The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (26 page)

Tomorrow will be one day closer to taking her home and changing our lives. It's time to claim my birthright and leave the filth of the city behind me. 

I wake with her arms around me, her body firm against my back, she is sleeping deeply and the need to escape her touch and soft breaths is urgent. I let out a growl as I pry her arms from me. I might as well get up, it’s four in the morning and I need to get to work soon enough. I sit and watch the silent television until the sun is rising then I leave her asleep in bed and go to say some goodbyes before my time here is up. I kiss her cheek before I go.
My sweet child.

Though fed, parts of me are famished.

You always hear
the term "too good to be true." I never understood what that meant well, because I never had anything decent until now. When Caesar kissed me at the villa, I wanted it. I needed more, but I knew that it was too perfect for a damaged, dirty girl like me.

He instantly pulled away, his lips glistening like the sun that needed its moon. He's the warm, inviting sun, I'm the cold, distant moon.

"No, Mi Amor. Not like this." I should have kept my wits, but that would have been a feat. I threw a fit, screamed and punched at his hard chest with all my might, still I was left with anger and unanswered questions.

With everything Hugo had told me about Caesar needing me just as much as I needed him, my mind was convinced that meant in ways that I craved. Everything is so easily misconstrued in the Red Market, especially when you love those you aren't supposed to, and flee from those you shouldn't. It's nothing but a game, and I've been at the epicenter of it. I have no desire to withdrawal and claim rout, but the answers I want are not coming. Instead I have stayed silent, all for the man I love.

He hasn't kissed me back or tried anything that a lover would do since that night. I think about how he's treated me as I straighten my black outfit, preparing to bury Mateo. My mind is shadowed by pain, and for a little while I wish I could be like the girl I was; a pro at pushing everything beneath the surface where it couldn't be felt.

I want to be soothed with a lover’s kiss. Instead, I will likely get a swift kiss on the knuckles or a tug of the hand. When I lashed out at him at the villa, Caesar took me tightly in his arms as I threw myself around wildly, protesting my love for him, all the way down the hall and into the bathtub. He sat me in the empty tub and drew warm water and bathed me like a father would do to calm a colicky baby. All I could do was hang my head in defeat and wonder, not understanding how love couldn't be accepted by those who felt it most.

Again, my mind is swayed by times that he withdrew what I truly wanted. Above all, a day like today, I need him most. The conclusion that I wish for won't come. I need something more. I need answers. Instead, he feeds me, bathes me, and tucks me in at night all while I stay silent. And I listen because his silence is my love. His presence is all that I have wanted. It is what I have been fighting for, but something is lacking. Why fight love? Why dismiss the feelings that you know are real? I see it when he looks at me. My eyes dance over his still handsome and scarred body, settling over his tented pants. I know that he sees me as a lover, yet his mind is tarnished and tainted while he attempts to pretend it isn’t real.

Caesar loves me, he tells me often, and I want so badly to return his words with my own, but his sanity means more to me than my own. I suppose that is what you do when you love someone. You sacrifice your well-being for theirs.

The tension that he won’t admit is there hangs heavily in the air, and now that Mateo is dead and gone, the eerie silence is deafening. Most days, I feel lucky enough to be in his presence alone, yet it is getting more difficult to withhold the love that I have for him. I wish he could see. Most of all, I wish he could bring himself to accept it.

I find myself full of unease as the adorned tombs with everything from candles to wreaths decorate to honor the dead. I know my whispers will send Caesar over the edge, and he isn’t quite ready for the fall yet. I want to drop to my knees and tell Mateo that I loved him too, but my tongue is mute for the man whose mercy remains in my mouth. Instead, I cry. I cry for the memories that I want to leave. I need to let them go. I want to let these feelings go too, because I can already feel the pity that Caesar has for me as his hand dances over the small of my back.

When he performs small gestures such as that, it makes it hard for me not to grab his face and kiss him like I did when he walked into Hugo’s aunt’s villa. As much as I try to ignore it, the sadness that was too real for me for so long is beginning to blanket itself around me. I am be tantalized with a love that is being withheld from me every day, and I can’t promise how long I will not use my sniffles and whispers to get the love that I know we both deserve.

Dance to your daddy,

My little baby

Dance to your daddy

My little lamb

There are things
that didn’t cross my mind about the trip home when we were preparing. Svetlana flew here to Mexico so it never crossed my mind that she might be afraid. It should have. The minute the door to the company jet closes she begins to shake, her eyes darting from the closed door to the small little windows. I see her pulling at her clothes and sucking in lungfuls of air as if there wasn’t enough of it. Her skin turned pale and she sat down near a window and pulled her seat belt as tight as it would go, checking and rechecking it. Her discomfort is visible in the way she bites her nails and twists her hair between her fingers, making knots. I sit down in the soft leather seat opposite her and get ready for takeoff. It’s hard to get comfortable with my scars and I know the long flight is going to be difficult. I came prepared with enough pain medication to sedate a race horse if I need it. I can live without suffering all the way back to Spain. Three hours into the flight, I can barely sit any longer and I get up to stretch. The view from the windows of the soft pillowy clouds covering the Earth that is far below us. We float up here, this is nowhere, the clouds below give the illusion of heaven and I am saved from my personal hell by the silence. She has fallen asleep curled up on the seat, still with her seatbelt pulled uncomfortably tight. My eyes rake over every inch of her and my heart aches for how broken my child is. I find the small wet bar towards the back of the plane and fill a glass with expensive brandy. The amber liquid washes the pain meds down and loosens some of the tension in my muscles. I down the rest of the drink like a common drunk and lay down on the bench seat beside the bar. I want so desperately to sleep even if it is for a short while. Just to pass the time, but my body is screaming for real rest. The mix of medication and booze has me swilling into unconsciousness quickly and I allow it to pull me under. I drown in the silence of sleep that isn’t haunted by dreams and my daughter. I wake as we land somewhere in North Africa to refuel the plane, the door is opened and a government official enters to check our documents - our expensive fake documents in Svetlana’s case. Our flight path was set out for the route with the easiest countries to bribe as stop overs. The sweaty man whose skin is as dark as the night sky outside looks us both up and down. She is afraid of him and shrinks back into her seat and looks down. I meet his glare and grab the passports back from his fat hand. The silently hostile exchange is over quickly and the door closes again. 

Svetlana starts to fret and fiddle and pull at her clothing and seat belt again. 

“Do you want something to make you sleep? It will calm you down,” I ask her. The cocktail I took earlier seemed to work well. 

“Please.” A strangled, panicky yell comes out of her pretty mouth. I hand her two capsules and go to refill the glass with brandy. Her hand brushes mine as I give it to her and I jerk away, splashing the drink out the glass and onto the carpet between us. Svetlana glugs the drink down and the medication with it, before reclining her seat all the way flat and lying down. I cover her with a small blanket, she looks at me with so many questions, the biggest one being ‘why don’t you love me like I love you?’ My physical rejection is hurting her.

We both manage to sleep the rest of the journey home; my sleep is restless and my level of discomfort is escalating quickly. I cannot wait for us to touch down. The sound of the wheels skidding on the tarmac and the loud reverse thrust of the engines excites me. Though this place holds only bad memories my mother's absence fills it with the promise of new things to come. There is an uneasiness about her as we get ready to disembark. Fumbling with her clothes and stumbling over her own feet, I think the drugs are still thick in her system. I grab her elbow as she almost falls down the steps, steadying her before guiding her the rest of the way down. The early morning air is fresh and clean, the stench of the city blatantly missing as I breathe it in. 

“Welcome home; Svetlana.” I say holding her small hand in mine as we're ushered to the waiting Town Car. She isn’t used to this type of life and I can see it’s already overwhelming her as her eyes dart around to the people and cars and aircraft. The family insignia is boldly displayed on them all. My mother liked to flash her wealth to the world, we will be changing things. This isn’t her family any longer,
it’s mine.
I grip her hand tighter to remind myself she is really here, my child is with me and my mother is finally gone. The dread and fear that usually accompany the drive from the airfield home is absent this time. Instead a sense of excitement at what is to come fills me. Her eyes go wide and she grabs my arm as the huge gates at the entrance of my family’s property open in front of us. They are intimidating and the metal groans as they open. There is a long cobbled driveway ahead with manicured lawns as far as the eye can see. The thick line of trees on the horizon hides the small meadow where my secrets lie. To the left is the house in all its grandeur, the large trees in the front masking some of the facade from our view. I turn to see her mouth is hanging open a little bit as she takes it all in, her brown eyes absorbing every detail. This place isn’t all immaculate beauty, there are dirty shadows below the surface. Family secrets and years of torment, I will show her both sides of her family coin. We are greeted by a receiving line of staff who convey condolences for my mother and Mateo’s deaths. I don’t care that either of them are gone so I ignore them and pull Svetlana with me. I sent instructions as to what I wanted and expected to be ready for our homecoming. I hope the warm meal will absorb the rest of the drugs and alcohol in her system. The table is elegantly set for two with the best china and crisp linens. I slip in the hearing aids I used to stop my mother's voice, it is time for my daughter and I to have a real conversation about our lives from here on out. 

Every sound around me is amplified in my ears and it’s like I am inside a television that is turned up too loud. The sounds reverberate in my head. I can’t use them all the time, but when I need a defense, they work fine. I pull out her chair and she just stands there looking all around the room, her jaw slack and her eyes wide. 

“Sit, I want us to eat. You must be hungry.” She snaps a disgusted glare at me before she says,

“You do not know what hungry is, Caesar. I don’t think I will ever be hungry again.” She slumps down hard onto the high back dining chair and her eyes are full of fire. I have no idea the life she lived, the weeks she didn’t eat a meal or the physical pain she endured. I intend to make sure she never has to feel those things ever again.

“I cannot change the past,” I say as I sit down at the head of the table just her right, “but things will be different now, and
if
you are hungry, you come in here and ask for food.” With that a plate of home baked breads is put down between us and we're served two bowls of soup. 

“Eat, Svetlana. I have a lot to discuss with you.” She dips the tip of her spoon in and tastes the hot liquid. The voracious animal like table manners have calmed down now that she gets regular meals, and she eats the soup painfully slowly. 

“What happened to Mateo?” It’s the first time she has asked about him, not even at the cremation did she ask me. 

“The police killed him after her murdered a cab driver.” I state only the facts, she has this way of internalizing other people's emotions and I don’t want her upset. 

“And your mother? Hugo said she was a terrible woman.” Her hands rest in her lap as she asks her questions that blare in my ears, making them tolerable.

“I killed her. She deserved to die.” My mother isn’t up for debate yet, I am not ready to talk about the songs and the whispers and the beatings. “This is our home now. You and me, we are a family.” One of the staff takes our empty soup bowls away and I wait before I continue.

“I love you, Svetlana.” I say the words that beat in my heart.

“Why won’t you call me Lettie?” she whimpers and even this loud it affects me a little.

“Because I am not Mateo. I will never be him. Stop it, let him go!” I yell back her making her cower and withdraw. “You can choose another name if Svetlana offends you so much.”

“Pavel called me that. He named me!” Her fist slams onto the table with the chink and clang of tableware as the whole thing vibrates under her rage. Her fight, the fight that saved her for so long is becoming a nasty little temper. 

“What do you want me to call you then?” 

“Lettie.” Her voice is begging now.

“No.” 

“Please, Caesar. Please.”

“No.” I swallow a gulp of my water. “You are not his doll, you are better than that. You are a person, not a fucking toy.” My anger is winning as she cries in her chair.

“Lettie sounded like I was loved,” is all she says before looking away from me. We finish our meal in silence after that. I hadn’t taken into consideration how she felt about her name or why she preferred Lettie. I thought it was about Mateo. As the plates are cleared away we both just sit there staring at each other, so much between us but nothing to be said. I don’t know how to do this, what to do with her? I have never had to share my life with anyone and I have no idea where to start. I am terrified of the sound another person will make and what I might do. I am afraid I will hurt her or kill her. 

“Let’s take a walk outside.” I push back my chair and stand beside her, waiting. She gets up, but won’t take the hand I hold out to her, she is being a child. I walk through the kitchen to the back of the house and out of the French doors. It is winter and the air bites with cold, making me shiver, but she doesn’t even feel it. She is used to being exposed to the elements, winter in Hunts Point could be brutal. We step down the five steps to the lawn of the back yard. I start to walk towards the trees that we called the forest as children. I remember playing out here alone, sometimes with Hugo in the shadows of the trees. The rustling leaves would calm me down when I didn’t know how to deal with the way my mind and body reacted to sounds. The lawn is damp under my boots making them wet as we keep walking. Svetlana follows behind me, still refusing to hold my hand or look me in the eye. My breath turns to fog as I breathe out in the cold air and the soft grass turns to crunching leaves and twigs as we cross the tree line. I slow down to let her catch up to me, her eyes wide with wonder. I take a minute to realize that she has probably never felt grass beneath her feet or walked amongst the trees. In that second I am thankful for my fucked up childhood; at least I could see the sky and walk on the lawn. We come the edge of the meadow, the line that divides the trees from my secrets and sins. I stop and stand still, there is no sign that there are bodies hidden here, no outside evidence that the graves of my disease are beneath the earth. The meadow isn’t pretty in the winter, the wild grass is brown from the cold and the wildflowers are all gone. It’s quiet and eerie. There is desolation and tranquility as the winds gusts through the trees from behind us. It is pushing me to take a step forward. I walk towards the middle of the open clearing. I used to feel anger when I came here, now I am filled with peace and acceptance for the things I have done. 

“What is this place?” she asks behind me, I feel her standing closer to me now. Her hand trails down my back as she tries to get an answer from me.

“This is where all my sins are buried.” I turn to face her. “Where the noise was silenced.” Her eyes tell me she understands exactly what I have just said to her. “My mother’s voice was the start of my sickness, and being here with her made me into a monster. I got a little better when I left. I will never be able to hear the sounds of my illness and not go crazy, but with her gone it is easier.” I pull her into me, tucking her head under my chin, she wraps her arms around me holding me tight. “I love you Lettie.” I can’t see her smile but I feel it against me.

“I love you,” she answers loudly, her voice carried off with wind that is now howling around us. We stand there for a long time before we return to the house. 

I have had
her room set up on the other side of the house from mine. The few weeks in that hotel together was hard enough I can’t trust myself to be close to her every day. We settle into a silent routine, she spends a lot of time outside walking and exploring the grounds. She can’t read and silent television gets old fast, she seems bored. I see her shrinking back into herself and I worry she may fall prey to insanity again. Work has kept me away, I spend my time in my home office making sure that things are running the way they should, securing clients, confirming payments, moving money offshore. It’s a different type of job than I am used to and my mind is exhausted and my scalded body aches at the end of each day. I am too tired to try harder with her, too sore to walk with her, too busy to see her hurting. We share our meals in the quiet dining room and then go to our separate parts of the house. The silence is deafening, but so welcomed. The absence of noise has made me feel like I survived that fire for a reason.