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She nodded.
“I’ll make us pancakes. You like pancakes?”
She nodded again, more eagerly.
This little tough-as-nails ray of sunshine could be my daughter. What a crazy thing to think about. But it sure made me even more glad I had gotten her out of that Ivanov hell-house. “All right. I’ll make us Russian pancakes. You’ll like them. They’re big and flat and you put stuff in them.”
She tilted her head slightly, then nodded again, giving a tiny thumbs-up.
“Okay, little one. I’ll get started. You go pick out some clothes to wear.”
She nodded and hurried off, little feet thumping on the floor.
I smiled after her, then became aware of increasingly desperate pawing at my knees. I rolled my eyes and set down the food bowl, then turned to the sink to wash my hands.
Having a little kid in my life was a surprise to me. It didn’t disrupt everything, it just changed things. Made me adjust. It wasn’t easy, of course, just stowing everything potentially dangerous out of reach had been a bit of a learning curve.
In any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have left her alone at all. Maybe if Feodor was a rottweiler and not a purry ball of cuddliness and mild narcissism, but as it was, I felt guilty about it, despite the security cameras.Just a little while longer, I thought as I gathered ingredients.
My mother had taught me to makeblinchikias soon as I was old enough to be trusted around a hot stove. These days, I could afford better ingredients, and my pans were big and cast iron, not small and battered from decades of use. But the technique was the same.
I had just finished mixing the batter when Michelle came shuffling back out in her stocking feet, surprising me. She had managed to put on her stripy, pink shirt and matching socks, and even her new purple jeans, but she couldn’t button the front. She frowned and tugged at the two edges as she approached, trying to sort out the puzzle but not quite getting it yet. She looked up at me in frustration.
“Wow, smart kid. I didn’t know you could dress yourself. What are you, four? Not bad.” I crouched down and fastened the buttons for her. “There you go, that part is tougher. You’ll get it. How about you sit at the table and watch me cook these? Not safe to be too close to the stove.”
She nodded and took her seat, watching as I started frying up pancakes. The batter was thin, making nearly crepe-thickness pancakes the size of a dinner plate. I piled them up on the platter, and Michelle’s eyes grew wider as the stack continued to rise.
“Ha, yeah, I know, that’s a lot of pancakes, right?”
She nodded.
“My mama used to say that if you don’t make at least forty of them, you’re not making a meal, you’re making a snack.”
I finished up and brought the stack over to the table, then grabbed jams, honey, tvorog cheese, and a basket of strawberries. I washed and chopped the berries and put them in a bowl for the table, then grabbed some plates, forks, and spoons.
“Here we go. I’ll make up some different ones for you to try.” I rolled them with different fillings, cut them up into fork-sized bites, and then went to fill my own plate.
It was kind of fun watching her try all the different combinations. She didn’t seem picky, though she liked the ones with tvorog and jam better than the one with peanut butter and I wondered if the Ivanovs had been giving her more Russian foods than American. I got us both glasses of orange juice, which she drained even faster than I did.
I could get used to this. I really could. But there was another piece missing. If only I could find a way to get her to fit.
But I was getting way ahead of myself. I hadn’t even called Alissa yet.
“Hey, kid,” I said as she finished one of the last bites on her plate. She looked up at me curiously. “You remember your mama?”
She blinked at me, and then nodded, her expression gone oddly solemn.
“I’m gonna find her for you, okay?” Though, really, all I had to do at this point was to get the number off her donation site and call it. Depending on what happened then, I could ‘find’ her in the next half hour.
Michelle offered one of her tiny smiles and nodded.
“All right, then. You just hold on a little longer while I figure this out, okay?”
Another nod.
“Okay.”
Chapter 7
