31. Stefi
31
STEFI
A week goes by. Joao goes into town once, but when he gets to the only store, he sees my photo, the one Ivana took of me for her escort website, on the TV screen there. Apparently, I’m on the list of Poland’s most wanted. It spooks him enough that he leaves without buying much, and when he gets back, we decide it isn’t worth the risk of him going into town again.
So we live rough, squatting in the cold and abandoned farmhouse, and sleeping on the ground, one blanket between the two of us. We only light the fire under the cover of the dark. We eat bread and cheese, which sounds pretty good, but after three days of the food becoming increasingly stale, I’d sell my soul for a hot meal.
And despite all of those inconveniences, it’s the best week of my life.
Time is a luxury we never had. Our entire relationship was built in the slivers we could steal away from Henrik Bach’s paranoid and watchful gaze. We’ve never had a full week alone, never spent this much time together, and even the danger hanging over our heads can’t detract from how magical an interlude this is.
We catch up on each other’s lives and fill in the gap of the missing years. We argue about the latest superhero movie and tease each other about the books we’re reading. (A fluffy rom-com for me, and something about video games and chickens in a fantasy alt-Chinese world for Joao.)
I’ve always loved Joao, but in that farmhouse, I fall in love with him all over again.
My ankle gets better, and the swelling subsides. After three days, I can put my foot down without wincing. If I still worked for Bach, he would have pronounced me ready for the next job at that point. Unlike him, Joao gives a shit about me, and he refuses to let me get up.
“It needs more time,” he says stubbornly. “Besides, Mathilde isn’t ready with our passports.”
We have a phone now that Joao bought on his supply run, but it’s only for emergencies. We don’t use it; we don’t even turn it on. The moment we do, the outside world will intrude, and neither of us wants that.
But whether we want it to happen or not, time still flows inexorably forward. Before I know it, it’s time to say goodbye to our farmhouse and meet Joao’s Berlin contact at a fast-food restaurant in the border town of Szczecin.
I look around the room I’ve spent all my time in this last week, at the cracked window and the sooty fireplace. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss this place.”
“Is it the mice?” he quips. “Or is it the drafty windows and creaky floors?”
It’s you. I’m going to miss our togetherness. Because while we’ve avoided the topic about why I left all week, it’s still there, lurking in the shadows. And the moment we leave the farmhouse, everything that keeps us apart is going to rush back to the fore.
“All of the above,” I say lightly, hoisting the handbag Joao bought me over my shoulder. “Shall we?”
I’ve burned my wig and Ivana’s red dress so there’s nothing tying us to this place. I’m dressed in a pair of cheap jeans, a black T-shirt, and running shoes. I look like I’m already halfway out the door.
I’m not ready to leave.
If I could, I’d stay here with Joao forever and ignore the outside world, but I can’t. Mathilde will be waiting with our passports. And once we cross the border into Berlin, we need to put our plan into action, the trap we’ve hatched to figure out who’s leaking my movements.
And I still have two names on my list. Two people I need to kill to keep my promise to Christopher.
Joao laces his fingers in mine. “We’re going to sort this out, little fox. And then we’re going to live happily ever after. Okay?”
Happily ever after. The words send a poignant longing through me. If only it were as easy as he makes it sound.
When Joao finds out why I ran, his heart is going to break.
I’ve spent the last week with him under false pretenses, but it’s time to tell him the truth.
It’s time for me to tell Joao about his dead son.