“It’s probably a good thing I left Europe, actually,” I say to Marla. “I don’t think there are any single men left in Europe.”
“If it’s any consolation, they’re all trash here too. Not that I’m looking.”
My heart sinks a little when she says that. Not that there’s any time limit on grief, but I’ve been hoping all this time that Marla finds somebody to make her happy. Instead of pushing her about it, I just say, “There are no more good men in the world, I guess.”
“Yeah. They’re all married or gay… or dead.”
I smile in spite of the sadness in the moment. I like it when she turns to dark humor.
“What do you say that instead of hitting the club,” she says, “we go to the movies? You know, they’re showingRoman Holidayat the State now. Might be interesting to watch it now that you actually made it to Europe.”
“It’s a date,” I say. I glance over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s well after midnight. “I guess I’d better try and get some sleep. Who knows what fresh hell my father has waiting for me in the morning?”
“If you want, I can try to see if he’ll let me come over and give you a change of clothes, at least.” She tsked. “It’s barbaric what he’s done. You know, I ought to call the police?—”
“Don’t even joke like that,” I say to her. “You know that’s not an option.”
“Yeah… Yeah, I guess it’s not.” She pauses, and I can hear more in it. “Can I ask you something? Like, in all seriousness, best friend to best friend.”
My stomach does a little flip. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
“I’m serious, Tati. It’s kind of important.”
“Okay. What’s the question?”
She hesitates, and I think I hear the scratching of a pencil on paper in the background. Marla doodles when she’s nervous about something. “What if Nicki’s death wasn’t exactly an accident, and somebody came along and could prove it? Howbad would it be for all of you? Like, if he went to the police or the Feds about it. I mean, not just your father, but everybody around him.”
I frown a little. We’ve been here before. Marla has been holding onto the idea that Nicki’s death wasn’t an accident, probably since the day it happened. I have to sigh and say, “Marla, come on. We’ve been over?—”
“I know we’ve been over it,” she says quickly. “And I know you’re tired of talking about it. I’m just asking a theoretical question because… well, I got to thinking today that if somebody knew something and it got around to the police, then maybe more than just whoever was responsible would get into trouble.”
I nod. I get it now. “Like me.”
“Like you. You’re my best friend… Well, kind of my only real friend. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I start to pick at one of the stitches, my mind turning. “Mar, do you know something I don’t? Somebody snooping around asking questions or something?”
“No,” she says. “I don’t think so. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to tell them anything, anyway. I wasn’t even there when he died. I guess I was just worried that somebody else out there might have the same idea that I do. With everything going on, it would really suck if you got caught up in that too.”
I lean back on my headboard, looking up again at my bare ceiling in my bare room. “It’s like I told you when I left,” I told her. “I’m always all right. I know how to land on my feet.”
“Good.” She yawns. “Because I just got my best friend back after all this time. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you're safe.”
That I am… until the warden changes his mind. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Love you, Tati.”
“Love you, too, Mar.”
I hang up, a heavy feeling in my chest. Marla’s been in pieces since the day Nikita died. And while I blame my father for not doing more to help him, I know it was an accident. Nikita was a shitty driver. He was bound to crash his car eventually. I always just hoped that if or when it happened, he’d walk away from it having learned his lesson.
Marla has always held the belief that there was something more to the story. She knew Nikita had some enemies and she knew how dangerous his life was. I suppose it just made better sense to her that someone killed him rather than it being a product of his own incompetence. I don’t blame her for thinking that way. I wish I could. I’m not a fan of fate being the culprit.
Maybe she’s finally letting it go by wondering how the fallout of that might affect me. Hell, it might actually be doing me a favor if the police decide to go after my father. If he gets pinched, at least I won’t be locked up in this room anymore.
I hear talking somewhere outside, so I get up and go to the window. Walking along the sidewalk just under my window is Viktor. Handsome, mature Viktor. My father’s with him and he’s talking while smoking, the cigarette sitting strategically between the fingers of his right hand.
I wish I could read lips. The conversation looks pretty benign, but not friendly. My father’s talking and Viktor is nodding in attentive silence. Maybe he’s giving him orders.
