Page 40 of The Square

I picture myself hopscotching. I know what it is but never in my life have I given it a try, and so, just to shut her up, I say, “Sure,” but then look at Christine and say, “This is why?”

And she knows the question I’m asking, even though I haven’t asked it. Because she nods, but in the same moment, she shakes her head no, too, like there’s more to this story that isn’t self-evident, and gives me one of those later looks.

And then Eliza says, “That’s not her name. She just can’t say it right yet. It’s Alexandria. But we just call her Andra.”

Because of course they do. “And who is we?” I ask.

“Everyone calls me Andra,” Andra says. “Even my Uncle Theo, but he sometimes calls me ‘pigtails.’”

“Uh-huh,” I say. “So listen, Eliza. I get that this is unexpected and whatnot. And I didn’t know we were coming here—hell, I haven’t even thought about you in years—but I have been in touch with Russell and—”

“When?” Christine interrupts.

“Hilo,” I say. “And I’ve already made a deal with him for help anyway. So if you could just put all of this”—I make an all-encompassing motion with outstretched arms—“aside and let us in so we can discuss a plan of action—”

Which is when she cuts me off with a very loud laugh. “I don’t give two shits what deal you have with Russell, I’m not getting involved with saving Alec van den Berg. He can rot in bloody Hell for all I care.”

At which point Christine must decide swearing is not forbidden in front of the tiny one and says, “You fucking owe me,” in the meanest, most serious, I-will-kill-you-where-you-stand voice she can muster.

Which is pretty good, I think. Because my heart skips a beat in the wake of her threat and the tiny one even stops her tugging.

Eliza leans back on her heels. Not in a taken-aback way either. But in a I-bloody-dare-you-to-try way, complete with wide, incredulous eyes and a smirking grin.

And here we are.

The impasse.