I see his question coming and say, “If you don’t, if you even hesitate, it will be done for you. You owe my mother that much a hundred times over.”
His face goes slack, and I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m right. But I’m not done yet. “And furthermore, if you haven’t completely cut ties with the militias by the end of the year, I’ll begin to release information from your hard drive to the press. Yes, I have copies. And don’t even try to have my friend or me killed. There will be safeguards. Either Boyboy or I go missing, the whole of it gets sent straight to a dozen different international news agencies.”
I pause, letting this all sink in. “Am I clear?”
For a moment he simply looks at me, expressionless. Then a corner of his mouth lifts and a flicker of emotion registers on his face. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure it’s a look of grudging respect. “Perfectly,” he says. “I would expect nothing less from your mother’s daughter.”
FORTY-THREE
What will you do now?” Michael asks.
We’re standing in the Greyhills’ yard, near the spot where we got our scars all those years ago. I know his parents are inside discussing Kiki and me and what to do with us. I can hear Mrs. Greyhill’s raised voice, and catch, “They’re not your responsibility . . . We’re your family!”
Michael looks up at the house. I think I’m learning the nuances of his expressions now. This one is complicated, but it seems to be a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. “Let’s walk,” he says.
“Okay, wait a sec.” I catch Kiki’s eye. She’s sitting in the grass a few yards away, with the head of one of the German shepherd guard dogs in her lap. I give her a little smile, and she manages one back. I hope she didn’t hear Mrs. Greyhill shouting.
Kiki’s eyes are less haunted today, but she still looks small and tired. I know it’s a good thing she’s soon going to be far away from here. She needs a fresh start. But that doesn’t mean that I’m happy about letting her go. Michael has assured me he’s going to watch out for her in Switzerland, and I know he will, but it’s not the same.
“We’ll be just down there,” I tell her. “You’re okay?”
She nods her head. “I’m fine, Tina. Really. Stop worrying.”
The dog looks up at her adoringly and licks her chin.
The handoff with Bug Eye went smoothly. The general flew us in on two helicopters with six of his men to make sure no one became too “emotional” during the exchange. We met at the private airfield where Mr. G keeps his helicopter.
Ketchup was brought out to Bug Eye on a stretcher, and when Bug Eye saw his brother, for a second it really did look like things were going to get messy. But Mr. Greyhill had also thought to have a doctor present, who checked out both Ketchup and my sister and assured all of us that everyone was going to be “Fine just fine! Please put the guns away, please.”
My sister. Whew. I just about lost it when I saw her. Talk about emotional. Her getting into the Greyhills’ car is a blur. All I remember is shaking like crazy, and asking her if she was okay over and over again until the doctor gave me a shot of something in my arm. I woke up later that night in a panic in the Greyhills’ guestroom. But Kiki was curled right up next to me, and when I realized she really was there and okay, all I could do was cry silently and try not to wake her up.
Michael waits patiently now, a day later, for me to tear myself away. When I finally do, he leads the way down the yard, past all the flowers and ornamentals. He takes my hand with his good arm near my old cottage, and we walk past the place where I saw my mother and Mr. Greyhill arguing one dark night an eternity ago. We stop in front of the vegetables. The house behind us is hidden by a hibiscus bush humming with bees.
“So?” Michael asks. “What’s your plan? I know you have one.”
“I’ll be around,” I say.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“The less you know, the better,” I say, letting a teasing smile creep onto my face.
“One day I’m going to know all your secrets, Tiny Girl,” he says, “and you will never escape me.”
“We’ll see.”
“But aren’t you worried about the Goondas if you stay here?” he asks, his smile faltering.
“Your dad paid Bug Eye to leave me alone.”
Michael doesn’t look convinced. He shouldn’t. Payment or no, I bet there’s a price on my head. “Maybe I’ll do some traveling while you’re gone,” I say.
“That’s a good idea,” Michael tells me. “You should take Dad up on his offer to send you to school with us.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“You’d like Switzerland,” he says. “It’s . . . clean. And Kiki will be there.”
“I can’t go to Switzerland.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“I don’t belong there.”