation. Normally, she stayed home with Holden in the morning and worked afternoons or evenings.
Which threw our schedule off.
Damien’s alarm never went off, so he spent the entire morning running around like the Tasmanian Devil before racing out the door to make it to school in time for his first class. Which meant he totally skipped our normal breakfast routine, where he and Holden ate cereal together while I showered and dressed for work.
Which threw our schedule off.
The day started with every single curve you could throw at me, but thanks to the multiple people in my life who’ve always been around to help me, I could handle it. Life with a three-year-old is crazy, and when things go wrong, it doesn’t break my spirit.
We roll with it.
Mom told me over a week ago that she’d picked up a morning shift, so I’d asked Tim if he could take Holden for the day, just until I got out of work at four. He said he would. They could go to the movies or the park. He assured me they’d have a blast.
However, despite being able to roll with most things that come my way, I found myself at a complete loss when Tim called five minutes after I should have left for work and told me he wouldn’t be able to watch Holden.
At all.
And he gave no other explanation.
My two options: call in to work or take Holden with me.
The latter is exactly what I did.
Ever since I had Holden, I’d been hell-bent on giving him the best life possible. Just because I got pregnant in high school didn’t mean I had to let that define me—or my child. I could make my life exactly what I wanted it to be. I took eight weeks off to be with my son before I found a job as an office assistant for Noelle and John Ackerman, realtor duo extraordinaire.
When I got to the office, I checked their schedules, and was relieved that Noelle had showings this morning, and John had his monthly Rotary Club meeting. Lucky for me, winter months were slow, and there wasn’t as much to do as there would be in a busy season, like spring. It didn’t justify bringing my son to work, but it certainly helped my situation.
I set Holden up on John’s computer with a Dora the Explorer marathon, since that was the only show that kept his interest. He’d been addicted to Frozen, but that movie phase, though not completely over, was being replaced with new obsessions. I hoped the little explorer and her friends would hold his attention long enough to give me a chunk of time to get work done.
Five minutes into the show, Holden scurried off John’s chair and stood beside my legs.
“Lap,” he demanded.
“I’ve gotta get some work done, my sweet boy,” I said. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing an email to a client. “Can you watch Dora at Mr. John’s desk? I’ll be over there in a minute.”
“No. Lap.” Holden pawed at my thighs and wiggled under my desk until I stopped my task.
I pulled him onto my lap, put my arms on either side of him, and continued to work, as I often did when I had an assignment for one of my classes to complete at home and he wanted to sit with me.
What am I going to do, say no? I spend enough time away from him. I don’t want to deny him time being close to me when I have the chance.
Mom guilt wins again.
Thanks to a slow winter season, there were only a few new emails in my inbox. It took a few minutes to whip through them. Then I came upon an email reminding me to sign up for my real-estate exam.
The thought of retaking the test I’d already failed once stressed me out. Having worked with Noelle and John since I was seventeen, I thought I had enough knowledge to get by. I didn’t take any practice exams. Didn’t open one study guide. And it showed.
Because as I sat in the testing center, clicking through the seemingly foreign questions on the computer screen, it felt like waking up in the middle of a nightmare. One of the crazy ones, where I sit naked in the front of a classroom as a professor hands me a test on a topic I’ve never studied.
I should have walked into the real-estate licensure exam the same way I would any test I had at school, overly prepared for topics that might not even be covered. But arrogance and ignorance got in the way, and I’d failed miserably.
Minor setback. I’d pass when I took the exam again in a few weeks. I didn’t have a choice.
Noelle told me, in a very nice way, she’d give me one more chance. Both she and John had made it clear when I’d started as their office assistant three years ago that they needed someone who had their license. Which was why they’d always been so supportive and worked with my undergrad schedule. As education advocates, pursuing my bachelor’s degree was a plus in their eyes. And as their assistant, it made sense for me to have my license, so I could handle anything that came up in the office while either or both of them were out.
Only problem: I was going to school to be a pharmacist. The only reason I cared about passing the stupid exam was to keep my job. I couldn’t give up great money, great hours, and supportive bosses. Not with a family who needed me to help provide.
I clicked the flag next to the email as a reminder to put the exam on my calendar. And to sign up for a study class.
“That Mommy’s work!” Holden pointed to the logo that came up on the desktop when I exited out of my email.
“Yep. That’s Mommy’s work.”
“I watch Dora now.” He ducked under my extended arm and climbed off my lap. Then he waddled over to John’s desk and situated himself in front of the screen, which had never stopped playing the episode I’d started for him.
Holden had a short attention span, so the window of time I had to do anything was small. I had to take advantage of every second he was engrossed in that show.
I grabbed a file off my desk and took it to the copier in the back of the room. As I made copies of a HUD statement for a client, I heard the door open and saw the shiny bald spot on the top of John’s head as he entered.
“Hey, John!” I called. “Holden’s here with me today.”
“I see! Hey, little guy,” John greeted him.
“Mr. John!”
“What’cha got there?” John paused. “Is that chocolate?”
Oh no.
I dropped the papers I’d been copying and dashed to the front. I hadn’t given Holden any chocolate. There was no chocolate in the office. It could only be…
Holden sat at John’s desk with his hands in the air. Brown paste covered the tips of his tiny fingers.
OH NO!
“That’s not choc—” Words stuck in my throat, too embarrassed at the situation to finish my sentence. I whisked Holden off the cha
ir, secured him under one arm, and grabbed the strap of the diaper bag hanging from the back of my chair. “Please don’t touch your keyboard, John. Seriously. I’ll be right back!”
“Don’t touch anything else!” I said to Holden through clenched teeth.
Once we were locked in the safety of the bathroom, tears sprang to my eyes. But I wouldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Luckily, the parental situation at hand gave me something to focus on.
I set Holden on the baby changing table and removed his pants. “Buddy, you know you’re not supposed to touch poop. It’s dirty and gross.”
“I no poop, Mama,” Holden lied.
“It’s all over your fingers.” I dug a pack of baby wipes out of my bag and removed the crap from his hands before doing anything else.
“I no poop!” he yelled.
Instead of arguing with a three-year-old, I continued cleaning him up. Then I changed him into a diaper and got him dressed again.
“Let’s wash our hands.”
When we entered the office, John stood in front of his computer with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “Not chocolate,” he confirmed.
“I’m so sorry.” I edged past him and unplugged the keyboard from his computer. “I’m going to buy you a new keyboard right now. With my own money, not the office’s. I—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
The smell of poop permeated the entire room. It took all I had to keep my composure in front of John. I summoned all the strength I’d built up throughout my life and sucked it up.
Instead of standing there in embarrassment and shame, I fished a trash bag out of the cabinet underneath our coffee pot and threw the keyboard into it. The diaper bag slipped off my shoulder and hit the floor. I stooped to pick it up, then spun the garbage bag in my hand and began tying it into a knot.
“I thought you said things would be easier with Tim back in town. Seems like it’s been quite the opposite,” John said. He lifted the coffee mug to his lips.
“Yeah, I—” I closed my eyes and took a breath before I stood. “I thought it would be.”
“Well, we’ve got to get this sorted.” John didn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.
