AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I scrape butter over my toast without looking at my sister, my cheeks burning. “Working. Doing inventory.”
As far as my siblings officially know, there’s nothing criminal about our family. Unofficially? Who knows what Lana and the other kids overhear at school. Thanks to my Uncle Kristian, I never had any illusions about how my family makes its money. As the eldest child, he thought I should know as soon as possible, and after Mom died, Dad reluctantly agreed with him.
When all the kids are eating at the table, I get out Dad’s medications and start counting his morning pills. These ones to treat the tumors. These ones to manage his pain and the plethora of chemotherapy side effects. I hate seeing Dad swallow down all these chemicals because they make him nauseated, foggy, and drowsy, but I remind myself that the alternative is far worse. The alternative is a swift and painful death. But it won’t be forever. Dad will go into remission soon and then he’ll start to regain his strength and become the strong leader this family needs.
My foot is aching by the time I reach Dad’s bedroom and go in, but I’m careful not to let the pain show on my face as I pass him the pills and a glass of water.
Dad slowly and with a lot of effort sits up in bed. I stay where I am because he hates when I try and help him.
“Morning, Dad. How did you sleep?”
He makes a noncommittal sound as he props himself against the pillows. I hand him a glass of water and his medications and he starts swallowing them down. As he finishes and passes the water back, he asks, “What did you and Kristian decide last night?”
A thrill goes through me at the sound of his name. “Me? Why would I decide anything with Uncle Kristian?”
Dad gives me a tired, sad smile. “You know why.”
The bottom falls out of my stomach. For a moment I feel nothing but panic and shame—Dad knows what we did?—and then anger surges on its heels. Of course he doesn’t know. Dad’s just being fatalistic again. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you. Your oncologist said that you’re responding well to the chemotherapy and it’s working.”
“He said that he’s seensomeindications thatsomeof the tumors were responding, but it’s too early to say.”
I busy myself tidying up his already tidy room and straightening the covers on the bed. “Exactly. It’s a good prognosis. I haven’t had time to think about Uncle Kristian. You should probably talk to him again and make up your own mind about whether you want him around.”
But Dad’s eyes have drifted closed and he’s fallen back asleep. I gaze at him with sadness. His medications always knock him out again, and he’s in no condition to make decisions about anything. It’s down to me and Uncle Kristian what happens next.
In the hallway, out of earshot of the kids downstairs and Dad if he wakes up, I call Andrei’s girlfriend. They’ve been together for six years and they have a baby son. She already knows what happened to her partner in the warehouse. Uncle Kristian talked to her last night, but that doesn’t make her grief any less raw, and my words of sorrow and condolence do nothing to help her. There are tears in my eyes when I hang up.
Whoever did this to my men is going to pay.
Downstairs, I open my laptop at the kitchen table and check over emails and spreadsheets while the children swarm around me, eating and laughing and squabbling. I’m so used to the antics of seven young siblings by now that I’m able to focus under just about any circumstances, only today, I can’t focus. I feel restless and off-kilter, and I keep glancing toward the door, expecting to see a tall, muscular man in a tailored black suit, a silver chain around his neck, and careless white-blond hair falling into his eyes.
I rub both my hands over my face and groan under my breath. I should just call him and find out where he is. What he’s doing. What happened in the warehouse and where my merchandise is. I’m going to run into him sooner or later, so it’s better to make the first move.
I reach for my phone but put it down again. It’s way too early in the morning for Uncle Kristian. That man loves to sleep in.
Excuses, excuses. The truth is, I’m terrified of how I’ll react when I hear his voice.
Arron slams the dishwasher closed, making me jump, and then all my brothers and sisters start kissing me goodbye and grabbing their lunches off the kitchen counter.
“Bye, Zenya!”
“Have a good day, Zenya.”
I brush crumbs from sweaters and straighten hair barrettes as I tell everyone goodbye, giving the kids smiles and kisses and telling them to have good days at school. One by one they run out of the kitchen.
Just as their voices fade away and I anticipate the sound of the front door closing, I hear Felix exclaim, “Uncle Kristian! What are you doing here? Where have you been?”
My heart rebounds around my rib cage, and I nearly knock my laptop to the ground. I stare at the clock on the wall like it’s betrayed me. Uncle Kristian is here already? It’s only just past eight in the morning.
I grip my coffee cup as I listen to his deep voice greeting all his nephews and nieces. I can picture them clustering around his long legs, gazing with upturned faces at this unexpected delight.
“Is your big sister in the kitchen?” Uncle Kristian asks. There are a few chirpy replies of “Yes,” and then the front door closes and the house falls silent.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, growing louder and louder as Uncle Kristian approaches. Should I ignore him? Should I get up and greet him? I feel an insane and almost irresistible urge to run and hide.
If he hadn’t devastated and abandoned me two years ago, at this moment I would be bounding to my feet to greet him in the hallway. With a huge smile on my face, I’d wrap my arms around his neck and pepper his cheek with kisses, enjoying the sensation of his warm skin and the slight rasp of his clean-shaven cheek beneath my lips. We were always affectionate, touching each other as often as we could. I used to slip my hands beneath his shirts and hug his bare waist. I would fall asleep in his lap when we watched TV, long after it ceased to be appropriate, though it never occurred to me that it wasn’t.
And Uncle Kristian used to let me do all these things. He never once stepped away from me, told me to chill, or did anything else to discourage me from touching him. No wonder we’d crossed a terrible line last night. We were barreling toward it for years and I was too naïve to realize.
