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“I have a feeling there are probably a lot of people looking for your father,” I say to her, leaning back in my chair, eyes on her.
“Where do you think he is?”
I pretend to think about it.
“Where do you think he is?” I answer her question with one of my own, not liking the idea of lying to her face.
“Probably Russia or China, or one of the countries we don’t have an extradition treaty with,” she says with a shake of her head, making complete sense, although I know better.
“If he is overseas, do you think he will ever come back?”
“I don’t think so. He only ever thinks of himself, not the trail of destruction he leaves behind.” She puts her fork down, giving up on eating for the moment.
“It really is like finding a needle in a haystack. We have been through at least ten boxes. I’ve found information on my past, but there doesn’t seem to be anything that leads us to any money trail.” I can see her mind starting to work again, moving past her personal heartbreak and frustrations and back into work mode.
“His plane log book doesn’t hold anything of interest. He flew everywhere, all over the world; there is not one country that sticks out more than any other. Did he ever take you anywhere as a kid? Was there any special holiday spot?” There has to be a lead in it all somewhere.
“Huh,” she huffs out a laugh. “No. Nowhere. I was barely allowed to leave the house. I left for school, some sports, and things like that, but I never went on a holiday, and most certainly never traveled overseas. He kept me pretty enclosed. That’s why I flew across the country to go to college. I needed to get away, have some freedom and explore. I guess since I was pretty much an adult, he no longer needed to care for me, so let me go, never to see me again.” Again, I am reminded of how different our upbringings were.
“Did he go overseas a lot when you were a kid?” I ask again, trying to get a glimpse into anything that might give us a lead.
“No. I mean… I don’t think so. But to be honest, I never really knew where he was most of the time. He could have traveled anywhere and I wouldn’t have known. I guess there were times when he wasn’t around for a while, so who knows, he could have been overseas then, but I have no idea. We were not really thesit around the dinner table and tell me about your daytype of family,” she says with a roll of her eyes, and I am glad to hear her getting back to normal.
“What about you?” she asks, sitting back in her chair, looking at me.
“What about me?” I retort, wondering what she wants to know. I feel myself wanting to talk to her about my life, eager for her to know about me.
“Well, did you grow up in a big family?” she asks expectantly.
“Just my parents and my sister, but we are close, always have been.” Divulging personal details is easy to do with Emilia. If this were anyone else, I wouldn’t even be sitting here.
“Do you see them much?”
“A few times a year. They are in Italy, I am based here now.” I have her full attention as she listens to me inquisitively, her chin resting on her palm.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mother. She is one of the best cooks in our town. She taught me from a young age.” I catch myself and stop before I tell her the reason I learned to cook was because my sister was so sick, and I needed to help around the house more than a normal kid my age.
“Well, she did a good job. Your food is delicious,” she says with a smile I’d like to see more of, and I nod to her, accepting her compliment. Her admiration has me feeling warmer.
“Nico, do you know where my father is?” she asks, adjusting in her seat and turning to face me. I’ve come to realize that all her questions were just to warm me up for this one. No doubt she was planning to ask me this all along. I rub my hand on my jaw, rolling her question around in my head. Do I tell her he is underneath us in a cell here at the compound, or do I lie and tell her I have no idea. I decide to not admit to either.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, changing the subject. I’m not ready to answer her question, and I don’t think she is ready to hear the answer. And we have to get back to work anyway.
“I’m fine,” she says with another small smile, only this one doesn’t reach her eyes.
"I can take you home, or to your office, if you need a break?”
“No, I’m fine.” She waves off the concern.
“We have more boxes to get to. I think we should head back up.” I end the conversation as I stand and start to clear the table. She sits for a moment, watching me, and I meet her eyes, not wavering. It is the lawyer in her. She knows that I know where her father is. And I know she knows, yet neither of us push it.
She stands and grabs her dishes, coming to stand beside me at the sink. “Well, if you ever do find him, Nico, I would like the chance to speak to him. I have a lot of questions of my own,” she says in an ominous tone, before walking away to start on a fresh box for the afternoon.
16
EMILIA
