by Amelia Oz
Sam's grey mustache twitched. "I can't say that I do remember you," Sam answered. "But you do look a lot like Mrs. Mahari's people. Are you one of hers?"
Mira nodded. "She's my grandmother."
Sam looked at me with pursed lips, the wild hair of his eyebrows drawing down.
"Mira stopped by to give you a present from Mahari," I explained.
Mira plopped down in a nearby chair without invitation, curling her bare feet beneath her. "Do you have anything to eat?"
I stared at her, incredulous, before I forced a calming breath for Sam's sake. The nerve. I turned to speak to Sam.
"Are you hungry, Sam?"
"No. Carol fed me supper at four like a proper senior citizen. Your meatloaf was extra good, but I couldn't take that salad with those fake tomatoes." Unless it came off the vine in his own garden, Sam called all tomatoes fake.
"So, where's this present?" Sam asked, sitting up straighter.
Mira plucked it from her lap and leaned forward without standing to hand it to him.
He couldn't quite grasp it, his dexterity not being what it was. I took it from Mira and placed it in his lap.
His fingers trembled as he pulled the paper apart. Mira stared at the fire, giving him privacy. Her thoughtfulness was surprising. Sam made a choked noise and I turned to see him hold a crude cross made of dried, twisted sticks and vines.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's a cross. Made from a Rowan tree," he gasped, turning it over in his hands, stroking the shape as he examined it with disbelieving eyes. Curious, I glanced at Mira, who regarded Sam with a sympathetic frown. Sam was somewhat religious. He'd grown up in a Quaker household but had stopped going to services years before I came along.
"Did Mahari make it for you? That was...nice," I commented, peering over his shoulder at the handmade object.
"No," he whispered. "Your mamma did."
The world bottomed out. My skin went from heated to iced in seconds as blood roared and my head swam. Outside of the decorated eggs in our tree, I'd grown up without anything belonging to my mother. Sam had told me my mom had taken all of her personal belongings with her when she ran away with my dad.
"My mom?" He nodded, eyes fixed upon the cross. Dumbly, I noticed he was crying. Sam was stoic and sturdy. Feelings embarrassed him and I wasn't sure how to react or comfort him.
"Mahari must have taken it from their apartment in San Francisco. Cleaned it out. I didn't go there myself," he mumbled. Mahari had gone to my parent’s home after they died?
Mahari refused to talk about my father. Had removed every sign of him—but then held on to something that belonged to my mother? She had no right.
A worse thought came to mind. If Mahari had gone to their home after they died, wouldn't she have seen preparations for my arrival? Perhaps seen a crib or baby clothes? Yet I’d gone to foster care for months before Sam found me. Things clicked. Mahari had deliberately abandoned me. Wow. What a crap thing to do.
Sam peered at Mira through watery eyes. He was shrinking before me.
"I suppose you're here to watch over her?" His voice held a tremor as he glanced between Mira and me. I'd misheard him. It sounded like he asked Mira if she was watching over me.
She nodded solemnly, respectfully. "For tonight. Someone else will take over tomorrow."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, genuinely confused.
Sam stared into the fire. "Mira, will you give me time alone with my granddaughter?"
"The kitchen is back towards the foyer. You can ask Nancy if there are leftovers," I suggested in a dry croak. She left the room and I took her seat.
"What's going on, Sam?'
Sam lifted the cross to his nose, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in its scent. His reaction embarrassed me, as if a secret door had opened, exposing something private. Even though he didn't speak about her, I realized how deep his grief must have been to lose a daughter. He placed the cross in his lap before he raised his face, his green eyes hooded and damp within their soft folds.
"I'm going to tell you something rather fantastical. Something you will have a hard time understanding right now," he began. "I’ve had a long-standing arrangement with Mahari. If there is danger to you, she was to send me a sign. We agreed upon a cross as a symbol. I just didn't expect her to send an actual one. Especially this one. Vivi made this when she was young. She'd saved a bird and made this from the tree she found it beneath..." Lost to memory, he stopped speaking. Impatience strummed my nerves. "What danger?" My tone was sharper than I intended and laced with hurt, but I couldn't help it.
"The same danger that killed your mother." His voice hitched over the word killed.
"My mom died in a car accident," I stated, quiet on the outside.
"Your mother died of that bloody curse," he barked.
Sam was at an age when dementia or worse could set in. My belly ached with dread.
"Too many losses. Such a waste. You can't be alone now. You will stay inside this house." His words made no sense but his tone was commanding. It had been a long time since Sam tried to tell me what to do.
"Sam. There is no such thing as curses. This is just Mahari's gypsy nonsense. They're probably trying to shake you down for money again."
Somewhere in my subconscious was a niggling observation. Sam was superstitious. I'd noticed it through the years. Was it possible she’d been able to convince him that curses were real? It was their scam, after all. Convincing people to fork over cash to ward away evil or dissolve curses made against them.
"Stella Avery. You know not to use that word—it’s offensive and I raised you better than that. Refer to them as Romani or Roma if you must give a label," he admonished before continuing. "I made mistakes before, thinking I alone could keep you safe. I'm too old now. I've lived far longer than I've a right to. Mahari agreed to take over when I... Mahari's people will be with you at all times. That was our arrangement. Why they gave you space all these years."
"Mahari hates me," I spluttered in outrage. And it was fortune-telling gypsy nonsense, complete with headscarves and fake crystal balls for cripes sakes. No way was I going to live with Mahari. No one, not even Sam, could make me.
"You don't know what she feels. But we are family and she will protect you," he said with finality. "To the Roma, family is everything." Not this family. Sam had always defended them, never acknowledging what I endured. He continued, ignoring my baleful expression.
"If something happens to me, Roger will know what to do. I know he's young enough for it to be unseemly, and people may talk at his being our handyman, but he should move into the house to make sure you are not alone until arrangements can be made."
Only Sam would think a thirty-three-year-old man was young. I didn't object to Roger living in the house, but the conversation was making my heart pound. In a couple of months I would be eighteen and no one would be making arrangements for me. Any talk of Sam dying spun me into anxiety and I hated it.
"Sam..."
"Enough! We can talk about this tomorrow. Right now, I just want a little peace." He raised his voice, and I flushed. Upsetting Sam was the last thing I wanted.
"I need to sleep." He placed the cross on the arm of his chair. I itched to touch it but didn't. If he'd offered it to me, I would have accepted it, touched what she had touched. But he didn't. As much as we loved one another, there was a gulf between us with my mother's name on it. I nodded, swallowing a harsh mixture of anger, fear, and sadness.
I escorted him to the adjoining powder room and waited outside as he prepared for bed. When he opened the door, I helped him sort out his evening pills and gave him water. I checked off the chart next to his bed so Nancy would know what he had taken and when. Once he was in bed, I raised the side bar and bent to turn off the nearby lamp. Sam lifted a hand from beneath the covers. His lips opened and closed. Opened again.
"Stella."
I leaned down and kissed his cheek. He captured t
he end of my braid and tugged. "Thick as a horse's mane," he whispered. It was something he always said about my hair, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat.
"You look like her, you know. The only one. I don't know why."
I was tired of trying to tease out facts from his strange stories tonight.
"Stella. If you get the chance...tell her that I forgive her. That I forgave her a long time ago."
"Who, Sam?" He couldn't be talking about my mother. She was dead. Mahari?
He smiled sadly, his silver mustache gleaming in the darkness. "I told them I would never say her name again. Words have power. Everything listens."
Carol would want to take Sam to the doctor for tests. Perhaps an MRI.
"I've lived so long, Stella. I'm tired. I don't know whether I can see your story end. I don't want to," he whispered.
Tears burned, but I refused to allow them to leak out. The medication did its job, and his breathing slowed. Saying goodnight, I made sure the voice monitor next to his bed was working. I closed his door and wandered down to the kitchen, my stomach in knots.
The new nurse, Nancy, sat with a book and the other voice monitor. Mira wasn't in the kitchen. My cheeks burned, and anger coursed through me until I realized the monitor was turned off. Had it just been turned off?
Nancy looked up at me with a smile that failed to reach her eyes. She was a fat woman with short legs and thinning, curly hair. She'd taken an instant dislike to me, and I was thinking the feeling was mutual.
"Hi. I’m Stella. You must be Nancy. Sam’s in bed. I gave him his medicines and logged them."
Her lips pursed in disapproval. She may have been pretty once upon a time, but I didn't see it.
"You should not be giving him medication. That's my job," she pointed out coldly.
She may be right, but Sam and I had looked out for each other for a long time now, and it was silly to presume I couldn't dispense a prescription without a nursing degree.
"Thanks for the reminder," I responded flatly.
Her eyes narrowed and she dog-eared her book, thumping it down on the table. Yep. I definitely did not like her. Anyone who dog-ears an Elizabeth Peters is straight up shady. "Did you see my cousin?"
She shook her head, her thin lips pressed so hard they disappeared.
Wandering the first floor, there was no sign of Mira, and I had a bad feeling about where she might be. I skipped up the long stairs to my bedroom.
Mira stood in my room, bent over my art table. She’d turned on the fairy lights covering my ceiling and her fingers were outstretched, nearly touching the completed Tarot cards.
"Hands off.”
She flinched, shoving her hands behind her back. I folded my arms and she paced around my bedroom, taking in the art posters and easels of partially completed work.
She finally flopped down upon my unmade bed, sitting cross-legged amidst my blankets. I'll have to change my sheets now.
"They're pretty. Do you even know how to read the cards?" she asked. Still upset from my conversations with Sam and then Nancy, I didn't answer.
"I could teach you if you want," she offered.
I shook my head. "Can you please stay where you are and not touch any of my things for at least two minutes?" I needed to use the bathroom.
She held up her palms. "Consider me Elsa." I frowned and she rolled her eyes. “Frozen? The movie?” It was hard to believe she was older than me.
I cleaned up and met my own reflection in the mirror. She was a wild mess. I dragged off my hair tie and unwound my hair until it fell in waves that reached the small of my back. I tried to finger-comb it into looking neater, but then gave up, using the hair tie to create my usual messy bun. Remembering Amanda's note, I took the magazine page from my bra and unfolded it.
Stonehenge. My conversation with Carol earlier…her son Thomas worked at a replica of Stonehenge. Could she be leaving a clue to go see Thomas? We'd been in the same home school group so they knew one another. Taking the page, I returned to my room. Mira, still seated on my bed, flipped through the journal that normally rested on my nightstand.
She flung it down with a mock guilty expression when she spotted me. Fortunately, I only used the journal to doodle drawings. Nothing salacious for her to carry tales about.
I glared while shoving it into my bedside drawer but she just shrugged. "You have a very boring life."
"That's the way I like it," I said. At least that was truth for now.
I walked over to the rack of clothes that made up my closet. Mira was by my side in an instant. "Ooh. Are you changing? Can I help you find something?"
I slapped her hands away, but they returned, her nimble fingers passing over the plastic hangers. It was weird to have someone from my Rom family in my bedroom, touching my things.
'Where are we going?" She plucked out a short blue dress and held it against her frame.
"What do you mean?" I asked warily. Some "guard" she was.
She pulled out a pair of striped overalls, raising eyebrows at my taste. I shrugged. Those were super retro and I’d hemmed them myself. She put them back and kept looking.
"Well. I was listening to the baby monitor with Nurse Ratched when Sam told you to stay inside. Which means you will be leaving as soon as possible," she explained.
I grunted, outraged they had shamelessly listened to a private conversation. I was also impressed with her perceptive deduction. A half-baked plan had formulated. I was going to check out Amanda's house. See if they’d returned, and if they hadn’t, to look for clues on where they might be.
Intention set, I grabbed a pair of folded dark jeans from a shelf and a holey black cashmere sweater from the rack. She looked disapproving at my selection but said nothing. Ignoring her, I slipped off my dress and began to get dressed.
"Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus. Are you wearing granny panties?"
Self-conscious, I tugged the jeans on faster.
"What's this?" She plucked the magazine page from the floor.
"None of your business," I snapped, scrambling to grab the page from her while pulling the sweater over my head with one hand.
She released it with a pout.
"Stonehenge?" She raised a single eyebrow.
"None of your business," I repeated, still embarrassed about my underwear.
They were all so intrusive. Pushy, overbearing, stomping on boundaries...
"At least you have good knockers. The size of apples is about right. Mom says that if you can hold a pencil under your melons then they're too saggy, and I can fit, like, a box of #2s under mine."
I gaped as she returned to the clothing rack, selecting the striped overalls and a long sleeved t-shirt. She pulled off her maxi dress and I looked away too late. She wore nothing but a pair of racy thong panties, which seemed unhygienic but to each their own.
I straightened my sweater, half listening as she chattered.
"Did you know that our family traveled all over Europe before coming to America? Mahari's grandmother grew up in Siberia." When her voice was no longer muffled, I hazarded a glance.
The shirt and overalls that were baggy on me fit her like a glove. She struggled to fasten the bib clasps over her larger chest. I didn't know that, actually. I just assumed they'd lived here in Portland for generations.
"Mahari came to America with her first husband. He died, and she remarried Grandfather in San Francisco. We only moved to Oregon when..."
She stopped speaking and I looked at her questioningly. This was all new information. I tried to imagine Mahari as a young woman, a bride arriving in distant lands.
"You should go. To England, I mean. If you want."
I moved to the dresser and grabbed a pair of socks.
"Life is short," she pointed out.
I grunted. This was something I already knew.
Chapter 8
The World Reversed
Stella
ow long are we g
oing to sit here?" Mira grumbled.
For the hundredth time, I resisted the urge to hit her.
If I did, I knew it would turn into a cat fight, and her borrowed car was so crowded who knows what we might roll around in. From the smell, it might be a missing pet. Fancy on the outside, the car was a mess on the inside. Which pretty much summed up everything about Mira and her sisters.
“At least you’re in the front. I think I’ll need a tetanus shot later.” Silvan grumbled.
The car was the only reason I’d allowed Mira to come along, reasoning that no one in Amanda's neighborhood would recognize it, whereas mine was well-known to the residents here. We’d picked up Silvan for a lookout.
Amanda's house lay pitch dark, her neighborhood still. Only the front porch light of her house shone, and I knew it was set on a timer. Next door, Scott's jeep was parked beside his Dad's in his driveway, his house completely dark.
They kept a spare key hidden in one of those fake stones her mom had purchased online. It was located near the back door, and I pinched my lips, thinking about it. Her backyard was surrounded by a wood fence, so I would have to go up the drive along the side of her house to access it.
Repeating my actions from two minutes prior, I called Amanda's cell and then her home number, half expecting the sleepy voice of her father, George, to answer. It went to voicemail after several rings. No lights switched on. I trained my eyes on the side gate and spoke to Mira. "Okay. You both stay here. I'm going to check her backyard."
"No way. I'm coming, too. Mahari said I was to be on you like glue," Mira whined.
"No."
“If you make her stay in the car, can I come instead? I think I’m sitting on something damp…” Silven asked. I sighed and pinched my nose, praying for patience.
"If you don't let me come, I'll call my sisters." She raised her cell phone, hovering a finger over the screen. Shit. She would, too.
I threw my hands in the air. "Fine. Silvan, you keep low in the car and text us if you see anyone. Mira—don’t speak." Silvan let loose a whispered string of unusual curse words.
Mira pouted. "I'm not an idiot, Stella."
