Of Stone and Sky

by Charissa Stastny

  Altin parroted him. “Oh no! Mommy monstow weck.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about being called mommy monster.”

  “Very loved.” Lincoln pecked my cheek, and I tingled from that brief contact.

  He gestured to a salesclerk. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Altin doesn’t need much,” I reminded him.

  My brother obsessed about the straightness of his car line as I watched Lincoln and the pretty salesclerk chat. She laughed, and I could tell he’d already charmed her.

  He returned with only one bag, and we hopped in his fancy SUV—the Jag couldn’t fit Altin’s car seat—and he gave my tired brother a lollipop and a super-soft teddy bear I’d oohed and aahed over. Altin stuck the unwrapped sucker in his mouth and cuddled the bear.

  I looked out the window.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yep. I’m great. Thanks for making Altin happy.”

  “Have I made you happy?” He reached for my hand.

  I squeezed his fingers. “Yes.” But he needed to stop. Lincoln was a man I could totally fall for. Who was I kidding? I’d already fallen for him. Big time. But he didn’t have any idea about my past.

  And he never would.

  36

  Lincoln

  Gemma entered the family room, wearing a loose pair of teal, maroon, and cream pants. A purple tank clashed on top.

  “Nice parachute pants,” I said.

  “Harem pants. And they’re fabulous.”

  I grinned. Her quirky outfits had bothered me initially, but I’d come to appreciate her uniqueness. She was definitely fabulous.

  “Tell me about this.” I lifted the bluish-green stone that hung on the necklace she always wore, alone or with other jewelry.

  “It was my mama’s. She wore it for protection. My bah—Dad gave it to her. Said the stone symbolized forgiveness.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Though it didn’t match her outfit.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did he go to bed easily?” I asked about her brother.

  “Yes. You wore him out at the store.”

  “He’s a good kid.”

  Her expression softened. “Altin’s the best. I worry about him.” She chewed her lip. “What if I’d died in the attack? Who would’ve cared for him?”

  I covered her hand, wanting to reassure her. “Nothing happened.”

  “But it could have. And I’ve made no arrangements for him.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have my attorney write up a will. Do you have any other family? Aunts? Uncles?”

  “No. It’s just me and him.”

  “I’ll see to his care if anything happens to you—which it won’t. If something happens to both of us, heaven forbid, maybe Joe and Janey could be his guardians.”

  “Would you really do that?”

  “Consider it done. I’ll text my attorney tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pulled her close. She melted in my arms and seemed open to my lips exploring her cheek. But when I reached her neck, she tensed.

  “There’s something else I wanted to discuss. But first, promise to always care for Altin, no matter how you feel about me.”

  “Of course. I care for you, Gemma.” Blast it all, I loved her. But she didn’t seem ready for me to say that again. “What do you need?”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, I’ll care for Altin. I already care for him.”

  She smiled. “He likes you.”

  “Do you like me?” There. I’d asked. Sweat trickled down my spine as I waited for her answer.

  The doorbell rang, making me curse as she pulled away.

  “I’ll get it,” she said, since Mrs. Tan had already left for the night.

  I followed her downstairs and groaned as she opened the door to reveal my family on the doorstep.

  Mom pulled Gemma into an embrace. “Oh, you poor dear. How are you?” She caressed her bandaged head.

  “I’m fine,” Gemma said. “Tomorrow they’ll take the bandaging off.”

  “Lincoln!” Mom caught me up in her arms next. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” She kissed my cheek. “Why didn’t you call to let me know you were home? I went to the hospital and they told me they’d already released you.”

  “Sorry.” I was a grown man and didn’t need to check in with my mom. “We’ve been trying to recover.” She went to hug me again, but I stepped back. “No more touching, per my aching ribs.”

  “Oh, you poor dear.”

  I looked at Gemma and rolled my eyes.

  “Let us in, boy,” Dad said. “We want the whole story.”

  “Read the Tribune. They covered the incident in detail this morning.”

  “I’ve read the damned Tribune. Now tell me the truth. Was it a play for money? I told you money was the root of all evil.”

  “Ah, let him be.” Gramps pushed past him, patting my shoulder. “Glad you’re both okay. I was worried sick about you when your car was found abandoned in the middle of the road.”

  Mom took Gemma by the arm and guided her into the formal sitting area. I frowned. My family had the worst timing ever.

  Gemma hadn’t answered my question.

  37

  Angel

  Age 19 - Fushë Krujë, Albania

  The sound of a whistle made Engjell tense. “You there, gypsy!” He turned to see a policia pointing a baton at him. “Why are you hanging around this part of town? Move on.”

  He scampered off before the man could hit him, circling back to the abandoned warehouse—his home since Uncle had split. Zinzan had invited him to stay with his family, but their house was cramped and downwind of the incinerator. Besides, Engjell was a man and could fend for himself.

  He peeked out a broken window, wondering if the policia had left. He needed to see Mr. Sokoli before he left for the day. When Mr. Nikolla had left Albania, he’d arranged with Mr. Sokoli to continue teaching Engjell at school. But Mr. Sokoli hadn’t followed through. He hated the Roma Mr. Nikolla had accepted.

  Engjell pulled out Gem’s black light and shone it into the corner, where he’d piled shredded tires and an old blanket for a bed. A few of Saemira’s glowing rocks formed a circle around it.

  Would he ever see her again?

  Would she forget about him now that she lived in the promised land?

  He turned off the light and crept out of the building, staying to the shadows. The hope and excitement he’d once felt when entering Mr. Nikolla’s training school was gone now.

  The pretty new secretary in the front yelped when he entered. “Mr. Sokoli,” she yelled.

  “It’s all right,” Engjell said, speaking clearly in Albanian as Mr. Nikolla had taught him. “I’m here to see if I have mail for Engjell Romani.”

  “Mr. Sokoli,” she called again, backing into the hallway.

  He took a seat to appear less threatening. The last thing he needed was for her to call the policia.

  Mr. Sokoli appeared and scowled. “Why are you here, magjup.” He shooed him. “Leave.”

  “Do I have mail from America? From Mr. Nikolla?”

  The man shuffled through papers and handed him a letter. Engjell snatched the envelope before he could change his mind.

  “Do not return.”

  Gladly. Engjell hurried out and made his way back to the warehouse. Inside, he held the black light over Gem’s letter. Her cursive words turned neon in the darkness.

  Engjell (or Angel, your name in English),

  First, can you read this with the black light? I experimented with several ink solutions. This yielded the best results: a highlighter (pulled apart, of course, because…science, duh), hot water, and laundry detergent. I won’t bore you with the details, but someday when you visit, I’ll show you my lab. [Insert evil genius laughter]

  But seriously, how are you? I’m freaking fantastic. Not. I hate Baba’s new wife. Remember when I taught you those bad English words when we first met? Rosie
is all of them. Add the super crude words Baba won’t allow me to even say in my head. Yet Rosie uses them constantly.

  Baba’s teaching at a high school up the street, did I tell you? He doesn’t like it near as much as when he taught in Albania. He says the kids here have no motivation. I wish we’d never left.

  But enough about me. What are you doing? What are you learning? Don’t get smarter than me or I’ll make you eat Rosie’s cooking. Blech! Anyway, I miss you and will write you more later. Baba wants to write a note before I send this. Don’t forget me.

  Saemira

  PS. This is Taavi. Good news. The sponsorship went through. The University of Illinois in Chicago has awarded you a full scholarship to attend in January. Congratulations. I’ll send a list of documents to procure, in care of Mrs. Hoxha, our next-door neighbor. I’ve received conflicting reports about Mr. Sokoli and do not trust him. Mrs. Hoxha will expect you. She’s a good lady, but stern. Don’t be afraid. She said she remembers your face.

  How could anyone forget his face? Most strangers called him monster. Kind ones called him gypsy.

  But whatever. He was going to America!

  Hope filled him as he imagined the opportunities that would soon be his. People didn’t care who you were in America as long as you were willing to work hard. No one would care about the color of his skin or that his mama didn’t want him. Best of all, Saemira was there.

  Maybe she would love him when he became a smart university man.

  Blood gushed from my mouth and nose, but Uncle kept kicking. I’d known when I’d knocked him out to help Saemira and her gadjo escape that there would be consequences. I’d hidden for a week, but Uncle’s men had found me.

  “Traitor!” Duke’s boot connected with my ribs. “You’re no different from your whore mama, willing to sell yourself for nothing.”

  I curled up to protect my ribs, trying to distract myself from the pain by picturing Saemira’s emerald eyes and how they crinkled when she laughed. I hoped she was safe.

  Uncle stepped on my hand and brought the burning butt of a cigarette down onto my skin. I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming.

  “You think the temptress loves you?” He pulled the cigarette away but stamped my wrist next. “You are nothing to her, Bengalo.”

  I’d never hated him. Even when he’d beaten me as a boy, I’d taken his abuse without a word. I’d done everything he’d asked—stolen for him, played lookout, rubbed him when he’d needed pleasure, carried water from the river for baths, and gathered information by spying on his enemies. Deep down, I’d believed he loved me since he’d saved me. But Saemira was right. Maybe he’d saved me as a baby. But Uncle had cared for nobody but himself since. He’d violated my friend. He’d wanted to kill her and her gadjo.

  Now, he would kill me.

  “When you helped her escape, did she thank you? Did she give you a parting kiss goodbye? No.” He pounded the cigarette into my arm, making me groan. “She only worried about the rich gadjo, her ticket to decadence.”

  I clenched my fists, preparing for the next burn. Uncle was long-winded and often mixed words with pain.

  “I’ll make her pay.”

  “Leave her alone. She’s nothing.” If I acted like I didn’t care, maybe he’d forget her.

  “She’s everything, don’t you see?” Uncle sneered. “No. She has blinded you.”

  The cigarette seared into my neck, making me shriek.

  “No worries. I’ll burn her evil out of you.”

  38

  Saemira

  Age 17 - Chicago, Illinois

  RESILIENT: capable of recovering from or adjusting to misfortune or change.

  The University of Chicago campus was an explosion of smart people. Engjell and Saemira weaved their way through the cerebral chaos toward a burger stand in the commons area. Baba was meeting with the sponsor coordinator, so they had some time to themselves. Saemira was giddy that her friend had made it to the United States. It’d been three years since she’d last seen him.

  “Have you tried a burger? Or American pizza?”

  He laughed. “I just got here. I haven’t tried any food. What do you suggest?”

  “Which word do you like better? Hamburger or pizza?”

  “Hamburger.”

  She giggled. “You say it funny. We’ll have to work on your accent.”

  “Hamburger,” he said again.

  “You’re hopeless.”

  They bought their meals and found a table.

  “So, you’re doing school online?” he asked.

  “Yep. Some girl wanted to beat me up for thinking I was better than her, which I didn’t. Well, I did after she started acting all uppity. But before that, I didn’t notice her. She thought I was Muslim, which seemed a sin in her eyes. I couldn’t have pleased her if I’d wanted, and I don’t want to please people like that. But the good thing is, I’ll graduate at the end of the month. I’m almost done with my online courses.” She pointed to his meal. “You like the burger?”

  He grunted. “It’s good.”

  “I’m good. Burgers are fantastic. Use your words right.”

  He grinned. “I’ve missed you, Gem.”

  “Of course, you have.”

  A group of boys at a nearby table snickered and pointed at her friend.

  “So, what have I missed at home?” she said to distract him.

  He ducked his head. “They probably wonder why you’re eating with a freak like me.”

  She set her burger down. “I’ll tell them.” She stood. “Hey, you.”

  Their expressions changed when she called to them. Baba had been right. Guys did notice her, but their attention didn’t make her bad.

  “This is my friend, so stop laughing at him. It reflects more on you than him. Engjell’s a genius, come all the way here from Albania. You’ll probably wish you could work for him someday when he has his own company. Anyone who can count him as a friend is lucky.”

  She turned her back to the jerky guys.

  Engjell nudged her. “Thank you.”

  “It probably won’t make a difference.”

  “Makes one to me.”

  She took his hand. “You really are a cool guy. I’m definitely lucky.”

  “It’s good to see your fire again. I worried about you when you left.”

  She stared at her burger, losing her appetite as ugly memories surfaced. “We’re fine. Baba messed up by marrying Rosie, but we’re resilient. Things will get better.” She elbowed him. “They already are, with you here.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll be five hours apart.”

  “Better than an ocean and a continent,” she said.

  He grinned. “You’re right.”

  Of course she was right.

  Gemma

  The sun hadn’t even risen, but I couldn’t sleep. Lincoln couldn’t either, apparently, because he’d beaten me to the coffee.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  I frowned. “There’s nobody to act for right now.”

  “Thank God.” He lifted the pot. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” I’d need a ton.

  “How’s your head?” he asked.

  “Meh. It’s fine. What about your ribs?”

  He set a mug in front of me. “Okay, if I don’t move.”

  Poor guy. “Sorry.”

  “What for? You didn’t kick me.” We finished our coffee in silence, then he motioned me to follow him. “I want to show you something.”

  I followed him upstairs and froze in a doorway.

  He looked back at me. “Think he’ll like it?”

  I couldn’t answer. The room had been transformed into a child’s paradise, with every toy we’d played with in the shop two days ago. The floor was covered by a rug with roads and a city on it, for cars. A shelf held baskets with puzzles, blocks, and books. A rocking giraffe sat in the corner, a kid-sized car parked beside it. A pile of Mega-Blocks Lincoln had helped Altin build with were scattered about on another r
ug. Stuffed animals were piled in the corner with several beanbags.

  Something blocked my throat. Embarrassing emotion, probably.

  “The clerk gave me the name of an artist who paints murals. Maybe you can give him some ideas of what Altin would enjoy on the walls.”

  I stumbled over to a rocking chair and buried my head in my hands.

  “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Baba had encouraged me to kill my enemies with kindness. I’d never understood what good that could do. Until now. Lincoln’s sweet gesture crushed me.

  For the last few months, I’d judged him to be better than me because of his money. But that had nothing to do with anything. He was better simply because he chose to be a better person. Yes, he had flaws, such as his tendency to profile others based on the color of their skin. But I’d profiled him for different reasons. Yet when I’d pointed out his flaws, he’d apologized. When he’d pointed out mine, I’d hated him for it.

  “What’s the matter?” He tipped my chin.

  I swallowed. “This is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  “Technically, it’s for your brother.” He winked. “But if you want to play in here, I won’t judge.”

  I hugged him. “Thank you. Seriously. Altin’s going to love this.”

  His arms wrapped around me and his lips pressed against my ear. “You never answered me last night,” he said, voice husky. “About whether you liked me or not.”

  “Mama! Mama!” Altin cried from the other room.

  I stepped back, feeling an immediate famine of warmth. Lincoln’s slumping shoulders revealed disappointment. I couldn’t have that. I reached up to kiss him on the lips. Short, but firm.