I stood abruptly. “Anyway, it was nice to see you. I need to get back to the café.”
That was a lie, and he knew it. But he was quiet as I left, seething with the silent frustration I knew so well in him. Luka wasn’t one to throw a tantrum, not when he could creep up on you silently with logic. This particular argument gnawed at him especially because he could sense that, on some level, I knew he was right. I’d never know who I could be away from here until I gritted my teeth and left.
What he didn’t know was how deeply it cut every time he brought it up. Because I always wondered: Was what I wanted exactly what my mother had wanted, before Malina and I chained her to this place?
SIX
I PICKED MY WAY BACK DOWN THE MOUNTAINSIDE carefully, wondering what to do with myself. I’d been planning on spending the rest of the day with Luka, lounging on the beach and then walking down the waterfront riva once the sun set, past the lanky rows of palm trees and the vendors who sold crepes, salty roasted corn, and oily cones of French fries drizzled with ketchup. No chance of that now. ?i?a Jovan’s studio, maybe, though he’d sniff out my off-kilter mood as soon as he laid eyes on me.
Back at the Cathedral Square, I went to unchain my bike, only to falter midstep when I realized the café door was closed—not even a flicker of movement inside. The doorknob wouldn’t budge beneath my hand. Stifling a flare of panic, I cupped my hands around my face and peered in against the glare. Two crumb-crusted plates sat on the counter, alongside a slice of Spanish wind cake with frosting melting around the yellow dough and a mound of dried-out macarons.
My stomach knotted. The store was never empty at this time of day. We were open from seven in the morning until whenever we ran out of food at night, which was never earlier than six. I couldn’t remember a single time when at least one of us wasn’t behind the counter, a counter that should have been impeccable. Those abandoned desserts, wilting and far from beautiful, worried me more than anything else.
“Lina!” I called, rapping sharply against the glass. “Jasmina!”
Neither of them answered.
My heart pounding, I swung my leg over the bike and launched myself through the streets. Some of the alleys were so narrow that, had I been walking, I could have brushed both walls with only slightly lifted hands. I’d been navigating this polished stone maze since I was little, and this time of day there was barely anyone around to slow my headlong hurtle.
By the time I skidded to a stop in front of our flowered fence, I was so afraid I was gulping back tears, panic clogging my throat. When I found Malina in the yard on the creaking porch swing, with her legs tucked beneath her and Nikoleta curled against her side, fury burst through me like a flushed-out pipe.
“What the fuck is going on, Lina?” I demanded, flinging my bike against the fence so hard the chain links rattled. “Why is the café closed? I thought—” I rested my hands on my thighs and took a shaky breath. “I thought something happened to you and Jasmina. Why the hell are you even out here? Where’s Jasmina?”
Niko leaped up like a shot, moving to stand half in front of Lina, small hands planted on her hips. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been almost hysterical; Niko had a face like a doe, heart-shaped and fine-featured as Luka’s, her silky hair parted far from the left and sweeping above sloe eyes. She was petite and dark as their Bosnian Romany mother had been, and with her head tilted and jaw jutting, she looked like a fierce, tiny lapdog defending her mistress.
“Stop it, Iris,” she snapped at me. Her voice sometimes still caught me by surprise, so much deeper and scratchier than it should have been. All that grit and smoke from such a pixie of a girl. “Can’t you see she’s already upset? Does this look like the time to terrorize?”
“I didn’t mean—”
She chopped the air with one hand. “You never do. So maybe shut up first, and give Malina the chance to use her words. They’re just as perfectly good as yours, I’m sure you know.”
“Niko,” Lina admonished quietly. “Maybe don’t?”
“Fine.” Niko dropped back down to the swing, crossing her tanned legs so that the bell charm strung on her anklet sang out a deceptively sweet little chime, but her torso thrummed with tension. If I still wanted to fight, Nikoleta Damjanac would surely proceed to bring it. “Do your snappy thing before you say anything else, go on. It’ll help.”
I ground my teeth—Niko was even more impossible than Luka sometimes, all his logic and double the fire, minus the steely restraint—and wormed my finger beneath the elastic around my left wrist, snapping it three times until the sting pierced through the panic and rage. Once I’d remembered how to breathe I turned back to Lina, and now I could see that she’d been crying, and hard.
“Mama’s inside,” she said thickly. “I tried to stay in with her—to clean her up a little—but I couldn’t take it, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t listen to it.”
“Did someone hurt her? What’s wrong with her?”
Lina gave a hoarse laugh. “She’s drunk, Riss. Stinking drunk. Like Mihajlo the Widower on a Saturday night.”
I shook my head. “She can’t be. You know Mama never drinks.”
Lina shrugged one shoulder listlessly. “Well, she smells like she’s been spending quality time with you, and threw up on herself at least once. So, there’s that?”
“I’m happy to offer a second opinion,” Niko said. “Based on the sample size of my brother and father, I can confidently concur that Jasmina’s drunk as shit.”
Malina gave a little hiccupping giggle through her tears, and Niko nudged her gently in the side. “See, that’s better, pie,” she murmured. “More of that, less of the salt.”
Despite everything, I felt a sharp gnaw of jealousy at the two of them. We’d all grown up together and I enjoyed Niko when we weren’t at each other’s throats, but Malina had always been better friends with her. Watching them, I could never tell which one I was even jealous of: Malina for having a best friend who wasn’t her own twin, or Niko for being able to both calm and warm my sister like I never could, like some sort of tiger balm.
I chewed on the inside of my lip, my mind racing in an effort to wrest everything back under control. “Tell me what happened after I left.”
“Mama left the café right after you did, maybe five minutes after,” Lina replied. “Said she had an appointment, but wouldn’t tell me what. Since when does Mama have appointments, Riss? She never leaves the café during the day!”