“When I was seven and Dante was fifteen, our grandmother was cooking dobradinha… it’s, um, part of the cow’s stomach,” I began. “Anyway, Dante and I both hate dobradinha but Mama always made us eat it. Our Vó used to take her wedding ring off when she was cooking it, so Dante came up with this plan. He told me to pretend to color a picture of our Vó—”
“Vó? Does that mean grandmother?” Vaughn asked.
“Yes. Grandfather looks almost the same when you spell it, but it is pronounced Vô.”
Vaughn nodded in understanding. “Anyway, Dante told me to pretend to color her por… por…”
“Portrait?” Vaughn offered.
“Right, portrait,” I said awkwardly because I’d known that word but wasn’t sure why I was having so much trouble matching it to my thoughts. Vaughn gave my hand another gentle squeeze and I couldn’t help but look down. His thumb was rubbing over mine and while it was both relaxing and soothing at the same time, there was something happening in my belly… a tenseness I didn’t understand. I wasn’t exactly nervous. It was more like I was waiting for something… but I didn’t know what exactly.
“So Dante had you pretend to draw your grandmother’s portrait…” Vaughn reminded me.
“Um, yes,” I stammered as I realized I’d been staring at wherehis finger was stroking mine. “So I made her sit at the kitchen table while I was drawing. Dante came in but someone kept coming into the room so he couldn’t take it… I had to keep distracting her. I, uh, don’t know the word...”
“You stalled,” Vaughn suggested.
“Right. I had to stall her. She was afraid her food would burn but I kept telling her I was almost done. Dante was taking the ring right when she said she was done sitting for her portrait. I screamed her name and then jumped in her lap and showed her the picture. It was… it was a terrible picture,” I said with a smile. “Even for being seven, I did a really bad job. It didn’t even look like a person… it looked more like a pig.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered my grandmother’s expression when I’d shown her the picture.
“She finished cooking and when we all sat down to eat, Dante casually asked her when she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring. She looked at the food and let out this cry… Papa had already started eating so she slapped him on the back to get him to spit the food out and made him look through it for the ring. Then everybody had to look through what was on their plate.”
“How did Dante get the ring back to her?” Vaughn asked. His expression was soft and relaxed, which helped calm me even more.
“He left it in the soap dish by the kitchen sink. Beneath the soap. He let me ‘find’ it and our Vó was so happy she gave me an extra helping of dessert.”
“Did anyone ever find out?”
I laughed. “Our Vô… he was always good at being able to tell when me and Dante were up to something. When he asked us about it, I… what’s the expression… sang like a…?”
“Canary,” Vaughn said with a chuckle. “You sang like a canary.”
“I did,” I admitted.
“Did he turn you in?”
“No.” I began laughing so hard it was almost difficult to breathe. When I could finally speak, I said, “Turned out our Vô hated dobradinha too! He kept our secret and whenever our Vó said she was going to make dobradinha, either me or Dante or our Vôwould ask her to make our favorite food instead and we’d give her the dog eyes.”
Vaughn’s laughter was a soft rumble in his chest that I itched to feel beneath my fingers.
“Puppy dog eyes,” he corrected.
I nodded. “It usually worked. I never had to have dobradinha again…”
I sobered when I realized the real reason I hadn’t had that terrible dish ever again… because I’d been abducted less than three months later.
The lead weight was back in my stomach.
“Hey,” Vaughn said, and then I felt his fingers under my chin again. “You’re safe, Aleks. Just take deep breaths and focus on my voice.” When I could breathe again, I realized Vaughn had stopped the car again, this time on the side of the road beneath an overpass.
I managed a nod. “Did… did you ever play tricks like that?” I asked.
“No… pranks didn’t go over real well in my house,” he hedged. “But my brother and I did once convince a gardener that the lawnmower was possessed.”
“What?” I asked with a laugh.
Vaughn shrugged and said, “I was always mechanically inclined. A few crossed wires and a few stories here and there about the previous gardener being horribly maimed by the thing were enough… power of suggestion and all.” He winked at me.
