I think yes.
“Why do you think Ivan pretends you don’t live here?”
We heard Ivan yelling obscenities over the soccer match we lost tonight. Our team lost to the neighboring city, our rival. Fans are rioting. The cops are making their arrest quota for the month. I’m drowning my sorrows in beer.
“Ivan is vying to be king of Selnoa now. He needs to appear as if he’s letting us stay here. As if he’s in control.”
“Is he in control or are you?”
“Right now, it’s neither of us. The chief of police holds a lot of power right now. Especially over me. They have my rifle, which, even without the prints, links one of us to Massio’s assassination.”
“I wish I knew.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “That’s not on you. We are not going to blame each other for the rifle. It’s a done deal. Ivan is a problem I need to fix. We can’t go to him, and he can’t come to us.”
“The stalemate can’t go on forever.”
“Why not? I have forever.”
Dina turns toward me. “Nobody has forever.”
“Do you have a solution?” I ask.
“Well, your father?—”
“Guys!” Connor says from inside.
Dina drops her feet and scoots a little away from me. I yank the cushion she’s sitting on toward me. There.
Connor stands at the glass door, holding a pile of clothing.
Dina moves, but I open the door for Connor. He dumps the clothing into the firepit and goes back inside.
“When did he get back?” I mumble.
Dina picks up a red dress. “This is from the closet upstairs. I think these are your mother’s clothes.”
“They are.”
“You are going to burn her clothes?”
“I’m not. Connor is.”
“Are you going to let him?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
Dina’s eyebrows draw down. “I’m confused.”
Connor returns with a canister of gasoline and sprinkles it on the picture of our mother and her clothes that he piled in the firepit. A match in his hand flicks to life.
Dina blows it out. “Wait a minute. Just… just give me a minute.” She starts digging through the clothing and fetches out a wedding gown. She dusts it off and lays it aside.
Connor stares at her, then at me, as if I have an explanation.
I shrug. “Let her keep it. We don’t care.”
“We do not.” Connor lights the match and throws it on the gasoline. Fire explodes, high and mighty, reaching the terrace floor above it. Thankfully, it’s not a deck but a concrete terrace, or it would have caught fire.
