Chapter 4
Helena
Idid it.
My first successful day living as Sofia Petrov has been a complete and somewhat miraculous success. She’s a part of me now.
I can do this. I can really do this.
I”m filled with a renewed sense of hope. I”ve got the radio on low in the car, and for the first time in a long time, I”m tapping my fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. I have no idea what the words are or who is singing them, but I wiggle in my seat in time with the music. I just can”t stop myself. Today was a big victory for me. I actually enjoyed it. I liked the students. I enjoyed getting their feedback on various issues. Talking to them is fascinating.
With the first day of school over, my next visit is to Abram Sidorov. He’s the closest thing I have to family out here. At least, he’s the closest thing to family I’m willing to claim. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. He was there for more important life milestones than my father ever was. Despite being best friends with my father, Abram had different priorities. I’m more grateful to him than he will ever know. There’s nothing I could ever say to put to words how much I owe him.
He was my father”s most trusted man. When I was old enough to venture out into the world on my own, he trusted no one else to keep an eye on me. Abram was my bodyguard and confidant throughout my adolescence, and he remained so long after my father died. He”s the one who saved me with Nikolai that night. If it weren”t for him, I wouldn”t be here.
He nursed me back to health in secret, and when the time came, he arranged this whole new life for us as well. Abram is renting a small, two-bedroom house just past the only real subdivision of the town. Naturally, he is doing so under a false name. The street that he selected is mostly abandoned, which suits us as well. Abram likes his privacy as much as I do.
I pull into the garage and shut the door behind me. I shove the car door shut with my hip and wince at the creaking noise that it makes. Someday, I will adjust to not having a driver anymore. I step out of my basic, nude heels and leave them on the mat before the concrete steps of the garage. This small house is such a drastic downgrade from all those I’ve known before. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to not having security posted at every entrance and people watching my every move.
But that isn’t to say that this doesn’t have its own appeal. No giant drafty rooms filled wall to wall with pointless artwork. No stuffy, overdrawn meals that you have to dress up for. No obligations to fulfill. Soft music plays from a thrifted record player in the small living room, but it still manages to fill the house. From the kitchen, I can hear Abram singing the words to a Russian country song under his breath. His heavy accent blends the sounds as he cooks.
I think he enjoys living at a slower pace. Even with his back turned, I can see the slightly off-beat way that he bobs and wiggles his hip to-and-fro to the music that he’s singing along with. His movements are slower now, slightly unsteady as a result of the arthritic hip he keeps denying having. Abram’s the sort of man who thinks he can tough anything out and, naturally, never asks anybody for help.
It’s really no wonder that I’ve likened him to a superhero in my mind since childhood.
A year ago, I would have done anything to keep myself from a life filled with unflattering yellow lighting and having to clean up after myself. I’m not too proud to admit that I was beyond spoiled. Hell, I was the definition of spoiled. Even still, there’s a sense of calm that comes over me as I move barefoot into the kitchen.
Whatever Abram is cooking, it smells delicious. There’s an intoxicating blend of spices and what seems to be a sauce simmering on the small range top. He has never seemed out of place, no matter where I’ve seen him over the years, but he really seems to have come into his own here.
He must sense my presence because he turns with a wooden spoon still in his hand. “Ah! Zaya! You have come home so soon!”
He cups his hand protectively underneath the wooden spoon so as not to waste a single drop as he waits for me to come and sample the sauce that he’s making. He calls me Zaya, which stands for little bunny. He has called me that for as long as I can remember.
“You don’t need to go to all of this trouble for me,” I say with an easy smile and taste the vodka sauce he practically forces into my mouth.
“It is no trouble,” He mutters while waiting for my verdict. I can hardly see his mouth moving underneath his thick handlebar mustache.
“Wow,” my mouth fills with saliva as the flavors of the cream and tomato sauce explode on my tongue. I’m hungrier than I realized. I lean around him to see the rest of what he’s cooking, but he steps in front of me and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval.
“Ah, ah! You will see soon enough.” He hastily hugs me in greeting. “It is a meal of celebration after all!”
“What exactly are we celebrating?” I ask and pick a wooden chair from the three positioned around the circular wooden dining table. Or is it, breakfast table? The house doesn’t have a formal dining room, but as this is the only place to put a table, it can’t really be considered a breakfast nook either. Whatever it’s called, I sit and wait patiently for his answer.
“To the same thing that we have been celebrating for the last year, Zaya—we are celebrating your health.” He lifts a small glass from the counter, already half empty, and toasts the air between us. I know him well enough to guess that it’s vodka and not water inside of that glass. He downs it like it’s water regardless.
“I will celebrate only if you stop trying so hard.” I know he won’t let me help with the cooking, or the cleaning up after. He tells me that it is not my place to help him in any way. Even after all of this time, he will not allow it. So, I try another tactic. “Come and sit with me?”
“Zaya, I am not so old that you need to tell me to sit.”
“At least let me set the table for you?” I counter, but I’m met with a stern glare.
“My arm might be a bit limp, but I am still more capable than most. Do not age me before my time, Zaya.” He says firmly, and I know that he will not continue the conversation any further.
My gaze drifts to the spot on his arm where I know a nasty, poorly healed gunshot wound lies. When he was shot, the doctors did their best to repair his muscle and tendon... but he doesn”t have much functionality in it. His fingers are almost permanently fused in the same cupped position; thelimb does not fully straighten, but he has never let it slow him down. Not voluntarily.
I don’t try to bring it up again and wait at the table as he slowly places the plates and silverware in front of our two place settings. It’s a hearty meal, more than I will be able to finish, but I don’t tell him that. He”s the only person I”d never want to offend, and whose love I cherish.
When I learned of Nikolai’s plan to kill me, he was the first person I called. He’s always the first person I turn to in any situation. He was the best there was when it came to hiding bodies and making people disappear. He did so first in a more sinister fashion under my father’s employ. Then, he began helping witnesses, runaways, and people like me start whole new lives.
“So, eat and tell me about your day,” Abram says after a mouthful of food.
“Things went really well for the most part,” I say with a smile and push my food around my plate.
“Most part?” he pushes. I know that if I choose not to answer, he’s not going to pry any further… but I do want his opinion.
“I’m probably just being paranoid,” I answer finally with a shrug.
“Perhaps,” Abram says conversationally and pours me a couple of fingers of vodka to have with my dinner. “But perhaps it is your gut attempting to tell you something.”
He might have a point.
“Well, the other staff seem perfectly nice. The kids have more energy than I’m used to, but I will adjust. I think that it’s going to really work. You were right, as usual.” I smile tightly. He was the one who encouraged me to give teaching a chance after all.
“And yet your shoulders are tight still,” he wiggles the fingers of his good hand in my direction.
I force my shoulders to relax. I have been trying to ignore this strange feeling in my gut all morning. I’ve felt strange ever since I saw that parent standing in the doorway to the music room earlier today. He was devilishly handsome. Tall, well-muscled, with strong shoulders. His torso tapered into narrow hips, but his pants barely concealed his strong, defined legs. He didn’t look anything like the other parents that I met over the course of the day. I just have to hope that my paranoia will fade when it comes to handsome, dangerous-looking men.
“I think I’m just waiting for something bad to happen… like it usually does, you know? Not that I want it to. I want more than anything for all of this to work out. I guess that’s just something that will come with time.”
“It is only natural, Zaya, to be fearful of things after a person has gone through what you have. Most people will never have to endure such trouble or worry about being watched or followed. You will have to remain vigilant for the rest of your life. However, that does not mean that you can’t have a life that you enjoy.”
I can’t help but smile. “Casual philosophy over dinner, eh Abram?”
He waves me off. “I would not bring you somewhere where I was not confident that you were safe. That is something you can trust, no?”
I know he chose a calm, underpopulated, and frankly boring small town exactly for that reason. I’m sure that he’s run extensive background checks on every single person that calls this place home. Even more than that, I am certain that he has gone to great lengths to ensure our safety, with security measures I can’t even dream of.
“I know, I just need to remember to breathe, I guess.” I lean back in my chair and exhale slowly. The only reason I didn”t try to flee to Europe was because I couldn”t leave Abram behind. I know he”s getting older and that one day he won”t be able to protect me. I”d never say that to him, but it”s a real concern of mine.
Nikolai will never stop looking for me, no matter where I go. Not after what I did.
If something were to happen to Abram, would I really be okay with being stuck here alone? Will a tiny, dingy, dilapidated two-bedroom house be all that I have to show for my life at the end of it all? A wardrobe full of faded, department store dresses and a slowly dying car? It’s pathetic when I stop to think about it. My eyes drift to the faded wallpaper that is peeling at the corners down to the slightly warped baseboards. The home could do with a little bit of maintenance, but there is no denying that it is cozy and more than well lived in.
“You must focus on the positive, Zaya—and eat your food. I worked hard on it.” He points his fork at my plate and lifts his thick eyebrows at me.
I smile brightly. He’s right. I have the habit of focusing on all the bad things in life. For his sake, I will try to do better. It’s the least I can do. “Okay, okay. Thank you.”
I spear one of the stuffed shells that he’s made. He’s right. I can’t let myself be crippled by my fear for the rest of my life. For now, I’m here, doing something that I know I will come to love. That man at the door simply had good fashion sense, nothing more. I have to make the best and most of this, for Abram’s sake.
“You know what you could do if you really wished to thank me, Zaya?” Abram says as we finish the meal. He blots the corners of his mouth with his napkin and slowly wipes his chin. As he moves the napkin away, it reveals a wicked grin. For a moment, he appears almost ten years younger, what with that playful glint in his eye.
“What’s that? I’m not sure I like that sinister smile on your face, old man.” I narrow my eyes playfully at him. It really doesn’t matter what he’s about to ask me for, I’m probably going to do it. So rarely does he let me do anything that will make his day better.
“I could die for a chocolate milkshake right now. And die a very happy man at that.” He pats his belly dramatically and leans back in his chair, licking his lips like he belongs in a cartoon.
“You have the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen!” I snort, trying to hold back my laughter. I’m already heading for my keys.
“It is true,” he grins overly large, showing me as many of his teeth as possible. “They are all sweet teeth!” His following belly laugh could rattle the house down to its timbers. It’s my favorite sound in the whole world.
“Okay! Okay! I will get you one! Chocolate fiend…” I curl my fingers around the keys and push the button that will make the old garage door groan to life.
“And hurry! I fear I will die of impatience before you return,” he says to my retreating back, already starting on the dishes.