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“But he—”
“Can take care of himself,” he finishes. “That’s the reason I’m here. Timofey wanted me to pick you up and get you home. He’ll handle everything else.”
I asked Timofey on the plane if we were both going home. He avoided the question. I should have known then what that meant.
“He shouldn’t have to handle everything by himself! He’s alone in everything! Don’t you care?”
Akim’s mouth presses into a firm line. His hold on my hand tightens like he’s worried I’ll sprint away.
He’s right to be worried. I’m considering it.
“Listen to me. I’ve known Timofey for a long time. And this—” He gestures from himself to me and back again, “—this is how I get to help him. I can’t fight and I’m shit at negotiating. But I can make sure the woman he loves makes it home safely.”
The woman he loves.
I know that Timofey cares about me. He made that clear last night. Still, hearing…the other word…out loud stops me in my tracks.
“So can we go before Kreshnik calls for backup?” Akim smiles pleasantly at the people passing by, but I see the current of tension running underneath it. “Even if the Albanians don’t show up, Timofey will kill me if I don’t get you out of here.”
I want nothing more than to run through this airport and find Timofey. I want to make sure he is safe and help him get revenge. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to Akim, either from the Albanians or Timofey.
So I nod and let him lead me out of the airport.
* * *
“How about soup?” Akim pops his head out of the pantry, a bundle of kluski noodles in his hand. “It’s not exactly soup season, but then again, any season is soup season if you’re, you know…eating soup.”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
He lets the pantry door close and puts a pan on the stovetop to preheat. “You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you.”
“I’m really not hungry!” My nausea is out of control right now. I’m not sure if it’s from anxiety or pregnancy hormones. Probably both. But Akim doesn’t know about the baby yet, so I can’t exactly explain myself.
“Everyone is hungry. It’s just determining what you’re hungry for.” He taps his chin, thinking. “How about grilled cheese? Elevated, obviously. I use four different kinds of cheeses and can thaw out some of the tomato soup I made in bulk last month for a little soup-and-sandwich action.”
We’ve been playing this back-and-forth game for half an hour, and I’m tired. So I nod. “Fine. That sounds fine.”
He snorts and heads to the freezer. “It soundsamazing,is what I’m sure you meant to say. But you’re stressed, so I’ll ignore the omission.”
I don’t even hear him. My head is still back at the airport. I’ve been checking the news regularly to see if any stations are covering a disturbance at the airport.
Nothing.
Not a single peep.
Is that good or bad? If someone died, surely the news would report it. Then again, maybe it’s a coverup. Timofey has friends in the police department. I’m sure Kreshnik does, too. Maybe at the papers and news stations, as well. Maybe one or both of them is covering up the extent of what happened, leaving me and everyone else in the dark.
“What do you think?”
I look up and Akim is standing across the island from me, a loaf of rye bread in one hand and a loaf of sourdough in the other.
“Huh?”
“Sourdough or rye?” he repeats. “What do you think?”
I look from one hand to the other, taking in the two loaves. Then I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I don’t think Benjamin is dead.”
Akim slowly lowers the loaves. His thin, happy mask crumples. His forehead creases, and he stares at me with forlorn eyes. “Piper…”
