My mother carried around guilt because Charlotte was not Maja’s chosen one, and she had desperately wanted to be. I got to experience things too, but never on my terms. Experiences revolved around my career.
Rachel dropped her measly piece of watermelon and wailed at the top of her lungs, demanding to be set free of the prison of her stroller, now that she was without the benefit of her manna. Sampson had run after Brando, but Delilah came sniffing around Rachel to make sure some deadly predator wasn’t assaulting her.
Not on my watch, her pointed ears stated.
Charlotte picked her up, kissing her thin wrists. Rachel was slight, long and thin, not at all insulated with the bubbly fat that comes with being chubby. Which probably made her more aware of the food she lost. Charlotte spoke to her in Slovenian, offering her the teething giraffe I had given to her as a gift. After some sniffling, she took it and we moved on. I pushed the stroller. Delilah walked next to me.
Feeling that I must’ve been near, Brando had stopped running for a moment, hands on hips, glaring in my direction. His eyes narrowed when he caught the scene, but then relaxed when he found Nino behind me. Guido was around too, but he blended.
I lifted a hand in a gesture that meant,all is good. He nodded once, signed to me—stay on the trail, I’ll be here—and then picked up his stride once again.
Dear God, heisthe finest creature I’d ever seen.I sighed, long and hard.
“Do you rememberwhat you said to me?”
Again, I had to refocus. “Hmm?”
“Before the concert, Scarlett,” Charlotte said, almost impatient.
“Oh, emm, let me think.” Twenty steps further and I grabbed her hand. She almost pulled out of my grasp, but then she smiled and relaxed—remembering, as I was.
“‘You won’t ruin this for me,’” I said in Slovenian. “‘You don’t like me, and I don’t particularly like you, but this is important to the both of us. We’ll fake it until we make it. This is not surrender, only a cease-fire.’”
That was what I had said to her, right before the concert—we were one argument away from not going. The rule had been that both of us had to participate, not only one. Elliott was invited too, but the purpose of the project had been to get the two of us to get along.
I had wanted to go more than anything, enough to make me pretend to get along with her. It didn’t matter that the artist was one that my father loved, or that I didn’t know many of his songs. I’d learn. It was the experience that I was after. It had nothing to do with the ballet.
We both smiled in shared remembrance and then sang parts of the song. However, we didn’t get to go—she had lied on me, we got into a massive argument, and we ended up staying home with Eunice. My sister didn’t care. I did—I had learned every lyric to all of his songs. We were responsible for Everett’s first silver hair that night. Or so he had said. Even so, it was the longest we had gone without fighting.
Singing melted into humming as we continued to stroll, until Charlotte put a hand to the stroller, stopping our stride. Giving a content Rachel a kiss on her forehead, she sat the baby back in the stroller, drawing down the net once again.
This close to the water, insects were out in droves. Their bodies hovered over the river, and in the golden-colored air, we could see their frantic flights, some of them twirling in the gilded dusk.
Surprising me, my sister placed her hand over mine, squeezing. It was such a shock that my mouth fell open and a bug flew in. I spluttered for a few seconds, attempting to dislodge the dusty-flavored intrusion.
She didn’t laugh; her face became serious. She repeated the same words to me, the ones I had spoken to her. “This is not surrender, only a cease-fire.”
“All right.” I nodded, intent on seeing this through. “What is it?”
Travis… having an affair…with the nanny…caught them in our bed…but he doesn’t know that I know…I slipped out before…
Her words were a mixture of English and Slovenian. The most sensitive parts of the conversation she didn’t want anyone to overhear. Only the three of us—my mother, her and me—could speak and understand the full language. Just as Charlotte had spoken to Rachel in the language, our mother and grandmother had spoken to us since the cradle. Perhaps even before, in the womb.
“Have you toldMati?” I whispered.
She shook her head no, eyes glistening but not welling. I recognized the set of her chin. It was raised in defiance to the emotions she kept a firm handle on.
“Ne,” she said.
“Ne,ne,ne,” Rachel parroted.
“What are you going to do?” I asked in Slovenian.
“Do?” She looked at me as though I had grown a horn and suddenly asked her for a breath mint. “What is there to do?”
As though I had swallowed an inactive volcano that suddenly decided to erupt, I felt the heat start in my toes and rush up to my cheeks.
We had been taught that adultery didn’t exist in our world, but I knew better; therefore, so did Charlotte. We just never spoke about it. Our mother turned a blind eye to my father’s scandalous behavior.
