by Lizzy Ford
“As for your brother …” I formulate my next words carefully. “He’s afraid of something. Maybe learning to defend himself will help him learn not to be.”
Her features turn to stone at these words.
Whatever it is, it’s not just Todd who’s afraid. Sensing my delicate position with the woman in front of me, I keep quiet and study her. I sense more than see that she’s reliving something. I can’t imagine what kind of nightmare a civilian might have. My thoughts go instantly to ambushes, unfriendly allies and the bad guys I was sent into war zones to hunt down. None of those conditions exist here. I want to think whatever their issue is, it can’t be nearly as bad as avoiding sniper fire.
To me, a bad day is realizing the evacs aren’t coming, and I’m trapped in a hostile environment with a single canteen of water and one MRE to tide me over while I make my way to a new rendezvous point three days away and try to avoid being discovered, beaten and beheaded. I haven’t yet adjusted to the civilian mindset where bad days occur for such reasons as heavy traffic, poor weather and undercooked food.
Of course, I know better than to say such a thing aloud. I focus on what I do know: that Claudia and Todd bear a burden they shouldn’t carry, no matter what it might be. This disturbs me more than anything. I don’t like the idea of anyone suffering, but a damsel in distress provokes the code of honor I learned from my father.
It means I’m doomed. There’s no turning away now.
Finally, she blinks out of her thoughts and focuses back on me.
“I’ll think about it,” she says and stands.
“You want to call me or something?” I ask.
“No. You can come back here tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s your check.”
I take it. The pretty woman is rattled, and I’m sure it’s not because of my cheeky self-description. She goes to her brother’s booth. I can’t hear what she says, but he rolls his eyes in response.
Entertained, I leave her a generous tip, one of my business cards and head out.
I arrive home half an hour later. The massive house is quiet, and I go to the second floor, where the family lives. The first floor is for entertaining and the kitchens.
“Hey, Baba, I’m home!” I poke my head into my father’s study. The bear of a man is next to a stone fireplace with a cheerful fire. He’s reading a book through glasses perched at the edge of his nose.
“Did you recruit anyone?” he asks in a thick Russian accent, lowering the book. An ardent supporter of the military despite losing a son to it, my father asks the same question every day.
“Not today.”
“You should try harder, Petr.”
I laugh.
“You should not take this so lightly,” he chides me. “A country is only as –”
“- great as its military. I know, Baba. I did hook up another wounded vet with the Mikael Foundation,” I say, referring to the charity the family established in my brother’s name to help other soldiers and vets.
He smiles. “This is good. We will collect them all and help them.”
I sit down at the other end of the leather couch where he’s reading.
My father is a rare man. Born into relative poverty in Russia long ago, he managed not to let my mother’s obscene wealth change him after they married and instead, urged her to create and support charities. He co-manages half a dozen and is on the board for another ten, everything from Mikael’s Foundation to community and local programs to wildlife preservation.
I think that’s part of what made Mikael and me go into the military. My father, like our mother before her death, maintains a strong sense of public service. Mikael and I graduated from Harvard and had the option of never working a day in our lives, thanks to our trust funds, but chose instead to channel our boyhood adventure seeking ways into an avenue that could potentially help a lot of people.
The other reason we joined: we were both diehard risk seekers. This edge is tempered on me now, though I do still love skydiving and scuba diving and any other sort of physical activity that lets me become an adrenaline junkie once more, even if only temporarily.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss Katya,” I muse.
“She has gone on to make the life of another man interesting.”
I snort. Married this past summer to my old commander, Sawyer, I’m half afraid to call my sister Katya and find out how she’s adjusting. She went from a mansion to military housing, and I’m not entirely certain what mood she’ll be in if I ask.
Thinking about it makes me grin. I don’t doubt Sawyer is taking care of her. He’s like a brother to me now, the man who helped Mikael save my life.
“They’ll be back for the holidays, right?” I ask my father.
“Yes. I told Sawyer, if he needs to leave her here, he can.”
“I think he says he has to do the cooking when he’s in town.” I laugh again. “That and something about how she borrowed his truck and he can’t get the glitter out of the nooks and crannies.”
The two are complete opposites – Katya emotional with a huge heart and quick temper, and Sawyer, who is chilly enough to make ice shiver. They’re a perfect match, in my opinion. I was happy to push them toward each other and even happier to realize I’d done a fantastic job. I never have to worry about either now that they’ve got one another.
“That reminds me. She sent us cookies.” My father picks up a glass container from the stand beside him.
“Oh, no. It’s your turn to choke one down and tell her they’re great,” I say. My sister is a notoriously bad cook. “I just ate.”
My father grunts in response and sets the cookies down. “I told them I want grandchildren. Two boys and a girl.”
“When they’re ready, Baba. They just got married.”
“I want two boys and a girl from you, too, Petr.”
I grimace. “Just tell Katya you want four boys and two girls. Then I’m off the hook. It’s a little harder to date women when you’re half metal.” I tap my leg in reminder.
“Nonsense. You are a good man, a better cook than Katya, and you are very kind. If your leg is the problem, lie about it. For now.”
His sage, wry advice throws me into belly laughter.
“They will figure it out eventually,” he adds. “Why poison the well up front?”
Grinning, I catch my breath. He’s smiling at me, proud as always. His faith and confidence in me can make it harder for me to tell him the truth. I don’t fear battle, but I’m afraid of being rejected by women. “All right, Baba,” I say then add jokingly. “I’ll work on finding a woman so you can have your grandchildren.”
“The more you have, the less of Katya’s cookies we have to eat.”
“Great point.” Standing, I circle the couch then lean over the back and give him a bear hug. “I love you, Baba.”
“I know, Petr.” He clasps my forearm. “Now let me read.”
I leave, always a little more cheerful after talking to my father. The ringtone for texts goes off, and I check the phone.
Sorry about today, Brianna has written. We can try again???
A twinge of regret flutters through me. Why am I doing this to myself? Involving myself with her?
Maybe it’s not rejection I fear. Maybe I’m trying to prove to myself I’m worthy of any woman’s attention as well as being worthy of Mikael’s sacrifice. Maybe I want to show her I’m the man I used to be, fully knowing she can’t see that now and that in truth, I’ll never be who I was before.
I don’t know if it matters what she thinks or if she can ever accept me as I am now. My therapist says it matters how I view myself.
I know this. I know the pseudo-relationship I have with Brianna is unhealthy. Yet it’s easier to get drawn in than to walk away and I want … crave an acknowledgment from her that I am every bit as deserving of her attention as I used to be.
And that’s wrong every way I look at it.
Tucking the phone away without answering, I walk d
own the hallway towards my room. My thoughts drift to Todd and his sister. She doesn’t seem like the moody, high maintenance type that Brianna is. Her concern for her brother is genuine, and she was pretty direct when we spoke. Without knowing much else about her except that I felt comfortable around her, I find myself anticipating the trip to diner again tomorrow with a smile.
Chapter Four: Claudia
At around eight, after my shift, Todd and I arrive home to the apartment I’m renting near the edge of town. Our belongings are meager. We usually only take what we can carry. The Goodwill store in town is well stocked, so every payday, I go down to buy something else. We have a sofa, an old television on a TV stand, small dining room table with two chairs, mismatched lamps, and a kitty condo for the cat. Each of us has a twin bed and dresser and a few other odds and ends. The apartment came with major kitchen appliances, and the building has a common laundry area in the basement.
We have everything we need and more. The apartment is cozy and well lit and on the third floor overlooking a large courtyard with huge maple trees in the last stages of shedding their purple leaves.
“You want your second dinner?” I ask Todd. In his current stage of growth, he eats twice as much as I do.
“Soup.” He crosses to his room and slings his backpack inside before going to see the cat like he does every day. “Hi, Snickers.”
The diner is generous – a real godsend. I take home a meal every night and eat two free meals a day on my ten-hour shifts. It cuts our expenses down, and I’m an expert at stretching my dollars at the grocery store. I make a huge pot of chili or stew every weekend, so Todd has something to snack on in the evenings.
I nuke Todd a bowl of chili then tuck my tips into a cookie jar in the cabinet beneath the sink. The cheerful snowman is filled with loose change and dollar bills. It’s my emergency fund, though this year, I’m hoping I can spend it on a Christmas present for Todd instead of travel money to get us away from here.
I change into old jeans and a sweatshirt before returning for Todd’s chili. He’s seated at the table with Snickers, the cat he’s had for over half his life.
“You thinking about karate?” he asks.
“Omigod!” I groan. “Why do you want to do it so bad?”
“Because I’m tired of running.”
The maturity in his response deflates my irritation. He’s growing up fast. I pull out the other chair and sit down, watching him eat. “I’m working on it,” I murmur, well aware of what that eventually will mean for us. “Why stop now? Why not in Florida where it’s warm all year round?” We spent most of our lives in various places in Florida or Texas. I’m not sure I’m ready for a New England winter. It’s two weeks before Thanksgiving, and I’m already too cold.
“Come on, Claudia. We should both know basic self defense anyway.”
“It’s not the karate I object to. It’s us being separated for a couple of hours,” I remind him quietly.
“But I’m tired of this.” He puts Snickers on the floor. “I’m tired of not being able to have a life or go out with friends or anything.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“But if I did, I’d want to go out with them!”
I consider him. I know very well it’s fear that makes me keep a stranglehold on him. I had hoped this kind of discussion would wait for a few more years. Maybe until he was eighteen or something.
Totally unrealistic. I rub my face with a sigh.
“And … maybe I do have a friend,” he adds.
“Invite him over.”
“It’s a her.”
“You have a girlfriend?” I ask, surprised. I stare at him. My first instinct is to tell him he’s too young for a girlfriend, but I know that’s wrong. I went on dates when I was his age, usually with other kids our age. We’d go to the mall, the movies or restaurants.
“No. She’s just a friend.” Despite his denial, red is creeping up his neck.
“I thought I’d have to give you the pregnancy speech when you were sixteen or seventeen. I’m not ready now, but I can draw you pictures or something.”
He drops his head to his hands on the table melodramatically. “Why are you making this so hard?”
I laugh. Maybe I shouldn’t, but the older sister in me enjoys tormenting him a little bit while the motherly side of me seizes up at the thought of my sweet little brother growing up too fast.
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Maya.”
I’m quiet. Two people have entered my life unexpectedly today, and I’m starting to panic at the thought of letting Todd go to be with either. Clamping down on the emotions, I do my best to look at the situation logically.
I wanted Todd to have a chance at normal. This is what that looks like: a hobby and a girlfriend.
It scares me.
But Todd is my world.
“Okay,” I murmur. “We’ll get you a phone, so you can go out with your girlfriend. You MUST stay in contact at all times. If you don’t answer, I’m coming for you, and if I catch you in some sort of compromising situation, I’ll never let you live it down.”
He lifts his head, listening. “And … karate?”
“Let me think about it. A girl I can understand. I don’t want Tampa to happen again,” I say and shudder.
“I think Petr is legit,” he offers. “He came to my class and he’s all over the internet.”
“Hmmm.” I stand. I don’t know how to admit to my brother that I’m terrified of taking a chance on anything. When I look at him, I see a child still. “I’ll think about it.”
“Your homework done?”
“Yep.”
Picking up his empty chili bowl, I return to the kitchen and place it in the dishwasher before going to the cupboard. I pull out the snowman and count how much I have.
Enough for two one-way bus tickets anywhere … or an iPhone. He has an iPad issued by the school, and I use cheap, disposable phones, swapping them out every two to four weeks or so.
Normal, I tell myself. Glory Glade is supposed to be where we become like everyone else. Normal people don’t worry about bus ticket money. Laying the money out on the counter, I recount it then roll it into a wad to tuck into my pants.
When I leave the kitchen, Todd is in his room with the door open so Snickers can go in and out. I turn on the television to help block the phone call I need to make and then seal myself in my room.
I fiddle with the phone for a moment before dialing one of the numbers I have memorized.
“Santiago Law Firm,” answers a male voice.
“Simon, please,” I say.
He transfers me. Every time I call, my insides twist into knots and I end up needing a bowl of ice cream when it’s over.
“Simon.”
“Hey, Simon, it’s me,” I murmur, my back to the wall I share with Todd’s room.
“Claudia! I haven’t heard from you in weeks. I assumed the worst happened.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. He’s an old family friend of my father. I can’t afford a lawyer, but he’s kind to me because of my deceased dad. “Just wanted to check in.” I hold my breath for good news.
“The Feds are moving slowly,” he reports. “If they mess this up, it won’t stick, and we’ll be out of cards.”
“So no progress?”
“There’s progress, just no results.”
I know better than to expect a different answer. The man stalking me is under investigation by the federal government for smuggling drugs. The problem: the investigation has one shot to nail his ass and put him in jail for twenty years. If they mess this opportunity up, they can’t charge him again for the same crime. I understand that they’re treading slowly, but I, too, am tired of running. Restraining orders and thirty-day stints in jail for domestic disturbances are nothing to a man who thinks he owns me – and who somehow figured out I helped the feds build their case against him. I thought escaping was the hardest part. Four years later, I know the truth.
>
Running is the hardest part. I’ve been praying for years that the feds can throw him in jail.
“Okay. I’ll call back in another couple of weeks,” I say, disappointed.
“When they move, it’ll be quick. Maybe check in every week?” Simon asks. It’s not the first time he’s brought this up.
“We’ll see,” I reply. “Thanks, Simon.”
“Take care, Claudia.”
I hang up with him. I no longer stress over doing something different. It’s been a year since The Monster found us, and we’ve moved four times since then. I’ve gotten good at disappearing.
It’s a skill I wish I didn’t have to learn.
My heart is pounding. I take a deep breath and go to the fridge for some ice cream.
It’ll be over soon. It has to be. Until then, I can’t let down my guard around anyone.
Chapter Five: Claudia
I buy Todd’s phone in the morning, before work and set him up on a monthly plan. I’m out all of my savings, but holding the device brings a smile to my face, along with a trickle of hope.
What I’m not expecting to see when I arrive to work is Petr. He’s seated in the same booth as yesterday. Mornings are quiet on Saturdays, when the downtown businesses are closed or opening late. I pause as I walk through the door. He’s facing the door this time and waves.
I did my own research online to verify his story and ensure he wasn’t a psycho. He’s not. If anything, he’s the town’s much loved war hero, a man wealthy enough to pay for other injured soldiers and vets to receive additional medical care.
He’s what I would’ve called a good guy before my life went to shit.
But seeing him here … knowing he knows where I work and when I might be in … it stirs my sense of paranoia, the instinct that’s kept me alive and also interfered with my ability to trust anyone.
Without returning the wave, I go to the staff area at the back of the kitchen and tuck my coat into my assigned cubbyhole. I pull on my apron and finger his card. I left it there purposely yesterday instead of taking it home with me, as if the card itself was one of the two people who invaded my life yesterday.
