“Tell her it’ll be okay, that things will work out. Maybe it’ll make her feel better.”
“The only thing that’ll make her feel better, Seven, is having her problem solved, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“And then what?”
I flip a pancake before turning to him. “And then she gets the bullshit fairy tale life she wants with her daughter.”
“And you?”
I laugh dryly. “And I might finally get to finish my fucking puzzle.”
Chapter Four
More months.
More weeks.
More days.
So many hours.
The little girl couldn’t count so high, even though the Cowardly Lion still tried to make her learn all the time. She didn’t talk much, doing as she was told, eating her porridge and using her words. She didn’t cry anymore, like she’d used up all her tears, and she faced the Tin Man whenever he was around, because she didn’t want him to scare her.
Face your fears and wipe your tears.
She remembered those words, even though she didn’t hear them anymore in her mind. She couldn’t hear her mother’s voice, no matter how hard she tried.
Money scattered along the bar top as the Cowardly Lion emptied his pocket, dropping it all in front of the little girl. She caught a silver coin before it rolled away, shoving it back onto the pile.
“Well?” He sat down across from her. “What is it?”
The dice game got too easy for her, he claimed, so now she added up his money every day. Most days it was dollars and quarters, but some days it was more colorful paper. Funny money, she called it.
This day was a mixture.
It was going to be hard.
She started sorting it into piles, the stuff she knew and then everything else. She picked up one of the bills—a red colored one—and her eyes widened at the big number. “Whoa! What is this?”
“Five-thousand,” he said.
“Five-thousand dollars?”
“No, it’s more like eighty dollars.”
“But why’s it say a five and the zeroes?”
“Rubles.”
“What?”
“It’s rubles.”
“Like rubies?”
He laughed at that as footsteps headed into the kitchen where they sat. The Tin Man. He was carrying something, but the little girl didn’t look, minding her own business so she didn’t set him off.
“Pindos,” the Cowardly Lion said, motioning toward her. “I swear it, Vor, she’s so American, just like that mother of hers.”
The Tin Man didn’t respond to that as he shoved in at the bar beside him, across from the little girl, setting something down beside the money she was counting. Curious, she peeked at it, her eyes widening as he tore the top off of a plastic container that held what looked a lot like it could be cake. “What’s that?”
“What does it look like?”
“Cake,” she said.
“Medovik,” the Tin Man said. “Honey cake.”
“What’s it for?”
“Your birthday.”
The little girl watched him with surprise as he pulled out some candles, shoving them through the top layer of the crumbly tan-colored cake. It didn’t look like the birthday cakes she saw before, but it was still cake, and that mattered. “My birthday?”
“It is your birthday today.”
Her brow furrowed. How could that be? She thought her birthday came before Christmas. Was it already almost another year again? “How do you know?”
“Because I was there when it happened,” he said with a laugh. “How do you not know?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what day it is.”
He lit the candles. “Make your wish.”
“Are you going to sing?”
“No.”
“I’ll sing,” the Cowardly Lion chimed in before launching into a raunchy song, loud and vulgar.
“That’s not the right song,” she said, reaching across the bar and slapping her hand over his mouth, trying to stop him. “Don’t sing that!”
He laughed, pulling her hand away, still singing.
“Enough,” the Tin Man said, silencing him with that simple word. “Blow out the candles, kitten.”
She looked at the flickering candles, sighing. I want to go home, with Mommy and Buster. It was the only thing she wanted.
She blew hard, extinguishing them all with one breath. The Tin Man plucked the candles back out, tossing them in the trash before walking away.
As soon as he was gone, Cowardly Lion grabbed a pair of forks, tossing one to her as he pulled the cake closer. He took a bite right out of the container, shoving his mouth full. “Well, what are you waiting for? Eat up!”
The little girl hauled herself up onto the bar again and took a bite of cake. It wasn’t so sweet, and it didn’t really have frosting, but it tasted a lot better than everything else he made her eat.
She sat there, with the Cowardly Lion, tearing the cake apart, stuffing themselves full of it, leaving none for anyone else.
“Do you think Daddy wanted some?” she asked, crumbs covering her.
“No,” he replied. “He doesn’t like sweet things... not even his women, especially your mother.”
He laughed at his own joke, but she just made a face at him as she tossed her fork down. Sometimes he could be nice, but other times he said mean things the little girl didn’t like.
“Ah, don’t look at me that way,” he said, putting his hand on her face and playfully pushing her. “I only speak the truth.”
“Why are you here?” she asked, snatching his hand away. “You’re always here.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because he’s my daddy. He makes me be here.”
“Yeah, well, he’s my brother,” he said. “And he kind of makes me, too.”
The Cowardly Lion started collecting his things as she gasped. “Does that mean you’re my family?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said, shoving his money in his pocket before handing her the red 5000 bill. “Happy birthday, sweet Sasha… although, just between us, your birthday was months ago. I just told him it was today so you could make another wish.”
He strolled out, leaving her there, clutching the money and utterly confused, covered in cake.
Chapter Five
Sasha would’ve liked chocolate chips in her pancakes.
That’s what I’m thinking, as I sit at the kitchen table beside Lorenzo, slowly chewing a small bite. I’ve never made pancakes from scratch. Hell, I’ve never made anything from scratch. I wish I would’ve at least tried before, though.
Sasha would’ve eaten them every morning, if she could’ve, and I know, without a doubt, she would love Lorenzo’s pancakes.
I wonder if Kassian has made them for her.
I wonder what Kassian is making her.
I wonder if Kassian is even feeding her.
All day, every day, it’s in the back of my mind.
Is she eating?
Is she sleeping?
Is she breathing?
Will we make it through this?
Will I ever see her again?
Will she still remember me?
I get lost in my head, drowning in those thoughts, forcing down bites, so consumed by these torturous unanswered questions that I almost don’t hear the words spoken from across the table.
“I’m moving out.”
Blinking a few times, pulling myself out of my stupor, I glance over at Leo and wonder if I’m imagining things, because whoa...
Leo stares down at his plate, at his untouched breakfast. He looks nervous.