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“Do you have the email message?” My brother asks. “Read it.”
My eyes scan quickly. The subject is Proof of Life. It’s very short, only a few sentences.
* * *
Dear Sirs:
* * *
The proof of life photo you requested is enclosed. Or perhaps we should say proof of lives. It seems Miss Wilder is pregnant. Perhaps the possibility of a royal baby will motivate action on our demands.
Your time is running out.
* * *
My eyes flash to the photograph of the stick and then again to Zelda. They flash to the two words, and I read them over and over.
Royal baby… royal baby.
I fight back the image of Seth’s tortured body from my mind. I fight to keep my insides from spilling out from where I’ve been figuratively gutted. They win. I can’t take another day of this.
“Give them what they want.” My voice is a whisper. “I won’t sleep until I find her.”
21
Judgment
Zelda
Selena will be home soon, and I’m sitting with Ximena on the ground in the shade of the house with several items of clothing I accidentally scrubbed holes in when I “helped” with the wash.
“I never was any good at laundry,” I say, doing my best not to stab myself with the dull needle as I repair a seam I busted open on the scrub board.
Ximena has been working on the same secret project for the last week, and she glances at me with a shy smile. “Laundry?”
“Um…” I look around trying to think of an easy word. “Wash?”
I move my hands in a scrubbing motion and she nods. “Ah. Not good.”
“No,” I shake my head and return to mending the seams I ripped out. “Ava would sort it all then take it all to the laundromat. I just got the money to pay for it.”
She glances up at me and smiles, and I have no idea how much of what I just said she understands. We’re both getting better at communicating. I’m picking up a few of their words, like I know Abo means you. Bini means come. Kome means eat, and I already knew baño (bathroom) and beibi (baby).
“Ta ki bo esposo gusta?” Ximena says, and while I’m not sure about the first part, I know husband and good.
My cheeks flush when I consider the things Cal is very good at, and Ximena starts to laugh.
“He’s masha bon!” she says.
Masha bon. I think about the words. Very good.
“Yes,” I nod. “Masha, masha bon.”
My eyes heat, and I miss him so much. I want him to know about our baby. I want him to hold me. I want to leave this place and be his wife and live wherever he wants to live. I want to tell him I’ll never run again or steal or do anything to make his people ashamed of me. I’ll go with him to Monagasco and take up knitting, and I’ll never be a liability to him again.
“No!” Ximena says, scooting forward and holding my arms. “No ta yora!”
I’ve heard her say this to Selena. Don’t cry.
