by Meli Raine
Wait. That’s not a reason to avoid him.
He stirs, makes a funny little sigh, then slowly wakes up, eyes squinting with sleep. Quickly, I move so he can’t see me. My pulse leaps forward.
Nearly caught.
“Where are we?” Silas asks, scrubbing his face with his hands, looking around the plane with a strange anger, as if the plane itself has offended him by being the holding place for his nap.
“On a plane.”
“I mean, where? How close to California?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a pilot,” I tease. “But I’m guessing half an hour.”
“I slept that long?”
“It seems to be a trend.”
Bzzzz.
With a weary sigh I’ve never seen from him before, Silas lifts his butt off the seat, hips arching, to find his phone in his pants pocket. I look away and take a sip of my lukewarm tea.
He answers the phone for a call. “Gentian. Yeah. What? What do you mean, Drew? She’s what? Does the senator know? Where else are we supposed to–okay, okay, a hotel, but that needs to be secured in advance, and after what happened with the lab courier, you know we’re in–”
Silas stops talking suddenly. I can hear Drew’s voice rising, a firm, clipped tone making my stomach clench. Whatever’s happened is bad.
“Fine.”
He looks at his phone, and as Drew speaks, an extraordinary expression fills Silas’s face. It’s more than surprise, slightly less than chagrin.
“Got it. Will do.” He hangs up on Drew, then taps over to another call on the same phone.
“Mom? Why are you calling on my work phone? How did you–” Hysterical crying bubbles out of his phone speaker, his eyes going panicked. He walks over to the other side of the plane. There is no privacy here. He’d have to hide in the bathroom, and even then I could hear everything. The jet is smooth and quiet.
“She’s what? And where is Kelly?”
My heart goes numb.
“Okay, okay. Kelly’s safe. Good. And which precinct?”
Precinct? Why would his five-year-old niece be at a police station?
“The Narcan didn’t do it the first–what? How many times? Oh, Mom,” he says into the phone, his voice a mix of compassion and grief, fear and anger. “Right. I’ll be there. You start booking your flight. Use the credit card I gave you for emergencies. This is definitely one.” He pauses, voice hitching. “I know. I love you, too. I’ve got this. Don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay. It will. I’ll get her and we’ll make sure she’s safe and fine. I’ve got this. Don’t you worry.”
Click.
Narcan? That’s what you give someone who overdoses on opiates to revive them. Heroin addicts need it, when they overdose. Why is Silas talking about Narcan with his mother?
Before I can ask, he immediately taps his screen, utterly focused on movement and action.
“Drew?” he says into the phone. “I have a personal issue I need to attend to and you’ll have to assign her to a new team.”
I assume I am “her.”
“What do you mean, no? There is no no here. I’m not fucking around.”
I’ve never, ever heard Silas speak this way to Drew.
“She what? The senator’s new admin did what?” Fuming, Silas starts pacing, body language so aggressive, I’m sure he’ll punch the wall any second now.
“Not a single guy is available? They’re all stuck in decontamination? Fucking hell, Drew. You’ve got to be kidding me.” He takes a short, sparse breath. “I’m sure you don’t like it, either. Anyone sick from the powder?”
“What happened?” I whisper.
He ignores me.
“Damn it. I can’t. I can’t. It’s about my sister. She finally...” He looks at me, uncertainty coating his face like a mask, then finally he gives in to some sort of inner struggle. “She OD’d. The police have my niece. I need to go get her and establish temporary custody. Now. She’s being held with a social worker, and my mom is halfway across the country.”
My hand flies to my mouth in shock, his words penetrating my heart in a way that makes me ache for the little girl at the heart of this crisis. I know he’s not talking to me, but I can’t help but react.
He nods in response to something Drew’s said. “Right. No choice. Got it.”
Silas ends the call, turning to me with anguish all over him, in his eyes, along the thick ridge of muscle in his shoulders, in every muscle twitch, each reflex.
And then he asks, “Exactly how good are you at Candyland?”
Chapter 20
Have you ever played Candyland for three hours straight?
It’s liberating.
For precious hours, my world became spinning and counting, finding my way through gumdrops and chocolate scenery, my ears filled with giggles and gasps, with a little girl who kept looking at me shyly, begging for one more game, as if I’d say no.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Who could say no to this sweet, sweet little princess?
“Your name is Jane. But what’s your whole name?” she asks me. Silas has been gone for hours, hastily dropping us off as a social worker and law enforcement officer tried to talk with him after delivering Kelly to his apartment. I know he was arguing with them in the hallway, then moved outside. There’s no reason for me to try to find him. His attachment to his niece is fierce, and whatever is going on is critical.
“Jane Rose Borokov.”
“No, not all the names. I mean your real name!”
“What do you mean, real name?”
“Is Jane a whole name or a nickname? Silas isn’t a nickname. It’s his whole name. Kelly is a whole name. Mama says whole names are important.”
“What’s your mama’s name?” I know the answer, but I’m curious.
Kelly scrunches up her face, concentrating. “I know her real name is Patricia, but her nickname is Tricia. She has another nickname, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Turtle. That’s what Uncle Rick calls her.”
“Turtle?”
“Yeah. It’s not a nice name.” Kelly frowns. “It’s what he calls her when she goes into the houses and takes too long to come back.”
A deep sadness fills me. “Houses?” I ask, knowing before she says it what little Kelly is talking about.
“The houses. You know. Where Mama goes to feel better. Sometimes she feels better by getting money there, and sometimes she gets her medicine there.”
Medicine. Right.
“Does she need a lot of medicine?” I ask, prying gently. Any information I can get might help Silas.
“Sometimes. If she feels bad. Uncle Rick needs lots of medicine, too. But he also sells it to people so they will feel better. And if he sells a lot, we go out for ice cream!”
I’m trying not to show her how I really feel. Silas has been hiding this whole mess since he’s been working with me. Does Drew know? Does Silas talk to anyone about his sister’s addiction? I don’t have a sister or a brother but I can only imagine how complicated and heartbreaking having a sibling as an addict would be.
Is.
It’s not hypothetical for Silas. It’s stone-cold reality.
“Where’s Uncle Silas?” she asks for the hundredth time.
I don’t lie to her. “He went to the police station to talk to people about making sure you’re safe. And you are safe,” I assure her.
“I know, silly. Grandma’s coming while Mama’s sick. I’m always safe with Uncle Silas and Grandma.”
My heart hurts. She doesn’t mention being safe with her mother.
We arrived at the airport in California, took an SUV straight to the police precinct where Kelly was being held by a social worker, and after mountains of paperwork, Silas brought us here, to his apartment. It’s simple and boring, all neutral beige and sandstone, like he lives in a furnished model unit in one of those cookie-cutter complexes near major highways.
There is no way he
has a wife, or a live-in girlfriend.
Kelly is as charming as Silas described, curious and sweet with dark hair, straight bangs over wispy eyebrows, and red lips like a bow. She was hungry when we got here and immediately ate four hot dogs without buns, a small pile of baby carrots, and drank two huge glasses of milk.
She is also filthy.
The social worker told Silas there was no sign of abuse, or of lice, but that otherwise neglect had put its mark on the little girl. When she smiles, I can see her teeth haven’t been brushed in days–weeks?
Her dark hair is matted and squirrelly, one chunk of it uneven compared to the rest. She has an uncertainty in her movements, constantly looking at me covertly, as if expecting to be told no.
When I smile at her or encourage her, she beams.
Her pants are leggings, far too short for her, and her big toe breaks through the top of her worn-down white sneakers. A red long-sleeved shirt with a Disney character on it has layers of stains.
How long has she gone without a change of clothes or a bath? Is this how Silas’s family operates? He seems so together, so rational. I knew from college classes that dysfunction comes in many forms, but I’ve never spent one second of my life like Kelly. Dirty? Sure. From a day of playing hard.
This is the filth of neglect.
“Uncle Silas said I could have more–you know.” Kelly looks nervously toward Silas’s small galley kitchen, her neck shrinking slightly as she timidly tries to ask for something I don’t understand.
“More what, sweetie?”
“Ice cream,” she whispers, looking afraid.
“Of course!” I say in an overly happy voice, trying to drive out this fear in her. “Let’s get out the big bowls.” I’m not really hungry, but I know it’ll make it easier for Kelly if I join her.
Two bowls of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce poured over it later, we’re eating at Silas’s small black metal dining table when he walks through the door. He does a double take at the scene before him.
“You made yourselves comfortable,” he says, taking in the scattered pieces of Candyland, the stack of cards on the board, the ice cream.
“You said ice cream was okay!” Kelly protests.
“Did you leave any for me?” he asks her in a teasing voice, reaching to ruffle her hair, a strange look passing like a shadow across his face. I can only imagine what her hair feels like.
Our eyes meet.
We both get it.
“How about after the ice cream, you get to take a bubble bath?” I ask. “Princesses take bubble baths, you know,” I explain, pretending to be somber and serious. “It’s part of the duties of a princess.”
“Yay! I love bubble baths!” she says.
Whew.
“JOEY!” she shrieks, the non sequiter throwing me for a loop. I follow her gaze to find a small cat, black with a white spot under its neck, peering out at us from under the couch.
“Joey?” I ask Silas as Kelly runs to the cat,who retreats quickly, face disappearing.
“My cat.”
“I can see that.”
“You’re not allergic, are you?” he asks, as if the idea just hit him and it makes this all more complicated.
“No. I’m fine. But of all the names you could pick for a cat, you chose Joey?”
“I didn’t pick the name,” he says, suddenly terse.
“He’s a rescue?” I pry, curious.
“She,” he corrects me.
“You got a cat from the pound named Joey, and Joey is a girl?”
“Something like that,” he mutters as he moves to the back of the couch, reaches behind with a practiced hand, and scoops out the little cat. Kelly rushes to pet Joey, who closes her eyes and tolerates it. Joey is an introvert, clearly.
Like all cats.
“I don’t have bubble bath,” Silas whispers in my ear as Kelly coos over the cat.
“Shampoo can be used in a pinch.”
He looks at her head. “I’m not sure I have enough shampoo to clean her hair and use for a bubble bath.”
I touch his hand, trying to reassure him. “It’ll be fine.”
He reaches down and takes my hand. “Come talk to me for a minute.” Silas gently sets Joey down. Immediately, the cat darts under the couch, much to Kelly’s protests.
I follow him into the kitchen and reach for the chocolate sauce, pouring extra on Kelly’s ice cream. “Here. Eat this, and Uncle Silas will come back with me in just a minute. We’ll be right here.” I point across the way to the far corner of the living room.
“No!” She tightens her mouth. “It’s ice cream time. Uncle Silas, you need to get your bowl.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting her.
She giggles.
He gives me a look that says we’ll talk later, then walks into the kitchen and pulls out the ice cream, looking increasingly interested in his freezer.
“Jane?”
“Yes?”
“How much ice cream did you guys eat? The pint was brand new.”
“It’s a pint! That’s normally only enough for one person. Be glad we saved you any.” I stick my tongue out at him.
His laugh warms my heart.
“I’m more of a cookie guy, anyhow.”
And there you have it.
Silas just voluntarily told me something personal about himself. A preference. A liking.
A desire.
I hear a scraping sound, then Silas joins us with a final scoop of ice cream and a sleeve of cookies, half a box in a plastic tube.
“That’s a lot of cookies,” I note.
He points to Kelly’s bowl. “That’s a lot of ice cream.”
“Mo iff mah!” Kelly argues.
“She said ‘No, it’s not.’”
“You speak Ice Cream?” Silas asks in a jaunty, joking tone.
“It was my minor in college. I majored in Sweet ’n Sour, though.”
He pops a small chocolate cookie in his mouth and carefully examines Kelly, taking in every detail. I’m sure he’s looked her over a hundred times since he picked her up at the police station. He’s clearly worried, protective and trying to understand what’s happened.
I want to know.
But first things first.
We eat the rest of our sugarbombed treats in silence. Kelly savors every bite, smearing very little on her face. Silas and I are pensive. Time changes when you spend it in the company of a small child.
Especially one you’re trying to distract.
“When is Mama coming?” Kelly asks Silas, clearly expecting a time.
He pauses, hand in mid-air before it delivers another cookie to his mouth. This he sets back down as he says, “We’re not sure, punkin. She’s sick, remember? The doctors need some more time to make her feel better.”
“Does that mean I get to stay with you? Please? Can I have a sleepover here with you?” She frowns. “And Jane? Does Jane live here with you, Uncle Silas?”
If either of us had anything in our mouths at that point, we’d have sprayed it.
Silas turns a furious shade of pink. “Um, no. She doesn’t live here, but... she’s going to spend the night tonight.”
My eyebrows fly high. I am?
“We’re gonna have a slumber party!” Kelly whoops, the squeals making me laugh. “We already had ice cream and then we’ll have bubble baths and Uncle Silas can get out the nail polish he keeps in his bathroom and we can paint our nails!”
“You have your own nail polish kit?” I ask him with great amusement.
“It’s for Kelly.”
“Suuuuuure it is. Convenient excuse. Bet you secretly love electric blue toenails.”
He rolls his eyes.
“I’m spending the night here?” I ask.
“No other choice. I have to keep Kelly until my mom arrives. Drew said the entire team at The Grove is going through decontamination for hours. This is the best I can do. We have surveillance teams outside in unmarked vehicles. You need to b
e safe. Kelly needs to be supervised.”
“You’re not worried the people after me might–you know.” I look at Kelly.
“Let’s talk about it later,” he says in a sing-songy voice, like he’s trying not to frighten Kelly.
Good point.
“I’m done!” Kelly announces, then gives Silas a very sly side-eye. “At least, the ice cream side of my stomach is done. The cookie part has some room.”
The smile he gives her is so loving, I nearly tear up. “Is it, now? What about the tickle side?”
She shrieks, jumps up, and starts running away, looking over her shoulder to make sure he’s actually chasing her. I get the sense this is a well-known game between the two of them. He clearly spends a lot of time with her. Their relationship is natural and strong.
So why on earth is she so neglected?
I hear a bathtub faucet start as Silas makes funny sounds I don’t understand.
Is he... giggling?
“Stop tickling!” he bellows. “It’s too much! You’re a better tickler than I am!”
Curiosity is killing me. I have to see this. As I turn down the small hallway and find Silas’s bathroom, I’m greeted by the sight of a forty-pound munchkin tickling her giant uncle, who is cringing in mock terror in a corner by the toilet.
“Jane! Help! The tickle monster got me!” he cries out. “The only way to stop the tickle monster is to eat your vegetables!”
“I don’t have any vegetables!” I say, playing along.
“Haha! Uncle Silas is in trouble!” Kelly says with glee, her hands like little tickle claws, ready to strike.
I see the tub is nearly full so I turn and grab the knob, cutting off the water. Suddenly Silas’s scent consumes me, near my neck and nose, warm hands on the soft spot above my hips and below my ribs, his fingers digging in as I jump with surprise and start giggling, helplessly panting.
“Uncle Silas’s turn, Jane! He’s the tickle monster now!”
“Stop tickling me!” I gasp.
“She said stop, Uncle Silas! You know the rules!” Kelly insists. “If someone doesn’t want your hands on them, you stop!”
Oh. Well. I wouldn’t put it that way, but...
Silas smells so good, his body warm and appealing. Touch is underrated. Going for long stretches without touching another human being is a form of isolation you can’t really describe. It has to be experienced and felt directly.
