Maybe that’s what she means for me to see.
After the initial excitement of seeing Naddie, after we finally quit screaming and giggling like the idiot little dits we are, it was obvious that Mia was not as thrilled. I mean, I can understand. It’s how I felt when we were first greeted by Anna and Iben. Anna, Iben, Mia — they have a history and I was on the outside, looking in, desperately wanting to be a part of it. Now here we were, Naddie and I, and Mia starts holding me a little closer, speaking with me a little more intimately, and touching me attentively on my hair, my cheek, my arm.
And, hey, I like it. It’s fun being the one everyone wants around for once.
Now, after the meeting, the taxi drops us off on the far end of the square from the residence and the café where we’re to meet Naddie. It’s fine with me; I want to walk. The spring evening is warm and the sun’s no longer beating down on us, having disappeared behind the buildings. There’s an unusually large crowd milling about, with as many natives as tourists, it seems. Staging is set up along one end of the square and there’s equipment popping up here and there. I ask Mia if she knows what’s going on and she shakes her head, unwilling to guess.
We find Naddie sitting at a table along the edge of the outdoor café and we’re almost upon her before she even notices our presence. She gives me a startled double-take.
“Holy shit, Lissie.”
Holy shit! Naddie Bear swears!
I’m wearing my black suit with an off-gray scarf and my kick-ass sunglasses. She’s obviously impressed, or at least stunned, and it makes me feel pretty damned good about myself. This is what you live for, moments like this, exactly as I dreamed it would be. It’s why people join the Bureau, after all — to wear a suit, go to parties, and show people your gun.
Mia says, “She dresses up nice, doesn’t she?”
She puts her hand on my shoulder, to warn Naddie to back off.
That’s okay, girls. There’s enough of me to go around.
Naddie tells us that she had called Robbe and that they both thought it’d be great if I could come up to visit them for a few days, up in Antwerp. I look at Mia and she can see that I’m asking Can we? with my eyes. I definitely see Do we have to? in hers. She then gives Naddie a moment of consideration before smiling and turning back to me.
“Of course, bokkie. If that’s what you want.”
When Mia looks away, at the commotion happening behind us as someone tests the PA system, I catch the look Naddie throws in my direction. I’m somewhat sheepish and I shrug.
“I work for Mia,” I tell her. “I’m traveling with her.”
Mia turns, glancing at me as she says, “You don’t work for me.”
She says it so suddenly, so directly, that for a moment there, I’m crushed.
What? Why not?
Mia then looks at Naddie and gives her a smug smile as she pats my hand. “I work with your sister. She’s helping me with my business interests.”
Ave Mia. You are the Blessed of my Heart.
Naddie’s eyes narrow on Mia, then she looks at me. She asks how I’m able to travel. Aren’t you still…? She isn’t sure if she should say the words.
Don’t worry, Naddie Bear. The FBI, the Secret Service, and the crazed billionaire all said it’s okay.
“I’ve got permission from my PO,” I say, but I can see that there’s still a lingering bit of doubt.
Ugh! Maybe going to Antwerp isn’t such a good idea.
We walk back to the residence to change into our traveling clothes and to collect our things. The residence is a strange place and unbelievable in its opulence. The building is old — it has no elevator, only a steep set of steps, and the plaster along the hallway is crumbling — but whoever owns the residence has put a huge amount of effort and expense into restoring it. I mean, you should see it — French Rococo style, intricate moldings, twenty-foot ceilings, floor-to-heaven windows, and wide, old hardwood planks for flooring. The Louis XV furniture looks like it belongs in a museum, but it’s still comfortable and functional. (Ha! Doesn’t it sound like I know what I’m talking about? I don’t. I’m just cribbing what Mia told me.) The bed in the master bedroom is whatever size is two up from super king and it feels like you’re sleeping on a cloud. I swear, this place, with its perfect location, its stunning view of the guildhalls on the square — if Mia told me that it belonged to the Pope for his private use during visits to Brussels, I would have little reason to doubt her.
Jesus, who owns places like this?
Well, people who are out of town, from the looks of it. I found photos of what I guess were the owners and what looked like their adult son with what I assumed was the son’s wife, all on the ornate marble mantel over the extraordinary fireplace in the main room. There are also fireplaces in each of the bedrooms, and even in the bathrooms. The only part of the residence that seems anachronistic is the huge foodie’s kitchen (I’m told that’s the term to use now), with its modern appliances and clean design. To me, it seems somewhat ostentatious but at least it’s on the far end of the main room, so we really don’t have to look at it.
But we certainly could smell it. When we first arrived, we found the rotten half of what may have once been cabbage, a gray and green piece of meat, and a nice selection of spoiled dairy in the fridge — they must’ve lost power at some point. We had to push open all of the huge double-doors of the windows to let some breathable air in, and then we cleaned the refrigerator out, throwing the nauseating buffet into a dumpster we found down in the alleyway out back. Even the rats ran from the stuff.
Anyway, you can guess what a petty little thrill it is for me, bringing Naddie up the dark, stinky, crumbling stairway to this place. The look on her face, she’s trying to be polite and I assure her it’ll be much nicer upstairs, but I can sense her doubts. Well, when she comes in, she is speechless.
Yay! Another score for me!
I kind of hope she’ll be calling Mom and Tonya and telling them about all this, even if it means getting into some considerable trouble. There have been so few times lately that I can point to and say See! I’m not doing so bad.
Of course, Naddie probably now thinks Mia and I are involved in the drug trade.
It’s while I’m in the master bedroom, changing out of my suit, that raised voices come from the main room. The creaking of the oak floors make it sound like there’s a scuffle, so I pull on my shirt and go to the door, which I have to wrestle open because it’s this monstrosity of solid wood and it’s swollen into the frame.
I find Naddie, with her fists on her hips, being stared down by an unruffled Mia, who stands before her with her arms crossed over her chest, like a dispassionate bouncer, even though Naddie has a full inch on her. I ask them what’s going on.
“She won’t let me come in,” Naddie tells me, more than happy to tattle on Mia, whom she gestures at with a flick of the hand.
“I’m trying to tell her.”
I know what she wants.
“Wait out there, Nats.”
She suddenly swallows all of her anger, looking at me as though I have intentionally kicked her favorite toy — the set of painted animals carved out of wood. I had given them to her when she was three, even though it made me cry, because she was so delighted by them. In exchange, she gave me her never-ending devotion, so it was a pretty fair trade.
“What?”
She’s heartbroken.
“I’ll be out in a minute. Just wait there.”
Even Mia can see that something is happening between us. Her arms come down, out of the shame she feels for being a part of it. I close the door and finish changing as quickly as I can.
She doesn’t understand because she doesn’t see it. She’s my Naddie Bear and I’m her Big Sister. When she looks at me, all she sees is me. She doesn’t see any of my scars.
16
Brussels — Antwerp
The arriving couple, the quick French, the tones that are so obvious that I can probably translate the discu
ssion word-for-word without understanding a word of it myself.
Who are you?
Hi! [French Guy Name], isn’t it? I’m [Forgettable French Woman’s Name]. Friend of your parents.
What are you doing here?
They invited us to stay while they were out of town.
They never mentioned this to me. What is your name again?
[Says the name again, only slightly differently, to make it even less memorable. I’ve heard Mia do this before. It’s quite a trick.]
We were just leaving.
Hold on. Let me call my parents. [Pulls phone out of pocket.]
Sorry, but we have a plane to catch. It leaves very soon and we’re on our way to the airport. We have a cab waiting outside.
Hold on!
Sorry. It was very nice to finally meet you, [French Guy Name]. Say hello to your parents for me, if you would, please. And thank them kindly for the use of their place.
Once we’re outside on the street, the couple lean out the window, looking for us as the man speaks on his cell. We turn in the direction of the square, where the crowd is now substantial — music is blasting from the loudspeakers. Mia leads as we merge into the sea of bodies, taking my hand so as not to become separated. Naddie is behind me, clutching the strap of my bag. I glance back at her, grinning, and she’s anxious. I’ve done worse. To me, this is only a bit of fun. We quickly disappear among the narrow side streets and alleys that branch off in every direction.
If we were white, I’m guessing that none of this would’ve been so much of an issue. And I’m not saying this because I’m a black woman and thought I was somehow being treated unfairly. I’m pretty sure that we had “broken in” after all, though I can’t say for certain if Mia had a key, so I have no real proof either way. What I’m saying is that if we were three white women, instead of a Hispanic, a black, and a Coloured, then I bet the man would not have rushed to the conclusion that someone needed to be called about the matter.
Besides, we cleaned their stinky refrigerator out for them.
“Oh, yes, I forgot…I’m pregnant.”
The words come out as in interruption — a conversation stopper — a preemptive strike.
We’re on the train heading to Antwerp and I’m sitting next to Mia and Naddie’s sitting across from me. Mia has just started to say something about our schedule, where we plan to travel to next, but all of that comes to a halt and we both stare across the gap a Naddie, who’s smiling awkwardly, trying to make it appear as though she’s simply announcing some pleasant news in a pleasant sort way.
She becomes disheartened, though, when I do not respond immediately. She looks from me, to Mia, then back to me and her faltering smile crumbles away. She’s hurt by my apparent non-responsiveness.
But I’m still trying to process the implications of her simple statement — that I’m going to be an aunt, Naddie Bear is going to be a mom, and that she’s having sex.
It’s a lot to take in.
When she was in high school, Tonya dated a guy named Dennis — six-foot-four of ebony muscle and boyish confidence. He looked like a football player, easily the quarterback, captain of the team, but he stayed out of sports because he needed to focus on his classes. He wanted to get into the best medical school, become a surgeon, and when he came over and spoke with Mom and Dad, it was all politeness and ma’am and sir. His mother, a single parent, raised three young men by dragging their surly butts down to the United Pentecostal until they learned how to become civilized and respectable. She taught them that showing respect for a woman is the surest way to show your respect for Our Lord.
Mom rolled her eyes at the whole religious aspect, and she hates the Pentecostals, but she surely liked Dennis. A little too much. Not that anything happened between Mom and Dennis, of course not. It’s simply that no daughter wants her mother being a better friend with her boyfriend than she is. Matter of fact, I believe most of us want our mothers to kind of dislike the guys we bring home, a little bit, to reassure ourselves that we’re not somehow becoming our parents. All we want is someone that can make both Mom and Dad a little uneasy.
Dennis was gone before three weeks was out.
When we enter the apartment, Robbe nervously calls out a welcome as he prepares our dinner. It’s late and he’s brought in Thai food, which embarrasses him because he thinks it might make it look as though he’s trying to be hip. He quickly explains that the Thai place is the closest restaurant still open. This is when I discover that he’s white and I laugh, not because his being white is ridiculous or anything — I mean, this is Belgium after all and he’s Flemish. No, I laugh because it suddenly strikes me that Naddie’s child, my niece, will be half-black and half-somewhat-Dutch. Almost a little version of me.
While Mia and I are in the guest room, taking out the things we’ll need for the night and settling who will be on what side of the bed, we can hear lowered voices, a discussion between Naddie and Robbe. It sounds as though Robbe is a little upset learning that he wasn’t present when the news was so carelessly tossed out while riding on a train. Naddie tries to explain, to apologize. She couldn’t help it, she says. That woman Lissie’s with makes me nervous.
I look across the bed at Mia, who can obviously hear what’s being said about her because we’re all practically in the same room. She gives me a faint smile, to let me know that she’s not bothered.
When I come out, the huddle of the other team breaks immediately, Naddie and Robbe going off in separate directions. He sets the plates on their small dining table and Naddie comes over to ask me if I want her to set up an air mattress. The guest bedroom is small, the bed a double, but it’s adequate. I don’t take up much space. I tell her it won’t be an issue.
“Are you sure? It’s no problem. We have it for the boys when Robbe’s sister comes to visit.”
“It’s fine the way it is now.”
Naddie gives me a bewildered look, then grabs my arm and pulls me in close so she can speak quietly.
“You two aren’t….”
She can’t say it. She gestures the words unspoken.
I make a noise, laugh a little at the absurdity. I think nothing of calling out, “Mia! We’re not gay, right?”
The hesitation is longer than I expected, to the point of becoming awkward. Maybe Mia is in the bathroom, or…
“She’s not gay.”
Naddie and I look at one another, her eyes a little wide, me shrugging and gesturing wordlessly that Mia’s joking, only having some fun. I tell Naddie that things are fine as they are and she returns to the kitchen area to set up for dinner. I don’t know whether saying anything more will make things better, or worse.
I go back into the small bedroom and find Mia biting her lip to keep from laughing. She asks what it’s all about and I tell her about Naddie’s offer.
“She’s probably going to tell our Mom I’m a lesbian now.”
Jesus, I haven’t spoken with Mom in…what? Five years? How will she take the news of her half-white, ex-con, fugitive daughter also being a dyke? Probably roll her eyes, thinking I’m doing it to spite her. No one’s caused Mom’s eyes to roll as often as I have. I’m surprised they’ve never just popped out of her head while speaking with me.
Mia offers to speak with Naddie, to clear up any misunderstanding, but I tell her to not worry about it. What I’m really saying is that I’m not comfortable with the idea of people talking about me.
“How did you meet her?”
Her tone, the way she gestures with a sudden nod of the head — what Naddie is really asking is Why are you with her? Mia and Robbe are on the balcony, looking out over the city as they drink their Belgian Trappist beer and talk about international finances. Really. He has a doctorate in International Economics and Development, or something like that, and he’s obviously smitten with Mia, which only irritates the shit out of Naddie.
“She’s the childhood friend of Pookie, a big Hawaiian I met in prison.”
How often do you
have the chance to say that in casual conversation?
I then ask her how she ended up in Belgium, married to a Dutch-Belgian, which is curious, given my background. Naddie doesn’t know about my Dutch-Boer heritage, because it’s never something that ever came up. Even Tonya doesn’t know my whole history. Mom and Dad were trying to keep Dad’s “indiscretion” a matter between the adults.
She tells me that after I was transferred to Germany, back when I was in the Army, she wound up attending Tufts for her degree in Sociology. She had been accepted to Harvard as well but decided against going there because she wanted to get herself out of the long, wide shadows of Mom and Tonya. Her plan was to move to Europe. She knew she would find me there and thought it would be amazing to live overseas with her big sister. It makes me sad, her telling me this, because I would’ve loved it as well, but by the time she received her undergraduate degree and was accepted at KU Leuven there outside Brussels, I was already back in the States, making my way through the Academy.
“Well, at least we’re here now,” she says, raising her glass of mineral water.
I touch it with mine. I’m not drinking either, wanting to show a little solidarity with my expectant sister. Also, I need to keep my wits about me. I have to be careful with what I say around Mia and Naddie both because this visit can quickly go absolutely fucking wrong.
Naddie doesn’t like how Robbe is flittering around Mia. Their conversations jump quickly between English, Dutch, and French, which Robbe speaks despite his heritage because his research and consultation work often requires it of him. When the two of them speak more than a few words of the language, it sounds almost conspiratorial, but speaking in Dutch doesn’t help the matter. Despite Naddie living in Belgium for close to a decade, she still doesn’t have the confidence to manage the language. She doesn’t believe that she can understand when fluent speakers speak. No one had expected it of her, being the black woman with the charming Boston accent — everyone in Belgium wanted to hear her speak. She has no idea that I understand most of what is being said, or that I even speak Afrikaans.
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