He makes a sound as his lips move, his hands flying as he signs back, asking why I’m here again so soon and also letting me know how happy he is that I'm back. In the next breath, he’s telling me how sore his chest and throat are.
I keep Marco in my arms as we walk over to where I left my medical bag. Juggling both him and my bag back to his small single bed, I sit with my back against the wall, and he climbs up on my lap, curling his small arms around me.
We stay like that until he starts coughing. I don’t need my stethoscope to know his lungs are congested. The wet, raspy bark he makes is proof enough. Once he’s finished coughing, he goes to snuggle back where he was, but I stop him. He growls at me, showing his teeth as I open my bag.
Logically, I know he’s just got a bad flu, but having a child to care for isn’t about logic. Until I’ve checked his heart rate and listened to him breathe, I’ll be freaking out.
We have had some pretty scary days together. We’re only here now because of the bond we share.
His temperature is elevated. Deena would have watched him like a hawk all day, administering Tylenol every four hours. He wiggles to escape the press of my stethoscope, but he’s always been ticklish.
Another coughing attack drains the last of his energy, and he stops moving and sits on my lap quietly as I continue assessing. I tap his leg, then sign he needs to take his pj’s off. There’s been a new strain of vaccine-resistant measles going around. I’m mostly positive he’s not coming down with that; a quick check over his body for a rash will confirm.
Marco locks up like a stone statue until he starts signing furiously. He’s adamant he’s keeping them on. I stare him down before pulling him back in for another big cuddle. I know he hates anyone seeing the bad scars on the top of his legs. I hate that he has them, and I hate how bad they make him feel.
After a few minutes, he taps my arms, a sign for me to release him. Marco just needed a little bit of time to work through the memories of his trauma. He knows I’d never intentionally harm him. He’s so like me it isn’t funny. I don’t make it harder or longer for him than it needs to be, and even without the big lights on, it’s easy to see his skin is spot free.
“Get your pj’s on and get in bed,” I say and sign. “I need to go to the bathroom, then I’ll be back for more of your cuddles.”
Marco becoming more independent is hard to see but amazing too. And it’s a weird predicament to be in because as much as I don’t want him to grow up, I love seeing how he’s maturing and growing into his personality.
Leaving the door open, so he knows where I am, I head towards the kitchen where I know I’ll find Deena.
“He’s okay. A bad flu.”
She keeps her back to me, stirring something on the stove. “It came on so quickly. None of the other children at school have been sick.”
“I’ll give him some antibiotics to be on the safe side,” I confirm, while setting up some bowls for the soup she’s made.
“It always goes straight to his chest.” I can sense her guilt in how she speaks and her scent, but it’s unnecessary. “I know you’ve already said your goodbyes.”
“You did the right thing, calling me when you did. I’m glad you called, and there’s nothing wrong with me squeezing in another visit. The damage done to his lungs by the fire is always going to be a worry. I promise he’s okay. He definitely doesn’t have pneumonia.”
Her hand shakes as she focuses on stirring our dinner. Reaching over for a glass, I pour her out a Scotch, knowing she wouldn’t have had one yet. She wouldn’t have done anything but look after Marco all day.
Now that I’m here, I get to care for him, and her.
“I’m going to lie down with him until he falls asleep.”
Deena twists, her eyes rolling. “He’ll be out like a light now you’re here. Something in him knows how safe he is with you. He’s…” She drops her eyes and looks away, a sudden wave of anxiety bunching up her shoulders.
I push the glass in front of where she’s looking, rubbing a hand over her shoulders. “There’s no other way to do this.”
She snatches the glass and swallows the liquid in one gulp. Seeing her upset makes my emotions threaten to spill in the same way hers are.
I know it’s not Marco being sick that’s caused this reaction. Deena has very similar fears to mine. Tonight isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last, when one or both of us struggles with what has to happen, but that doesn’t mean those things won’t happen. My father’s drive knows no bounds and is still growing. Hisobjectifying me as an offering to a powerful friend is completely in line with his fucked-up character. But I’d go over my sister any day of the week. I simply will not let her be drawn into this or let Marco be discovered.
It’s strange, but that staunch, hard limit, that I’m the one who will be going, is also what brings me a little comfort in the situation.
My mother was the heart of our family, until he crushed her spirit with his greed. My sister was born years after me, but by then my mother was a shattered woman, ruined by Victor’s narcissism and cruel ego.
My mother withdrew deep inside herself, while my father continued his fraternizations and obsession with power, all carefully hidden behind his cultured façade and respected position as Ambassador.
When he goes up in flames, I plan to make him burn so bright everyone sees, so they all know what a con man he was, but how conned they were too.
The arrangement Victor had agreed to, when I was still—like he said—“a child” was with a Russian Bratva. In exchange for open ports, clear border crossings and trade agreements, I was going to be married. Getting out of the promise he made was never going to happen. In truth, after years of getting used to the idea and planning for it, I wanted it to go ahead. It was me or my sister, but more so, it was another nail in Victor’s coffin.
I left our negotiation that night with an assurance that my sister was safe. Not only did Victor agree to pay for my education in the finest schools—because he wanted a worthy opponent—but I also left with the evidence I needed to keep my father, figuratively, ass up over a barrel until I could deal with him once and for all.
