Chapter 10 – Poppy
There was a tickle at the back of my throat. I tried to clear the blasted thing for the third time, but it did nothing.
“Mama, I’m bored.”
I set the crayon down and gave him a very serious look. “Hi, bored, I’m mama.”
Brady let out a strangled groan. “Mama!”
The options to entertain him were limited.
There was no way we were wandering to the playground I saw when we were brought here.
The front yard was open and easily accessible to the street.
The back, however, was enclosed by a six-foot chain-link fence.
There were trees sheltering the edges, and the neighbor’s shed butted along the back.
Ivan also had a small tool shed, which had a large padlock—not that I wanted to peek at what kinds of tools he kept in there.
It should be safe in the backyard.
“Why don’t we go out back and play,” I suggested.
Brady whooped.
I pressed my finger over my lip and hissed. “Ivan is sleeping.”
“Oh, right, sorry!” Brady sang out.
He was already scrambling off the kitchen chair and racing to his boots. He tugged them on a second later then stood, hopping up and down as I slipped some flipflops on mine.
The moment he was outside, he seemed to relax as a burst of pent-up energy released.
He ran a full lap around the fence—like a dog—and then began examining the patches of dirt where the grass wasn’t growing.
I sank onto the top step on the porch, not having the energy after a sleepless night to do more than watch him.
My mind drifted from thought to thought. This place was nothing more than a cage. Unlike the one I grew up in, it was small. There wasn’t a plush lawn, a manicured garden, or a high fence where guards roamed. There wasn’t even a digital surveillance system or high-tech perimeter monitoring.
Which is good.
It would make escaping much easier.
I didn’t have the brain energy to plot our exit right now. Leaning my head against the side of the house, I continued to make comparisons between my past and this present. Brady was not going to grow up in a place where he felt trapped. Where even the backyard didn’t feel safe.
And what about the first time he saw violence?
I shuddered.
He might be a wild child, but he was also unbelievably sweet and kind. Seeing the monster his father was would forever scar his heart. As it had for me. I closed my eyes. That day had come when I was barely older than Brady.
The balloons Giana Partucchi ordered were pink, not red. I slid the piece of vanilla cake into the trash when no one was looking. The pink rosebuds smooshed against the boxes and plastic, and I hurried to put the plate in the sink. Maybe Max would know how to find strawberry cake.
Tears welled in my eyes.
But if Signora Partucchi found me crying, she would say I was a naughty little girl. An ungrateful little girl. Her husband was papa’s friend, and she didn’t need to spend her Saturday hosting this party for me.
While everyone laughed and talked loudly, I scampered up the back stairs. Papa said he had a special gift for me. That wasn’t going to be a disappointment. My papa was the best!
I’d seen him go upstairs with Signor Partucchi earlier. They would be talking business, and I wasn’t allowed in the office while they did that. But I would just find a spot to wait. It was better than the stupid party, anyhow.
The halls upstairs were filled with a gloomy stream of sunlight. November was a dumb month for birthdays. Max was so lucky! He got to have water parks and mini golf for his twelfth birthday.
I crept to the office door, and sure enough, voices sounded through the space.
They were loud, and papa didn’t sound happy.
Going to the library, I saw the sliding door was open, just as I suspected. On tiptoes, holding my breath like Max taught me, I moved forward. Very, very sneaky. I crouched, making myself small, and peered around the sliding door. I was careful not to make it jiggle in its pocket.
A thump-thump-thump sounded in the office.
There were five…no. Six men inside.
One of them was bent, and his face looked really funny.
“You’re scum, Romizi,” Signor Partucchi spat.
“Enough.” Papa’s voice was angry. The volume made me freeze. “No one skims from the books.”
I frowned. Papa didn’t like to read.
Something flicked. It was metal. Dancing in the light, it became an extension of Papa’s hand.
Two big men, the kind of men who came around every once in a while, held the funny looking man in between them.
The moment I realized what the metal thing was, a scream twisted in my throat. I clapped both hands over my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to be here.
But I couldn’t make myself leave.
I was stuck.
And I watched as my papa gripped the funny man’s ear. With a vicious tug, he slid the sharp thing—the knife—across the man’s head.
The ear dropped to the ground, skipping and hopping over the rug.
I saw it roll under the desk.
“Get him out of here,” papa barked.
The big men drug the funny man away. He was crying, but he didn’t make a noise.
Just like me.
Through the tears, I watched, praying to the saints and my mama in heaven that they didn’t catch me. I still couldn’t move.
“Sorry to have to do this today,” Signor Partucchi muttered, flicking his lighter. His fat cheeks puffed as he worked a cigar.
Papa went to his desk and pulled out another. “Let’s go down and celebrate. Wait till you see the gift I got my girl.”
“She’s a fine-looking doll, getting so big. Soon all the young jackanapes will be vying for her.” Smoke billowed out of Signor Partucchi’s mouth.
My muscles began to thaw. Ever so quietly, I inched backward.
My father sighed. “Already six, and look! Look at these grey hairs!”
Signor Partucchi laughed.
I slid to the corner of the library. The big green chair was the best for hide-and-go-seek. I made myself as small as possible behind it.
The door in the office opened and shut.
The smoke stayed, and so did the ear. I couldn’t see them, but I felt them.
Burying my face on my knees, I cried. Why did God have to take my mama? She taught me not to play with knives. But my papa…my papa cut someone. On purpose.
In a burst of clarity, I realized that if I wasn’t a good little girl, if I whined like Signora Partucchi accused me of, I might be the one getting cut. My mama was an angel in heaven, she couldn’t protect me, and she left me here with a monster.
I sneezed three times. The past whispered away, the sunlight on the backyard making it no more than a haunting memory.
“Brady,” I called out. He was squatting near the tool shed, staring fixedly at the rotting planks that make up the side. “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Stay in the backyard, okay?”
“Okay!” he said in a loud whisper.
I frowned, because he was clearly up to something. But I desperately needed hot liquid to sip on. Hurrying inside, I kept looking out the back window as I heated water. Brady might be attached to Ivan, but I needed to spare him the heartbreak that was inevitable.
“He doesn’t seem like he brings work home,” I muttered.
Why was I defending Ivan? He was a boss. If push came to shove, he might drag someone here and then it would be over. Or maybe he would insist Brady go along on a job. I would be powerless to stop it.
No, if that was the life I was going to keep Brady from, it needed to end. Now.
That telltale scrape-drag-thump of the old five-gallon bucket bumping against the steps had me staring out the window with another frown. What on earth was my child doing?
Before I could intercept him at the door, he was jiggling the latch.
“Mama! MAMA!” he hollered, voice full of triumph. “I got a friend!”
Every muscle in my body tensed. Nothing good ever followed those words.
Sure enough, he burst into the kitchen, red-faced and grinning, both hands gripping the bucket handle like he’s hauling treasure. He set it down with a dramatic thud. And then the scratching started.
My throat tightened.
“Brady,” I said, already pinching the bridge of my nose. “What’s in the bucket?”
He beamed, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with the kind of pride usually reserved for astronauts. “A CHIPMUNK! He likes me. I’m gonna keep him.”
Oh, sweet boy!
He was the king of the jungle, even here in the city. Before I could tell him there was no way in hell we were keeping a rodent, the chipmunk launched itself up and over the rim, bolted across the kitchen floor, and disappeared somewhere behind the stove.
“Brady!” I whispered.
“Oh, no!” He shot forward, dragging the bucket and bumping chairs.
I didn’t even scream anymore when this kind of thing happened. It was par for the course that he caught anything living and tried to tame it. I just looked at my feral child, squatting by the stove, covered in dirt, coaxing the wild animal out.
“See, mama?” Brady insisted with utter sincerity. “He’s home now.”
Tea forgotten, I hurried over. “He most certainly is not home. He’ll get stuck and die.”
Brady scrunched his nose. “I’ll feed him. And there’s no cats to hunt him.”
“Brady,” I groaned.
It was the wild bunnies all over again.
“Please, mama,” he begged, pulling at the bottom of the oven, but the drawer was stuck.
In my cleaning frenzy, I hadn’t moved the appliances, not wanting to know what kinds of grossness had piled back there over the years.
“Go get the broom,” I instructed.
There was a bump and thump as Brady drug the bucket with him. I jiggled the ancient stove, testing to see if I could move it enough.
The frightened chipmunk ran along the side closest to the wall. If I’d had the bucket, I would have been able to drop it on top of the critter.
“No!” I yelped, diving forward.
The soft, brown, speckled ball was a streak of fur as it raced along the wall.
And headed straight to the front bedroom.
“Caspian!” Brady yelled, running with broom and bucket.
All I could think was “Great, he named it” as the creature dove under the closed door.
It wasn’t until Brady turned the knob and dove inside that my overly tired brain registered what was happening.
“Brady, no,” I gasped.
Too late.
The deep rumble meant Ivan was awake.
I hurried after them but paused at the threshold. Ivan leaned over the edge of his bed, staring at where Brady was currently trying to wriggle underneath.
“I’m so sorry!” I rushed to say.
Ivan braced his hands on the mattress and pushed up. His shoulders flexed and strained while blankets tangled around his lower half. My mouth went dry at the sight. A tingle of electricity buzzed under my skin. The half sleepy mobster, hair pushed back in a wild mane, watched me with a lazy smile.
Brady disappeared farther under the bed, broom jabbing into the dark.
“Caspian?” Ivan was smirking.
I crouched, trying to see under the frame. It was too dark. “His new buddy,” I explained.
“A mouse.”
“A chipmunk, tatko!” Brady corrected from somewhere under the king size bedframe.
I lifted my gaze and gave Ivan a helpless shrug. This was his son. He’d better get used to wild animals becoming part of his life.
No, not get used to it.
“I don’t know how we’re going to catch it,” I said helplessly. “We once had a sparrow live with us for over a week because we couldn’t get it outside.”
Ivan scrubbed a hand over his face. “I take it that—” he made a slice across his throat “—is out of the question.”
“Yes!” I hissed. “Unless you can do it without him—” I stabbed a finger at the boots, the only part of Brady still visible “—knowing.”
Ivan gave me a nod. “I’ll help him.”
It took the rest of the day to catch the shivering woodland creature.
When Ivan finally helped Brady release it outside, I was dead with exhaustion.
For once, it was nice not to be the bad guy.
I tried not to let the fact that having a partner to navigate the situation with was a major relief.
Ivan carefully explained to Brady that city chipmunks were better off outside.
He handled the argument with tact and care.
I silently blessed him. There had been little support in matters like this in Carrington, where my cousins preferred to egg Brady on and help him with his antics.
Ivan had stayed firm under the protests, and when they finally took the bucket and rodent outside, Brady was convinced that it was the right thing to do.