Soldier Mine

by Lizzy Ford

  “I’m glad you think enough of me to talk about it,” he starts with a faint smile. “I think karate is the first step. I also think you need to talk to him about what’s bothering him. I don’t think his actions can be viewed in isolation. Everything is connected to a central source, an issue that’s disturbing him in a way he doesn’t know how to handle. From what I’ve seen, when kids act out, it’s because they really don’t know the right way to deal with something.”

  “I know he doesn’t,” I whisper.

  “Then you need to deal with the source.”

  I gaze at him, heart aching for Todd’s ruined life. “I can’t, Petr.”

  “Okay, Claudia.” He doesn’t seem surprised or insist I tell him what’s wrong, for which I’m grateful. “It’s much harder to curb or channel the symptoms and ignore the problem. We’ll give karate a go and, with your permission, I’ll drag him to a couple other activities. When in doubt, wear him out and give him something else to occupy his mind.”

  “You don’t have to take this on yourself, Petr,” I say with more confidence. “If you want to recommend some things, I’ll make sure he goes.”

  “I have sensed, and this may be wrong” he leans forward with a gentle smile “that you’re both running from something. You don’t have to tell me what or why or anything of the sort, but I recognize suffering when I see it. Mikael’s death taught me this, and I am sensitive to the pain of others. Whatever it is, this source problem, if you don’t want to entrust me with it, then at least let me help you limit it from affecting Todd.”

  Speechless and horrified once more Petr can see what I want to keep hidden, I’m tempted to leave right then and there, grab Todd and move on to the next town.

  But for the first time in four years, Todd is happy, and someone is offering to help us without prying too deeply into what we’re running from. My emotions are screaming while the logical side of me knows Todd deserves this chance. I definitely need the assistance in preventing him from doing something to ruin his life.

  I can’t keep running, if I want him to be stable and happy. For now, it’s an option to stay put, to give Todd a chance.

  “Okay.” The hoarse word is barely audible. “Okay.”

  It’s all I can manage. Without another word, I stand and hurry to the employee section of the kitchen. I’m overwhelmed, scared … I can’t even identify all the feelings pummeling my brain. They bring tears to my eyes, though, and I take several deep breaths to calm myself.

  I survived the discussion and came out with a plan to help Todd. It was, in every way, a success. My focus needs to be there instead of on the fear I experience any time I consider trusting someone. I have to be brave for Todd. If anyone can help him, Petr can.

  Chapter Eleven: Petr

  It’s hard for me to be triumphant about Claudia’s thaw. It took her too much effort for me to feel victory, and I’m even more certain now she’s running from something really bad. She’s scared, and I don’t like it one bit.

  She doesn’t re-emerge from the kitchen before I leave. I head home and grab the community center schedule to figure out what might work to keep Todd busy for most evenings in the week.

  Claudia is right to be worried. Todd’s questions when we first met, coupled with the fact he went so far as to buy a gun, are definite red flags. He’s moved from emotional angst to action and is willing to confront whatever issue it is without understanding the potential consequences of any actions he chooses to take. If he finds out she took his gun, there’s nothing to prevent him from buying or borrowing another.

  My first thought – that he needs to understand what it really means to hurt or kill someone else – is one that’s hard to address head on without tipping him off that we know about the gun. I sit for a moment in deep thought, disturbed by whatever mess they’re involved in but helpless to do more than she’ll let me.

  I wish Claudia would talk to me. It’s frustrating to work in the dark like this and … I like her a little too much not to want to wrap my arms around her and Todd both and protect them.

  The community center has a plethora of activities for the local kids. My gaze slides to my iPad, and I flip through my schedule as well. I’ve got ten class visits throughout the county before Christmas, along with a trip to the local military base, mandatory military training and …

  A visit to the local vet’s hospital to talk to those injured in battle. I go monthly, partially out of a sense of duty to my fellow service members but also to gather the names of new amputees who might be good candidates for the private medical center housing the experimental program where my bionic leg was developed. I also visit one of the guys who was on my team the night Mikael died.

  It’s a perfect opportunity to show Todd the grittier side of war and what a bullet can do to someone. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it can’t hurt for him to know in advance how much damage a weapon in the wrong hands can inflict.

  If only I had Claudia’s number to call and let her know what I’m thinking.

  It takes me all of ten seconds to debate the pros and cons of showing up twice to see her in one day and decide it really doesn’t matter. If she has a problem with it, or if she’s scared off by it, I’ll remind her this is about Todd.

  So I create a proposed schedule for Todd and return to the diner for the second time around eleven. The crowds of morning shoppers have thinned out, and I go to the breakfast bar instead of my regular booth.

  Claudia glances at me curiously when I enter. She seems to have recovered from the trauma of talking to me earlier and I wait for her to come by.

  “You can’t want more pie,” she says and pauses on the opposite side of the counter from me.

  “Baba wants to know what kind of wedding cake you want,” I joke with a smile.

  She laughs and flushes. “I love your father, Petr.”

  “He’s a good guy,” I agree. “Expect him to be back, by the way.”

  “Not a problem.” She’s relaxed and her eyes shine. “Coffee?”

  “Not this time.” I unfold the piece of paper I printed with a schedule for Todd. I’m organized to the point of anal at times, thanks to the military, and I’ve planned out an entire month worth of activities, down to the times, locations and mode of transportation. I hand it to her.

  “What is it?” she asks, accepting it. She reads through it. “You did this for Todd?” She looks up at me, surprised.

  “Did I miss anything?”

  “No.” Her brow furrows in puzzlement. “I … wow. I’m not sure what to say.” Her focus returns to the paper, and she studies the entries stretching from the end of November through the New Year. “This is amazing.”

  “Just say it works for you and Todd, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “This is too much, Petr. I can’t … I won’t let us take up the time you should be spending helping everyone else in town,” she says without taking her eyes off the paper.

  “It’s my pleasure, Claudia.”

  She meets my gaze. I can almost see her internal struggle. It doesn’t take a genius to guess she’s not used to entrusting her brother’s welfare or interests to anyone else. The two of them are almost inseparable, and their affection for one another is irrefutable.

  I also know the decision has to be hers. Pressuring her will drive her away.

  “You’re sure?” she asks again after a brief hesitation.

  “Positive,” I reply. “I would’ve called to tell you but I don’t have your number. Though, in truth, my father might have it by now. He was KGB. Don’t let him weird you out. Old habits die hard.”

  A smile pulls up one side of her full lips. “Okay, Petr.” She takes a deep breath, and I sense again this is difficult for her.

  “You, ah, ever have a day off?” I ask without thinking.

  She stares at me, red in her cheeks.

  “Just curious,” I add. My heart quickens the way it does after a cardio workout. The small voice telling I’m not a whole man a
nymore, and not good enough for someone like Claudia, is warning me I never should’ve asked. I imagine crushing it once more. Claudia is too compelling for me to let the voice of insecurity win.

  “Sundays.”

  Wow. She answered. “I thought it might be nice if I made you a cup of coffee for once,” I say.

  “Will it be hot?” she asks, a little uncertainly.

  I chuckle. “Yeah. Unless you like cold coffee.”

  She ducks her head but not before I see the smile. “Okay, Petr. We can have coffee.” As with the decision about Todd, I sense the energy she puts into the response and that she’s at her limit.

  “You can bring Todd, too. We’ll do brunch at my place. Baba will be happy to see you, I’m sure, and there’s more than enough to do at the house to keep Todd busy.”

  “He won’t go anywhere without Maya,” she warns me, enough recovered to look me in the eye again.

  “Bring her, too.”

  “To your castle?” Her face scrunches at the words. “You really live in a castle?”

  “Yeah. Don’t hold it against me.” I laugh, thoughts on Brianna.

  “Why would I?”

  “Just a … stupid joke. I dated a girl once who resented the fact I was wealthy.”

  “First you date women who can’t accept your leg and now someone who doesn’t like who you are,” she says and then clears her throat. “You don’t have very good sense in women, Petr.”

  She says it in the chiding tone I’ve heard her use with Todd. “Yeah, you’re right.” I smile.

  “That includes me.”

  “Nothing you say will convince me of that.”

  The shadow is back in her gaze. Before she gets cold feet, I stand up to go.

  “Let me know Sunday if you want any changes to the schedule.” I motion to the paper in her hands. “I won’t be in tomorrow. I have to go to Boston for the day.”

  “Thank you, Petr.”

  “See you at ten on Sunday.”

  I leave, my insides thrumming with warmth and excitement. I haven’t been this excited about a date – even if it’s with a bunch of other people present – since I was a teen.

  Chapter Twelve: Claudia

  Sunday at around ten in the morning, Todd, Maya and I pile out of a taxi in front of the mansion larger and more imposing than it appears from the road. New snow coats the manicured lawn and eaves of the great house, though the driveway and courtyard out front are cleared.

  The windows of the castle facing the road are decorated in green wreaths with red bows while the entryway is framed by fresh smelling pine garlands. I shiver inside my coat, not accustomed to cold weather and honestly not caring for it much at all. Beneath the knee length, wool jacket I splurged on from the Goodwill, I’m wearing leggings and a sweater with a belt and snow boots.

  It’s not like me to put this much care into what I’m wearing, but I changed four times before we left this morning. Standing in front of the massive house, I’m feeling underdressed and suspecting none of my clothes remotely resemble what multimillionaires wear.

  The door opens as we approach. Petr grins. He’s wearing a sweater and khakis. His right foot is bare and the left foot of his prosthetic covered with a sock. “Come in!” he greets us.

  The inside is cozier than I expect, the interior consisting of dark woods and stone complemented by wrought iron accents. The open foyer with its sky-high ceiling is flanked on either side by staircases that disappear into the interior of the house.

  It smells festive – of cinnamon and cookies – and is decorated cheerfully. At the center of the foyer is a towering Christmas tree decked out in red, gold and silver. Pine garlands interwoven with red ribbons wind among the bannisters of the stairwells, and wintery decorations dot every flat surface.

  “I’ll take your coats,” Petr offers. He’s standing beside a coatroom the size of my bedroom.

  Realizing all of us are staring in awe at the breathtaking foyer, I start forward and hand him my jacket. Todd and Maya follow. Petr puts everything away and leads us past the Christmas tree into the depths of the house. There are decorations everywhere, and the savory scent of home cooking permeates every inch of the mansion.

  “Your house is amazing,” I manage to speak finally.

  “Smells like cookies,” Todd adds.

  “Thanks.” Petr glances at me. “Hope you all came hungry. When I told our cook we had company, she went overboard.”

  “You have your own cook and come to the diner every day,” I murmur, not sure why it surprises me to know they employ a chef.

  He winks.

  My face grows warm. His father was right. My instinct leaving the community center was likewise correct.

  Petr likes me.

  And that baffles me, as much because I have no idea why as because I don’t know what to do about it.

  We pass an uber-formal dining room and continue walking. I almost sigh. I don’t know a salad fork from an entrée fork, and I’m not about to embarrass myself by choosing the wrong one. I’d probably skip eating and starve to death so Petr didn’t think worse of me for not knowing.

  He leads us into a sunroom whose three walls and ceiling are glass. Natural light cascades into the room from the gloomy outside. The space is filled with two small Christmas trees, a single round table and a buffet table along one side overloaded with food as promised.

  Petr’s father is waiting for us, already nibbling on what appears to be a small, thick pancake and sipping coffee from his spot at the table.

  “Omigod.” Todd’s face lights up when he sees the spread.

  “Welcome,” Petr’s father booms and stands. “Come!”

  Petr places a hand at the small of my back and pulls out a chair for me. It takes a split second for me to overcome the thrill working through me at the sensation of his warm hand on my back to realize his father is talking.

  “… American and some Russian.” He gestures towards the buffet. “I am Anton Khavalov.” He reaches out to shake Todd’s hand, Maya’s then mine. “It is good to see you again, Claudia.” His eyes were twinkling.

  “You, too,” I murmur awkwardly.

  I take my seat, and Petr sits beside me. Todd and Maya approach more shyly.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Anton booms. “Eat! If there is food left, the cook will cry.”

  I smile and stand when Petr does.

  “Okay, I’ll give you the quick version of the Russian food,” he says as we all head towards the food. “Russian pancakes with a toppings bar, vatrushka – which is basically a Danish – gingerbread in various forms, baked apples, and the rest you should be able to identify.”

  The food smells fantastic. Todd puts a huge scoop of everything from mini omelets and bacon to a stack of the Russian pancakes on his plate while Maya picks and chooses. I follow Todd’s lead in trying everything. Pots of coffee and creamer, freshly churned butter and homemade jams and croissants are on the table already.

  We eat in relative silence. Anton and Todd do most of the talking, while I listen. Petr seems unusually quiet. His appetite appears to be intact, though, and he manages to eat almost as much as my brother, which is no small feat.

  The food is even better than it looks. I’ve never had anything that tasted so fresh or high quality, and the textures … my god. How Petr isn’t four hundred pounds, I don’t know. I’d never stop eating if I had food like this anywhere near me!

  I eat until I’m uncomfortably stuffed. The others slow as well, and when even Todd is done, I speak up. “Anton, this is incredible,” I say to Petr’s father. “I’ve never had food this good.”

  “Then you will not be disappointed when I say the chocolate turkey broke in transfer,” he says in approval. “So I cannot give it to you for Petr’s dowry. You will have to take a gingerbread Santa Clause instead.”

  I laugh. Todd gives me a weird look. Petr is smiling, though there’s a shadow in his gaze.

  It bothers me not to see him happy.

>   “Come, children!” Anton says and stands. “Let me show you the house.” He motions for Todd and Maya to follow him.

  Todd grabs a small plate and loads it with two more of the Russian pastries before trailing. I sip coffee that tells me Anton has every right to snub the diner’s coffee and lean back in my seat.

  “We barely made a dent,” I observe, gaze on the buffet.

  “Plenty of time to snack on it today,” Petr says. He smiles, and the sadness in his gaze lifts. “Want to see our tree? It’s huge.”

  “Bigger than the one in the foyer?”

  “Much.”

  “That’s not possible!”

  “Come on!” He stands with a wolfish grin and holds out his hand.

  I freeze, not too sure what to do. With some uncertainty, I slide my hand into his as I get to my feet. He squeezes in encouragement, but I avoid his gaze. It feels … wrong.

  And oh-so-right to be in contact with him like this.

  Hand in hand, we walk down a hallway to a much plainer, narrower set of stairs leading to the second floor. I try not to admire the width of his shoulders or the way his torso forms a perfect triangle with his narrow waist. He’s muscular, just over six feet tall, and sweet. The perfect combination shouldn’t exist. Watching him move, it’s easy to forget he’s missing a leg. I can’t help wondering if his prosthetic limb ever hurts him or if the pain is over with now.

  “The first floor is mainly for entertaining,” he explains. “The second floor is the family’s space and guest rooms.”

  I say nothing, feeling both comfortable with him and very out of place in a mansion.

  We emerge onto the second floor at one end of a long hallway broken up into two wings. He takes me to the central space, and I gasp at the tree at least one and a half times the size of the one in the foyer. This one is less conservatively decorated, the colors brighter, and I spot more than one ornament that appears to have been handmade when Petr and his siblings were in school.

  The hearth beside the tree combines with the soaring ceilings and wooden beams, the windows lining one wall and the plush, comfortable looking furniture to create a home within a home. This one is friendlier than the formal rooms we passed on the first floor. There are signs of wear on the faded leather couch in front of the television and a stack of games on the coffee table. The common area is divided into four distinct sections necessitated by its sheer size: the television watching area, a section for conversation or maybe naps on long couches, the Christmas tree and fireplace section, and a portion including three desks with computers and various other electronics.