3. Laila
3
LAILA
“Work with me here, baby girl,” I beg as Nina babbles at me.
I imagine she’s saying something along the lines of, Where are we going at two in the morning, Mama? And why are you wearing those weird clothes?
She might have a point. To my infant’s credit, I should’ve gone for jeans and a t-shirt, but I was trying to embrace the cat burglar, Ocean’s Eleven vibe. Thus, I’m in pocketless black leggings with a wad of cash shoved into my black sports bra.
Cargo pants might’ve been a smarter choice.
“I explained the plan to you days ago,” I whisper. “Gedeon should be deep in his REM cycle by now, so we have to move.”
She gurgles a little louder, and I press a gentle finger over her lips. Nina just giggles.
I lower her into the baby carrier strapped to my chest and reach under her crib for the small black duffel I stashed there earlier in the afternoon.
At least some things are going to plan.
What’s not going to plan is Nina being awake right now. My master scheme relied on her sleeping soundly for the next four hours, but she woke up five minutes before I set things in motion, so I’ve been forced to improvise.
That mostly means singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on repeat as I slink out of the apartment we’ve called home for the last three months and make my way to the ground floor.
The rental car I hired should be parked down the road in front of the bakery. Massimo’s cooperation and silence cost me an extra two hundred bucks, but hey, I have money to spare these days.
That’s another thing I learned about the art of stealth missions: anything is possible when you have cash to throw at the problem.
Feeling pretty damn good—or as good as you can feel with a baby strapped to your chest and cold wind slicing through your too-thin leggings—I make my way to the end of the deserted street.
The car is sitting right where it should be. I say a silent prayer of thanks to Massimo as I place my duffel on the trunk of the car and dig for the keys.
After a full minute of rooting around in the side pocket, the panic starts to set in.
Did I drop them on the stairs? Did I leave them in my room?
Nina’s mood is starting to turn, but all of the words to every lullaby I know have winked out of my mind as I contemplate sneaking back into the building I just escaped from.
“I know I put them in here,” I mutter. “Where in the hell are they?”
Then I hear the jingle of keys right behind me. “Looking for these?”
I twist around and find myself face to face with Gedeon. “Goddammit, Ged! You were sleeping! I heard you snoring.”
“You heard what I wanted you to hear.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.” He rolls his eyes. “Gotta say, this was your best attempt yet. I only caught on a few hours ago.”
I sag against the car, but Nina is twisting towards Gedeon, holding her chubby hands out for him. “What gave me away? I want to know how to improve for next time.”
“Or we could skip the ‘next time.’ You could give up the plotting and pick up a hobby—maybe crocheting or meditation. Something quiet that would allow me a full night’s sleep.” His voice isn’t unkind, which is remarkable, all things considered.
I flip him off, which is my middle-of-the-night way of saying, I’d rather die and take you with me than accept this prison.
He sighs and reaches for the duffel. “Let me carry that for you.”
I do the only thing I can do: relent.
We’re halfway back to the building when he peeks over his shoulder at me. “Nice outfit, by the way.”
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously. I like the whole Catwoman thing you’ve got going. Suits you. Very menacing.”
When we get back upstairs, I deposit Nina in her playpen and drift aimlessly into the kitchen. “Cup of tea?”
It’s become something of a ritual with us. After an escape attempt, Gedeon and I sit in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating snacks.
He yawns as I push a cup of Earl Grey towards him. “Gingersnaps or oatmeal cookies?”
“A couple of each, please. Being up all night makes me hungry. Could you not schedule your escape attempts for a more convenient time?”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He groans. “You were supposed to say, ‘What escape attempts? I’m going to start whittling.’”
The only thing I’ll be whittling is a spoon into a shiv.
“If you think I’m just gonna sit back and accept my jail sentence,” I answer, “you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Things are crazy back home. At least you and Nina aren’t in the thick of it.”
I hold up my hand. “I’ve heard this all before, Gedeon. I’m not interested.”
“You know what? Fine,” he mutters. “I’m sick of spouting the same old shit all the time, too. You’re right: this sucks.”
“I’m glad we agree.”
“The window in my room leaks when it rains,” he continues. “And the coffee in this town might as well be horse piss.”
“The bakeries aren’t much better.”
“Oh, don’t even get me started on the bakeries. Why in the hell is it so hard to make some decent sourdough?” he grumbles. “Also, there’s nowhere to run where I’m not at risk of being flattened by a semi.”
“The trails suck,” I agree.
“This town sucks!”
“Arsen sucks!” I add.
“Cheers,” Gedeon agrees as we clink our cups together.
I take a gingersnap even though I have no appetite. “I miss my mom.”
Just like that, the mood deflates. Gedeon’s knee bounces the same way it does every time things get personal.
“You speak to her every day,” he offers, though even he knows it’s not enough.
“She’s fading, Gedeon.” My chin wobbles, and I do my damnedest not to let the tears fall. Fuck knows I’ve let enough of them fall already. “What if she dies and I’m not with her?”
“I’m sure Arsen would tell us if she gets really?—”
“Arsen hasn’t spoken to me in over three months!” I snap. “His obligatory, I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-you-but-I-have-to-keep-up-appearances texts stopped coming two months ago. He doesn’t care about me or my mother.”
“Laila—”
“If you even try to defend him, I’m throwing the rest of my tea in your face.” His lips seal shut as I angle my mug towards him. “Now, what were you gonna say?”
“Erm… that Arsen’s an asshole?”
“That’s what I thought.”
Just then, Gedeon’s phone rings, making us all jump. Nina starts to fuss, so I rush over to scoop her up before our downstairs neighbor grabs a broom and starts banging for us to Stop waking up the whole building, goddammit!
I’m shushing her, swaying back and forth when Gedeon answers his phone. “Arsen?”
I can’t help it—I flinch. Gedeon talks to Arsen somewhat regularly, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end each and every time.
I try to ignore them and focus on Nina as she starts to settle against my chest.
Then Gedeon whistles soft and low. “Okay. I understand.”
He hangs up a second later and turns to me. That’s strange in and of itself. Usually, he avoids me after a call with Arsen, like he knows I don’t want to be infected by overlapping contact. Considering the threat I just made about pouring boiling hot tea on him, I’m surprised he’s even willing to say his name in my presence.
I balance Nina on my hip. “Is it about my mom? Is she okay?”
He clears his throat, his gaze sliding over to the duffel he deposited on the coffee table. “It’s a good thing you’re all packed. It looks like we’re heading out.”
“Out? Out where?”
“Home,” he breathes. “Arsen wants to bring you back.”