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I know it in my soul.
As we hoist ourselves into place on her bike, there’s silence between us.
Strangely, it isn’t uncomfortable. We’ve come to a sobering understanding of each other.
I set out on this mission to gain info about my family’s past.
Thanks to Mila, I’ve gained more than that.
30
GALINA
The papers are spread across my bed like I’m planning to make a thousand paper flowers for a wedding. They cover the blanket so thickly you can hardly see it between the gaps. Stalking around the mattress, I write hastily on the back of a scrap piece I’ve folded in half.
My notes must make me seem insane. No one could decipher my scribbles, which have been made in increasingly frantic lines. But I need to write to keep track, and also … to believe that what I’m seeing is true.
This can’t be real. It just can’t!
Staring in between my writing and the documents, I finally sink onto the floor in a heap. There’s no denying it. I’ve gone over everything a hundred times—it’s nearly dawn. After the high- octane escape out of the mansion and back again, I’m awake from pure adrenaline.
What I’ve learned is going to change everything.
Mom ... is this what you didn’t want me to know?
The major trail of income into the dance studio points in one direction. For years, my father accepted money from a dubious source. Someone he—and my mother—didn’t want others to learn about.
But now I know.
Yevgeniy Grachev.
Scowling in rage, I throw my notes into the air. They float harmlessly, like poorly made paper airplanes, until they settle on the floor. Lifting my leg, I crush my heel on them, twisting until my muscles ache. How could they do this? Why did they do this? Was the studio doing so badly that my parents sought out Yevgeniy’s help? Or did Yevgeniy approach them first with an offer?
Was it Dad who started down this treacherous path?
Was it Mom?
On top of that, there’s an even greater mystery. Marching to the bed, I sweep the documents around until I’m reading the ones I want. The data shows that ten years ago, all the money from Yevgeniy came to a sudden halt.
“What does all of this mean?” I groan, holding my head in my hands. I wish I could ask Mom. She has answers, but she refuses to give them to me! If I confront her, she’ll put up thicker walls, denying it even further. No information will get her to admit something she’s clearly ashamed about.
I saw it numerous times growing up. Mom has always been quick to lie when it comes to her pride. When I was growing up, nothing was more important to her than seeming like a happy, stable family. And we were ... for the most part. A thought jostles me. My parents fought. Not often, but if I remember right, they started getting into more arguments … around ten years ago.
My attention flies back to the paperwork. With growing apprehension, I start gliding my fingers over the slips of paper. The data on them is taking on new meaning. If the money stopped ten years ago, was that what caused their growing tension? There were nights where I would hide in my room, listening to them scream at each other, wondering if they might get divorced.
When I asked Mom about it, she scolded me for even thinking such a thing. Her pride was something else. She denied anything was wrong with the studio either.
Until she couldn’t.
I frown suddenly. Was anything wrong with it? Granted, I was young at the time, but I don’t ever recall there being a lack of students at our place. The studio was always busy. Why would there be financial troubles at all?
I need to know the truth about how Yevgeniy is connected to my family.
Collecting all the documents, I stack them in a neat pile. Placing them in the box, I stash it under my bathroom sink behind a box of tampons. It’s the only spot I can think of that the staff won’t bother with. They clean my room every single day. No one can find these papers. I don’t know what will happen exactly if they do, I just have a feeling it won’t be good.
At a minimum … Arsen will think I’m hiding something from him.
I am hiding something.
