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My uncle sighs. “He did, yes. I didn’t like the way he went about it, though. If he had listened to me in the first place, I would have had you back weeks ago.”
“What?” This was news to me.
He picks up his plate and takes it to the sink, so I do the same as I wait for his response. He rinses his dish then sets it down on the clean countertop.
“I told him who you were the first day you were picked up. He claimed I didn’t know what my own niece looked like, and that we had to wait for the DNA results. It didn’t help that you couldn’t remember anything.” He glances at me with almost a cold look in his eye as if that were somehow my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and drop my gaze to the floor. Why would Niko do that? And keep that information from me? I look back at my uncle when he gently tugs my dirty plate from my hands.
“It’s not your fault. And even though Detective James eventually brought you back to me, I can’t deny I’ve formed a slight dislike of the man for how he spoke to me. So I wish you’d stop speaking with him. At least give us time to figure out our relationship. If your memories never come back…” He looks away and swallows hard.
“They will,” I force out. They have to.
Bypassing me, he walks to the table and stacks the dirty dishes. “What did you need to speak to Detective James about?”
“Oh, I, um, I had an idea.”
He stumbles slightly as the toe of his boot catches on the linoleum floor. “Oh? Share it with me.”
“I thought I could get a job.”
“No.” His answer is sharp and swift. I inhale harshly at the finality of it. “It’s too soon.”
“Okay,” I mutter meekly.
He sighs. “Let’s wait until you see your therapist some more. She can direct you on what’s best for your healing process.”
“I just thought if I made some money, I could work toward getting my own place.”
“Your own place? What’s wrong with my house?” He throws his arm wide in a gesture.
I can’t say anything right by him. My words seem to offend him even when I’m trying to be helpful. “I-I thought it’s the r-right thing to do. I’m an adult, right? I can’t live with you forever.”
His eyes widen, and his nostrils flare. “I just got you back. Did the detective feed you this line of crap?”
“No.” I begin to tremble, so I take a step backward for some space. He’s frightening me. “I th-think I’m going to go to bed.”
“Rebecca…”
“Night,” I bid him and scamper from the room. As quickly as I can, I shed my clothes and pull on a pair of pajama pants and a shirt. I’ll have to do laundry soon as all I have left are the nightgowns Niko brought me in the hospital. I dash beneath the covers and turn out the bedside lamp, bathing the room in total darkness.
I wish I had a nightlight. Slinking out of the side of the bed, I walk to the window and fumble in the dark for the strings to the shade. Every second out of bed makes my scalp prickle. Squeezing my eyes shut against the blackness of the room, I almost cry in relief when I finally locate the string and pull.
Moonlight glows through the now open window and adds minor visibility to the pitch dark. I dive back beneath the covers, pulling them up to my chin, and listen for the sounds of my uncle moving around.
Floorboards creak in the hall, his footsteps moving closer and closer until they pause just outside my door. I feel my eyes widen, trying to take in every dark crevice, every dark shadow. The floorboards shift, and minutely I hear, “Sleep well,” before the sound of his footsteps move toward his bedroom.
If only Betsy were here with her comforting bodyweight and her soft fur I could slide my fingers into. Instead, I lie awake for hours with my eyes trained on the black ceiling and my ears straining to decipher every sound. Eventually, exhaustion and a full belly for the first time in days gives way to sleep and I’m pulled into fitful dreams.
FRIDAY
I tryto do better today.
I comb my hair and get dressed as soon as I’m awake instead of lying in bed and sneak to the kitchen.
Niko didn’t get to teach me too much, but I know how to cook a little, so I begin to fry bacon and chop veggies for omelets. The leftover fruit from last night is in a bowl in the fridge, so I grab that and set it on the table with plates and silverware. I’m just flipping the first omelet when my uncle walks in.
“What do we have here?” He grins at me and walks to the coffeepot I forgot to start.
