by Meg Jackson
“Oh, it’s so beautiful, Kimmy!” Ricky squealed, and grabbed her hand to look closer. When she looked up again, Kim’s smile was sweet and genuine, and her eyes looked slightly watery. Ricky reached over and grabbed her sister in a hug. How could she have been jealous? Kim was happy, and what more could Ricky want from that day?
“I suppose it’s that gypsy,” Cordelia’s voice cut across the table. Ricky pulled away, her smile waning as she prepared to go to war with Cordelia over Kim’s right to happiness.
“Yes, of course, Mom,” Kim said softly. “Kennick proposed a while ago but…we wanted to wait a while before we said anything. We’re planning the wedding for January. I thought it would be nice to get married right at the New Year…”
“January?” Cordelia asked, her face scrunched like she’d just sucked a lemon. “That’s less than three months away. You can’t plan a proper wedding in that amount of time. No, you’ll have to move it back.”
“We’ve already started planning it, Mom,” Kim said. “And it’s not going to be huge; I mean, it kind of will, because gypsies have these big weddings, but it won’t be hard to plan and…”
“A gypsy wedding? Oh, my, dear, that’s quite ridiculous,” Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not a gypsy. You don’t need to go through all sorts of barbaric traditions just to please your groom. He should be happy to be marrying into our family. We, at least, have some sort of standing in this country.”
“Shut up, Mom,” Ricky said, doing everything in her power not to throw her drink into Cordelia’s face. Not that she would have wanted to waste it, anyway. The look on the old woman’s face was good enough as Ricky’s harsh words settled in.
“What did you just say to me, Ericka?” Cordelia said, softly, shocked hurt on her face. It didn’t make Ricky feel bad. She felt pretty damn good about telling her mother to shut up.
“You heard me. Kim’s really, really happy. Kennick treats her like a queen. I’ve seen it. She doesn’t need you butting in and making things hard for her. We get it; you don’t like him, you don’t like that she’s marrying him. But you know what? No one asked you how you felt about it. If you want to try and be a good mother for once in your life, you’ll shut up and try to be happy for your daughter.”
The shocked silence was palpable, almost as though it was a guillotine Ricky had just deployed, severing the table in two with Cordelia on one side and her daughters on the other. The waiter came by with their meals and seemed all-too-eager to escape the hostile environment. Ricky gestured for another drink, her own basically down to the ice.
“I really don’t think you need another, Ricky,” Cordelia whispered, the veins in her forehead throbbing.
“Kim’s driving, and this is a celebration, whether you want it to be or not,” Ricky hissed in response. She didn’t wait for her mother to respond and turned to Kim, who was staring at her with a look of mixed gratitude, confusion, and something like worry.
“So what’s a gypsy wedding like?” Ricky asked, taking a generous forkful of lasagna into her mouth.
27
For the first ten minutes of their drive back, Kim and Ricky were silent. Ricky, temporarily blinded to her sister’s mood, hummed slightly as the highway rolled along through her window.
“You know, Ricky,” Kim said, her voice halting and soft. Ricky turned with a grin. Just as the drive to their monthly lunches typically consisted of a summary of their mother’s latest gripes, the drive from the lunch was usually a groaning rehashing of whatever Cordelia laid out during the meal. Ricky’s grin faded when she found Kim’s eyes on her, wary and unsettled.
“Mom really knows how to drive the stake in, doesn’t she?” Ricky said, assuming that Kim’s dour look was a by-product of Cordelia’s hateful speech against Kennick.
“Yeah, but…she’s not always wrong, you know,” Kim said. Ricky was so shocked she actually leaned back in her seat a little.
“Kimmy, you can’t be serious. You love him. He’s a great guy. Who cares if he…”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Kim said, white-knuckling the steering wheel now and pointedly avoiding her sister’s narrowing eyes. “I hope you know what I am talking about.”
Ricky’s mouth tightened.
“Not sure I do,” she said, the lie making her voice heavy and thick. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
Kim sighed and dared another glance at her sister.
“Two cocktails? At lunch?”
“So what? I applaud your ability to get through lunch with Mom without some reinforcement, but I haven’t reached that stage in my Buddhist training yet,” Ricky snapped back.
“Ricky…” Kim said, agitation growing in her jaw.
“Stop it, Kim,” Ricky said, wanting to nip the whole thing in the bud. “I don’t want to hear it. You had your party days, now I’m having mine. Give it a rest.”
“My party days were twice a week, at most,” Kim countered. “You’re drunk half the time I talk to you.”
And there it was. Laid out in blaring light. Ricky thought that Kim must be exaggerating, and told her so in no uncertain words.
“I’m not,” Kim hissed. “How many times a week do we talk? Like, every other day, don’t we? At least? I mean, shit, Ricky, you can’t tell me that I don’t know you better than anyone else.”
“You don’t see me all the time, Kim,” Ricky said. “We talk on the phone. Nowadays you’re so damn busy with loverboy you sound like you’re on the other side of the earth when we talk.”
“You know that’s not true,” Kim shot back, hurt in her eyes. “We don’t see as much of each other, sure, but I’m your sister. I’d never lose sight of you for a guy, even my fiancé. And I don’t know; maybe you don’t even see it. Maybe you lose track of how much you’re drinking. But I see it. I hear it in your voice. I call you at, like, 5:30 on a Wednesday and you’re hammered. And you don’t look good, Rick. I mean, you always look good, but…”
“Just shut up, Kim,” Ricky glowered, turning her attention to passing guardrails. “I’m a reporter. It comes with the territory. The guys go out after work and if I don’t, I look like a pussy.”
She realized she was giving Kim the same excuse that Ron had tried to give her. She didn’t care. Her head was starting to hurt.
“If you don’t want to look like a pussy, keep working harder than them. I’ve read some of your recent articles, Ricky. They’re not….they’re not as good as they used to be.”
Ricky’s anger flared. It was one thing to attack her personal life, but her writing? That was sacred ground. Even if Kim was right.
“What the hell, Kim? Wasn’t lunch with Beelzebub enough for one day? You’re taking her side? What, now you’ve got some dude to hold you down, you’re entitled to pass judgement on me?”
“I’m not taking her side,” Kim said. “I’m taking your side. I’m looking out for you. Mom doesn’t have any tact, but she was right. About Dad, I mean. I don’t know, maybe you don’t remember, but he drank a lot when we were kids. He stopped, when you were like seven or something, but before that…”
“Don’t,” Ricky warned. She’d had enough slander against her father for one day. When Kim turned and saw the warning in Ricky’s eyes, she seemed resigned to let the issue pass.
Dad never drank, Ricky thought, feeling a lump start to rise in her throat. Or, if he did, it’s because he was married to that horrendous bitch. Why is Kim saying this shit about Dad…?
When Kim spoke again, it was in the sort of low tone reserved for the hardest truths one person can lay on another.
“Cristov talks to Kennick, you know,” Kim said. “And Kennick talks to me. Ricky…I know you didn’t think it was true, but when you were with Cristov you seemed…I don’t know. You seemed really happy, in this way I’d never seen you before. I mean, you were still…”
Kim paused, seeming to search for the words.
“…you were still living recklessly, but I didn’t have to worr
y about you so much because it seemed like you were having fun with it. Now, when I talk to you and you’ve been drinking you just seem lost.”
“What. Are. You. Talking. About,” Ricky seethed, her words pointed like daggers. First Dad, now this? Cristov and Ricky were done. Over. It was screwed from the beginning. She’d never been invested, and he’d dropped her like a hot coal.
“I’m saying,” Kim said, not daring to look at her sister full-on, instead glancing in the rearview mirror, “that maybe if you didn’t drink so much, you might have a chance with him. He’s a good man, and he makes you happy. I don’t know why you won’t admit that. I don’t know why you wouldn’t let him in.”
Ricky felt tears threatening. Kim didn’t realize it, but she was dragging Ricky’s mind through a graveyard she’d rather not revisit. A graveyard where Cristov said terrible things, and Ricky said them back, and then a door slammed between them that would never open again. Anger, sudden and violent, rose to block out the encroaching tears.
“Kim, if you ever want to talk to me again, you’ll stop talking right now,” Ricky hissed.
“He’s going to be at the wedding, Ricky,” Kim said. “And I need to be honest with you. If you don’t stop this downward spiral, I’m not going to trust you to be there. Not with an open bar. Do you understand?”
Ricky’s jaw dropped. They were approaching Kingdom’s exit on the highway and Kim drew her eyes from the road long enough to show Ricky how serious she was. Silence reigned as Kim pulled off and drove towards Ricky’s apartment. When she finally arrived and parked, the engine ticked.
“Tell me you understand, Ricky,” Kim said at last, closing her eyes and lowering her head. “I’m doing this for your own good. I’m not going to watch you self-destruct. If you care about me, if you love me and want to be a part of my life, you’ll put the bottle down until the wedding. It might give you some time to…”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum,” Ricky said, her voice dead and flat as calm certainty filled her. “I get it. I understand.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“No,” Ricky said with a cold sneer. “I don’t let anyone tell me how to live my life, Kim. Not even you. Enjoy your fucking wedding.”
The door slammed behind her, the pavement in front of her blurring as water spilled from her eyes.
Everyone, she thought over and over again. Every last one of them. No more friends. No more family. Can’t trust a single one of them.
Regret swam in her stomach, curdled milk. She wanted to take it back. She wanted to take it all back. The car ride, the lunch, the days and nights of drinking, the fight with Cristov, the hangovers and the blurred memories. She hated it all, she hated herself for letting it all in.
But damn, all that regret made her thirsty.
28
Cristov stared at the photo on his phone. It had been taken on one of their good days; one of their best days. He’d taken it surreptitiously, Ricky being averse to pictures of any kind. She was looking down at the pumpkin in her lap, her pale blonde hair falling across her face as the sun streamed down on her, a lilting smile on her face.
Had he made a joke that she was laughing at, or was she in the middle of telling him one? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that the pumpkin in her lap was probably rotting away in some landfill. In that respect, it wasn’t much better off than his heart.
He should have been nicer to her. He shouldn’t have said those things. But he did, and he couldn’t take them back now. Now, when he wanted her more than ever. Wanted to run into her arms and take shelter there. Shelter from the storm, he remembered, the song they’d listened to the night before everything went to shit. Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm…
Well, it wasn’t warm anymore. Nearing Thanksgiving, the greys of November descended in a rush and turned the world to some film noir from Damon’s movie collection. And things sure as hell weren’t safe, either.
The diwano had yielded little in the way of resolution. The kumpania was in a stalemate about leaving town or staying; some agreed that they were done with being chased out of their homes, no matter how temporary those homes may be in the grand scheme of things. Others argued that safety was best found on the road, that they had no reason to stay in Kingdom and put themselves in danger.
What had been decided was the establishment of a constant guard at the trailer park’s entrance. 24/7, someone would be there to watch the road for any signs of intruders. Of course, the woods offered plentiful cover for anyone who wanted to bypass the main entrance, so there would be people patrolling the outer edges of the park, as well.
Volunteers for these jobs were plentiful; young and old, man and woman, everyone was willing to protect their familia. Even Jenner offered his time. He had been noticeably silent during the diwano, something that brought no comfort to the Volanis brothers.
They’d also finally decided to bring the matter to the police. Leaving out the salient details of why the Steel Dragons were targeting the gypsies, Kennick and Kim had met with Jimmy Marone, Kim’s friend on the force. It was simple enough to say that the Steel Dragons were motivated by hatred of the Romani people as a whole; such racism was far from unprecedented.
Kennick didn’t doubt that if he’d gone to the police himself, his words would have incited little motivation. Kim, on the other hand, got them a meeting with the Chief of Police, who promptly started making calls and promised his officers would be providing regular patrols to the mostly-ignored area of Kingdom where the gypsies had taken residence.
The greenhouse was entirely dismantled and furnished as a habitable residence; Kim and Kennick set up a temporary home there. No sign of the gypsy’s marijuana business remained. Cristov hated trashing his equipment and throwing away his clones; if and when he was able to grow again, it would be from scratch. But it was better safe than sorry, as Kennick reminded him time and again.
The state police, who were in a constant battle with the Steel Dragons, sent out a few of their own officers to help beef up Kingdom’s relatively small police force. In a way, the gypsies were both safer and more vulnerable than they’d ever been. The state police weren’t like the Kingdom PD; they had no patience or trust for the Romani, and made the gypsies feel like suspects rather than victims. Cristov had been paid his fair share of “friendly visits” at the tattoo shop, the questions feeling like an interrogation.
Kennick urged Cristov to keep his head level during these questionings. “Mashkar le gadjende leski shib si le Romeski zor,” he'd say: “surrounded by the Gadje, the Rom's only defense is his tongue”
Cristov was so absorbed in these thoughts, sitting in the tattoo parlor’s back office, that he let the phone ring four times before picking it up. He didn’t much care about filling up his calendar with appointments. For the first time in a long time, his work offered him no respite from the torrent of his life.
“Jack of Hearts Tattooing,” he said, still distracted by the picture on his phone. “This is Cristov.”
“I understand you got our message,” said a low, gruff voice. Immediately, Cristov’s back stiffened, his shoulders straightening. Rig. Blood pulsed in Cristov’s temples.
“You miserable fucker,” he growled. “You sorry-ass, dog-killing, piece of shit! Khas miro kaar! Ka xlia ma pe tute, kudav ce di day, cocksucker. Where the fuck are you? When I find you, I’m going to…”
Cristov was pulling every insult he knew from his brain, spewing out the old Romani curses he used to shout across the trailer park during boyhood fights.
“This is your last chance,” Rig said, interrupting him.
“Last chance for what?” Cristov yelled. “What the hell do you even want from us? Our crop is gone. I don’t have shit to sell you. If you want the town so damn bad, just try and take it. What the hell do you want us to do? If you’re gonna offer something better or cheaper, we can’t do a damn thing about it, so leave us the hell alone!”
“We don’t just want your
customers,” Rig sounded somewhat amused by Cristov’s temper. “We want you gone. Out of town. It’s too damn small for all of us. You pack your shit up and head somewhere else and we won’t have any more problems. That’s what we want. We heard you’re pretty good at getting gone in a hurry, so it should be an easy decision to make.”
Cristov seethed, the phone pressed so hard to his ear it could have left a bruise. Leave town? Screw that. The gypsies may be vagrants at heart, but they’d set up here, made a home here, and no one was going to push them out. Kennick sure as hell wasn’t going to leave Kim behind. And Cristov may have ended things with Ricky, but…
But nothing, he told himself. It doesn’t matter why we’re staying. All that matters is that no one tells us what to do. No one. These guys may be big and bad, but someone’s been trying to push our people around for years…we don’t take that shit anymore.
“Why don’t you come out of hiding?” Cristov said. “Act like men and let’s meet face-to-face. Stop lurking around in the shadows like rats. Tell me where you and your boys are, I’ll come with my men and we’ll settle this once and for all.”
Rig chuckled.
“You don’t call the shots, boy,” he said. “We do.”
“You afraid?” Cristov taunted, hoping to spark enough anger in the man to get him to slip up somehow. “Must be that you’re scared, otherwise you wouldn’t have to make your threats through a telephone.”
“Son, you don’t wanna imagine what’ll happen to you when I finally see your sorry ass again,” Rig growled. “It’s for your own damn good, trust me. We can wipe you and your people out faster than I can snap my fingers. We been easy on you so far. It’s only gonna get worse if you hang up this phone without agreeing to move your dirty, inbred, shit-for-brains family outta this town.”
