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“Too long,” I respond tersely, clutching Aria’s hand a tad tighter than necessary.
Joplin rises, his tall frame unfolding like he’s stretching every old memory out of it, and pulls me into an unexpected hug. Drawing back, he looks down at Aria and then Ewan, a playful glint in his eyes. “You didn’t have one of these back then. They look quite . . .”
“Young?” I ask, trying to finish the sentence.
“No, I was leaning more towards ‘Ehrenbergsy.’ Yep, they have the classic Ehrenberg look, don’t you think, Bart?”
Bartók’s response isn’t immediate. He takes a long moment to really take in Ewan and Aria, the weight of his gaze making me shift uncomfortably. Finally, his steely eyes find mine. “You’re a mom, Fifi,” he states, his voice devoid of any emotion, making it hard to gauge what he’s thinking. “Somehow, I have the feeling that you didn’t notify their father. We could do it on your behalf.”
Before I can intervene, Ewan pipes up eagerly, “Do you know my dad?”
Bartók just keeps staring at me in silent accusation.
“He’s been . . . unwell,” I manage, trying to choose my words carefully. “You, of all people, know his situation. It’s probably better this way.”
Bartók’s voice drips with skepticism. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one. But maybe, just maybe, if he’d known about his children, he’d have had a stronger reason to pull himself together. We almost lost him more times than I’d care to admit.”
I bite my tongue against arguing back. But it’s hard to hold back the anger that flares up. The audacity of Bartók to lay blame on my shoulders and the responsibility of Brahms’s sobriety on my children. But for the sake of Ewan and Aria, I keep it in check. “Can we talk about this later? The kids need to get to school.”
Aria, picking up on the tension, finally speaks up. “Are you mean?” Her voice is low and wary. My father’s cruelty has left its mark on her ability to trust.
Joplin squats down to her level, speaking gently. “No, sweetheart, neither of us are mean. If anything, we’d do anything to protect you, your brother, and your mom.”
Ary studies him for a long moment before saying simply, “Okay.”
Bartók grabs his coffee mug and heads for the door. “Get them to school. We’re on our way out. It was nice meeting you, little ones.”
Panic clutches my chest. “Are you going to tell him?”
Joplin gives me a knowing look.
“He already knows, doesn’t he?”
They both nod grimly. Understanding dawns on me—that’s why they’re all here. Brahms knows about the twins already.
“Why? Why didn’t he say anything?” My voice wavers, my emotions on the edge.
Bartók pauses at the door, his back to me. “You’d have to ask him that,” he says, his voice holding a touch of bitterness.
Joplin places a comforting hand on my arm. “Well, it won’t be now. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” I repeat in shock. The world suddenly feels like it’s spinning, my heart rate escalating, each beat echoing loudly in my ears. “But his injury—he can’t just leave.”
“Why would he leave? His leg—” I look at them almost desperate. “What if he starts using again?”
Bartók turns slightly, his eyes landing on Aria and Ewan. “This environment isn’t good for him right now,” Bartók says bluntly. “He needs to heal, Fifi. Mentally and physically. And he needs to figure out what he truly wants in life. But know this—he wants to get it right, especially for them.”
My breath catches in my throat, my mind trying to process everything. “Okay,” I manage to whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat. I’m terrified Brahms will try to take them from me.
As if reading my mind, Joplin squeezes my shoulder. “He would never hurt you, Fifi. I hope someday you two can figure out how to be a family.”
I nod numbly as they leave. This is what I wanted, right? Brahms out of my life for good. But now that it’s happening, there’s a void, a painful, nagging emptiness. I’m not ready to let go, not yet. It seems like, deep down, I was hoping for a different outcome.
The fear of what’ll happen later is eating me, but there’s nothing I can do, is there? He’s gone, and I have to wait for . . . what is he going to do?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brahms
