by Lizzy Ford
“Yeah. Wait ‘til you see what we do for Christmas,” I say with a quick smile.
Some of her excitement fades, and she looks away. “I guess we’ll see,” she murmurs. “Do you give everyone a personal tour?”
“Nah.”
She appears to be waiting for a deeper explanation. I place a bingo card in front of her instead.
“It’s been a while since I took time off work,” she states. “Feels kind of surreal.”
“You a workaholic?”
“Gotta pay the bills,” she answers. “I swear Todd eats half a grocery store worth of food every week.”
I chuckle. “He’s growing.”
“He’s been driving me batty about the karate. You sure we’re not imposing?”
“I have to be there anyway. I help out with the kids.”
“Really? Your leg lets you?” She freezes and her gaze flies up to mine. “I really shouldn’t have … omigod, Petr, I’m so sorry.”
“I’d rather you ask than pretend it doesn’t exist,” I assure her.
“It doesn’t bother you to talk about it?”
“Nah. Does it bother you to know about it?” I ask before I can stop myself. Shit. It’s too early to ask her opinion on my leg. Without knowing much about Claudia aside from the fact she seems genuine, I’m risking being hurt by her response.
“No. I can think of many worse qualities to have than a bionic leg,” she replies earnestly. “I just don’t really know … I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’ve had a seven year old insist I strip in the middle of the mall so they can show their parents. All in a day’s work.”
“Oh, god!” She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand as she giggles. “Are you serious?”
“Very.” I smile. “I consider it art attached to my body. I don’t mind showing people any more than an artist does. In fact, I tend to be a little too open and scare folks.”
She’s laughing, a charming mix of embarrassment and amusement. Her laugh is as cute as she is. I study her features, probably a bit too long, and resist the urge to tuck the piece of hair floating around her face behind her ear the way she does.
“It does make it harder to get a date,” I admit in a half-joke. “Showing off your bionic leg isn’t the best way to pick someone up.”
“If they flinch at it, you don’t want them in your life anyway,” she says pragmatically. “Everyone has baggage. If someone cares for you, the baggage doesn’t matter. That’s what I tell Todd anyway.”
“You’re tougher than you look,” I observe, sensing once more there’s depth to her well hidden behind a controlled façade. Despite this, I can tell she’s a good person and has an equally golden heart.
She ducks her head, but not before I see the shadow that crosses her features.
I don’t want her to be sad or down or to dwell on whatever is bothering her. I have a feeling she’s in a similar situation as I am; whatever haunts her is ever present. For a few hours, I want her mind elsewhere.
“I forgot to show you the twelve foot turkey,” I say. “It’s made of chocolate.”
She brightens at the mention.
We leave the bingo hall and return to the dining area. The turkey is cordoned off, and we stop in front of the rope.
“I thought you were joking,” she says, trying not to smile. Her eyes go up and down the huge statue.
“When I saw the order form, I thought it was twelve inches. I had no idea it was feet,” I tell her. “It took three days to move it from the bakery in New Jersey to Glory Glade. We had to hire a crane to get it in here, and I have no idea what we’ll do with it when this is over.”
She begins laughing again, this time without her usual reserve. I watch, enjoying the way her face glows. I’m glimpsing another side of her, the carefree spirit whose wit and barbs come out occasionally, much to her chagrin. The impulse to know what happened, why she hides herself and tries to hide Todd from the world, is growing stronger. There’s a sweet, saucy woman beneath her hardened exterior.
“You’re beautiful when you let yourself laugh,” I say without thinking, unable to stop the words that come so naturally.
Almost immediately, she stops and stares at me, startled into silence.
“Sorry,” I murmur without really knowing why. I’ve been a bit more direct with her than I intended, and it’s unsettling after the discussion with Brianna. I don’t want to scare Claudia away. I’d rather be a big brother to Todd than risk her rejection by asking her out. “I’m going to check in with the overly stressed woman coordinating everything. Grab some food and settle in. There’s plenty to do.”
When I walk away, I’m unhappier than I had been talking to Brianna. I want to stay longer with Claudia, to see if I can make her smile or laugh again. The fact I never feared any mission I went on, but I’m scared to pursue anything besides our tap dancing relationship, doesn’t sit well.
Katya is always telling me I deserve to be happy. Maybe I don’t think so, and that’s another thing stopping me. I can’t figure out why I draw back whenever I want to push forward, expect that it’s complicated and insanely frustrating. Because I can see something really good with Claudia, if I take the chance. I’m just not sure I can right now.
Chapter Ten: Claudia
Did I laugh when I shouldn’t have? Or make some remark about his leg he took the wrong way?
I watch Petr’s muscular form disappear into the crowd, uncertain why I’m rattled or why I really want him to come back. I shouldn’t. It’s wrong for me to drag anyone else into my miserable life. But Petr …
I haven’t laughed like that in years. I feel comfortable around him and genuinely eager to talk to him. What I can’t figure out: why the hell is he interested in me? Any doubt I had earlier is gone after his comment about me being beautiful.
I face the massive turkey and start to laugh again, recalling his bafflement regarding the ginormous chocolate statue. My amusement fades as I dwell on his claim about having difficulties dating. It’s impossible for me to understand. He’s funny, smart, dedicated to helping others, has an incredible body, and an absolute sweetheart. My stomach is filled with butterflies every time we’re around one another and I end up flustered like a high school student.
Any woman with any sense would be honored to choose a man like him, yet I saw the darkness in his eyes when he said the words. He tried to make them a joke, but I know suffering when I see it. We have that in common, a connection I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
He’s been through a lot. If he’s anything like me, it’s made him doubt himself in every way possible.
I really, really hope I didn’t say or do something to offend him. I can’t risk being in a relationship, but I don’t want to leave him with a bad impression anyway, and it frustrates me. If … when Todd and I have to move on, we’ll never be in contact with anyone here ever again. What does it matter if Petr is hurt by something I said?
My breath catches.
He’s too good for that. He deserves more, and I’m not the person to give it to him.
But I kinda wish I could be.
“Claud, did you try the stuffing?” Todd asks, breaking into my warring thoughts. “It has cornbread in it.”
I draw a steadying breath and face him. Maya is beside him, and they’re holding hands. I nearly squeal at the sight before reminding myself it’s just as risky for Todd to follow his heart as it is for me to. We’re going to have to have a talk soon, and I dread it with every ounce of my soul.
“No, I didn’t,” I say and plaster on a smile. “I need to make a plate. You kids full or up for another round?”
“Full,” Maya groans.
“I’m up for seconds,” Todd volunteers.
“Let’s go!”
Seeing him happy eases some of my inner angst. We both need a break from the shadow that’s always following us. I vow to give him a few days and then to caution him about building too many connections here.
/> We spend the rest of the afternoon at the community center. I can’t quite bring myself to participate in any activities, but I watch Todd venture out of his cocoon to play video games with other kids his age and participate in an hour long present wrapping event for toys that are then donated to charity.
We leave around seven and return home. Todd is happy and humming all the way back to the apartment, despite the near freezing temperatures that are driving me crazy. Everyone left the center with a gift bag and boxed meal. I deposit both our meals in the fridge and plop down on the couch.
It was a good day, the first in a very long time. My only regret: not having the backbone to talk to Petr again. In the four hours I was there, I had the time and opportunity to find him, but I chose not to.
Todd goes to his room as usual. I can hear him laugh and peek in to see him on his belly on his bed, texting furiously, probably with his girlfriend. I envy him, and the urgency to have the talk we need to have is almost snuffed out by seeing him happy.
For now, he can enjoy a little bit of peace. He deserves it.
Pushing away from his bedroom door, I go to mine and frown. It sounds silly, but I can almost feel the gun in my room. It’s like an ugly, cold snow cloud that freezes out my warm happiness. I hate it and hate more what it stands for – a physical reminder of the impact of what I’ve done to Todd. I’ve dragged him into a nightmare where he fears for his life. He’s turning from a child into an adult and beginning to view the world differently. He’s starting to take matters into his own hands in order to try to mend a reality that’s broken and one he’s sick of.
This terrifies me. Independence of thought is part of the maturing process, but here, now, with our situation, it’s also dangerous. I don’t know how to handle it or what to do about the gun hidden under my mattress.
Petr might. Clearly not a stranger to weapons or teens, I want to banish the idea of asking his opinion, especially after today. He called me beautiful and then disappeared. I don’t quite know what that means or why, despite this, he still seems like the kind of guy I want to trust.
“Hey, Claud, can you warm me up some turkey?” Todd calls.
“Already? You ate like five times today.”
“Pleeeeeeease?”
“Whatever, kid.”
I do as he asks then spend the rest of my evening in front of the television, hoping Gibbs from NCIS will help me figure out what to do.
I don’t expect Petr to be present the next morning after the events of yesterday and am almost surprised he’s at the diner when I arrive. He’s in his normal spot. Eileen is adding more Christmas decorations to the cluttered windows, and the dining area is crowded with shoppers out early for Black Friday deals.
Petr catches my gaze and smiles when I walk in, which renders me instantly hyper aware of everything from how warm it is in the diner to the wrinkling of my nose at the scent of the new maple-bacon waffles on the holiday menu. If our exchanges were awkward before, I’m afraid to discover how much tenser they might be now.
I take him his usual. Not one to beat around the bush when I’ve messed up, I decide to address the issue directly. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” I start.
“Sorry?” Petr echoes, looking up at me. “For …”
“I offended you, I think.”
“Really?”
Men can be so stupid sometimes. I roll my eyes at him. If he doesn’t get it, I’m not going to expand on the issue. He’s puzzled enough for me to think I made it all up in my head, but I can’t really explain his sudden departure and the fact we crossed paths twice more and he didn’t bother stopping to talk. If I didn’t offend him, I don’t know what happened.
Fed up with him already, I leave and circulate among the shoppers to take orders and refill drinks.
To my surprise, someone joins Petr shortly after I refill his coffee, a man who is clearly a relative by his similar build and sparkling eyes. He’s burlier, close to sixty with a quick smile like Petr and dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans.
I take him a mug and glass of water. “What can I get you?” I ask.
Definitely a relative. His eyes are identical to Petr’s, and the skin around them crinkles deeply when he smiles. “Whatever Petr has.” He has an accent that sounds Slavic.
I whisk away to grab pie and return.
“This is what you eat?” the man asks Petr doubtfully.
Petr chuckles. “Yeah, Baba. Every morning.”
“So you do not come here for the food and definitely not for the coffee,” the man peers into his half-empty mug with a frown. “He must be here for you.” He turns his focus to me.
“I can assure you otherwise,” I reply.
“I am trying to marry him off,” Petr’s father continues calmly. “If you want him, you can have him. In exchange, I want three grandchildren.”
Petr snorts and drinks his coffee, apparently accustomed to his father’s attempts to play matchmaker.
I stifle a laugh, not expecting the solemn offer from the newcomer. “Only if he comes with a twelve foot chocolate turkey,” I retort with a smile.
“Why was it twelve feet, Petr?” The man turns on his son. “How are you going to get it out of the center?”
“I don’t know yet, Baba,” Petr responds.
This time, I do laugh and move away before his father can make a second offer of marrying off his son. Petr bears through it with a shrug, and I start to understand why nothing seems to faze him. It wasn’t just the military that taught him how to take things in stride but a father, and the sister he mentioned, who seem to have personalities the opposite of his.
I went to the center yesterday hoping for a glimpse into his life. It was too crowded to determine anything except that money was definitely not an issue for the Khavalov family. Anyone who can feed and entertain a town, even if for a day, has an unimaginable size of wealth.
It’s with unusual eagerness that I glance over at the two more than once as I make my rounds. I wanted to see something more about Petr, and his father shows up. Excitement makes the Petr-butterflies in my stomach do cartwheels.
I take his father a menu in case he wants something other than pie. He’s halfway finished with his slice and pushes it away. “No, thank you,” he says. “Your name is …”
“Claudia,” Petr answers.
“Claudia, I will throw in the chocolate turkey if you will take this turkey off my hands.” Petr’s father cracks a smile.
His dry wit is entertaining. While burning with curiosity about the family, I’m also trying hard to avoid the topic of Petr entirely. Petr is calm and relaxed, a small smile on his face, unaffected by his father trying to barter him off.
“Baba’s been at this since I was sixteen,” Petr explains. “Can you imagine how embarrassing it was to have him meet my first girlfriend?”
“In my time, in Russia, the parents helped their children find good spouses,” his father replies.
“Telling a sixteen year old girl you expect three grandchildren is the opposite approach most parents take,” Petr points out. “You had her parents on the phone screaming at you three hours later.”
“So it wasn’t meant to be.” His father shrugs.
Absorbed in their discussion, I can’t help but grin. Their relationship is beautiful, full of humor, honesty and understanding. This is what I want everywhere in my life, with Todd, with my mother, with the man I eventually meet and date. Seeing the evidence of what I want in front of me is an eye opener. My own parents never had this kind of relationship with each other or with us kids.
It draws me towards Petr even more.
Which is bad. I can’t become emotionally entangled or lose my edge.
Reminding myself of this fact, I clear the pie away and retreat to the counter, uncertain what to say. Petr’s father leaves soon after with a wave at me. I watch him go, envious of Petr’s relationship with his father.
Petr drapes a scarf around his neck, preparing to leave.
&nbs
p; I hesitate, my insides twisting at the thought of opening up to him, even if it’s in Todd’s best interest. I’m starting to believe I can trust Petr as far as I’m willing to.
I approach his table. “Petr, can I ask you something?” I start uncertainly. My hands are in my apron, clenched and twisting together, out of his sight.
“Of course.” He waves at the seat across from him.
Perching on the edge of the bench, ready to flee, I hesitate under his direct gaze. He’s curious, his blue eyes scouring my features. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes. Well, no. I kind of have an issue with Todd. With your involvement with teens and … everything else, I wanted to ask your advice.” The words come out as a breathless rush. He can’t possibly know how much courage this is taking, that it’s a struggle to draw a full breath right now. I’m leaving my comfort zone. It’s for a good cause – and stressful as hell. “Sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed. Having a conversation shouldn’t throw me into a near-panic attack.
“No rush. I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me for two weeks.” He smiles warmly. “I’m not about to go anywhere now.”
I clear my throat. I dismiss the words I have no idea how to handle. “Todd brought home a gun and hid it in his room. I found it by accident. It was in his Secrets Box which is … never mind. I wasn’t supposed to look and I did and I saw the gun and now, I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to confront him, because I don’t want him to hate me but …”
“It’s a serious issue,” he finishes.
I nod and release a sigh. Petr isn’t freaking out. It’s a good thing. “I hid it in my room. I don’t even know how he got a hold of it. The kid has no money of his own and he’s never out of my sight, except at school.”
Petr is listening intently. He’s hard to read right now, and I’m praying he’s not judging me for being a bad role model or something for Todd.
I wait. He appears to be choosing his response carefully or maybe thinking about what to do.
“I didn’t know who else to talk to,” I add, a little worried by his silence.