The Debt

by Sara Hubbard

  “Oh, come on, Yara. Would it really bother him that much that he’d redo it?”

  We stand at the counter in the laundry room, and she lowers her hands to the countertop while holding a pair of socks. She stares at the wall and takes a long, deep breath, looking so very far away.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me. Please.”

  “His father, Sergei, likes white, fluffy towels. Only white. They had to be folded in perfect rectangles and stacked in the closet in neat rows. If they weren’t done as he liked them, he would scream for me to come and fix them. One time he swiped his arm through the closet and pushed all of the towels to the floor because one of them was folded incorrectly. I stood there while he screamed at me. Poor Maxim saw that. He was very conscious of his father’s preferences. So, when he wanted to swim after school one day, Maxim very carefully removed a towel, ensuring he didn’t disturb the others.

  “He swam and changed in the pool house like he was supposed to. He made sure to clean up the water and throw his towel in the hamper. Now, his brother, Andrei, was never quite as careful and got in trouble a lot from his father. He hated that Maxim was punished less than he was. I think he thought his father favored Maxim, but it was never that—at least, I don’t think that’s why. Maxim got in trouble less because he paid attention and made sure he did what was expected. So that day, Andrei, for whatever reason, decided to play a trick on his brother. He removed the towel from the hamper, tracked mud into the house and then knocked over the towels in the closet. Now, I didn’t see him do it, so I can’t be sure, but when Sergei discovered the mess and beat Maxim unconscious, Andrei watched and smiled at his father’s back.”

  Sickened, I clutch at my stomach. I can’t imagine what Maxim’s life was like growing up. All the things he endured and the way he had to harden himself to survive. There is no wonder he’s so closed off. No wonder he’s so practiced at keeping people at a distance, even people he claims to care for. I don’t want to soften toward him, but I’ll admit, I’m already there even without this story. “He sounds like a monster,” I say angrily.

  “Who? Sergei or Andrei?”

  “Both,” I say with a scowl on my face. “Was Andrei young when this happened?” If he was a kid, maybe I could understand Andrei being jealous and unsure of how to deal with his emotions in a healthy way—especially having his father as an example.

  “You haven’t met him?” Yara asks.

  I shake my head.

  “He’s poisoned. He might have had the chance to be good once, but I was told he changed much after his mother died.”

  “Andrei and Maxim don’t have the same mother?”

  “No. Andrei’s mother died when he was young, and he’s about nine years older than Maxim. Sergei married Irina about three years after his first wife died.”

  I cluck my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “So, Andrei was a teenager when the towel thing happened.”

  She nods.

  “He should have protected Maxim and not thrown him to the wolves.”

  “I should have protected him, but I knew I couldn’t. I have much guilt for that day. I stayed in the kitchen when it began, and I put my hands over my ears because I knew I couldn’t save him from Sergei’s anger. Maxim would have had no one if I stepped in, because his father would still have beat him, but he’d also have fired me—or worse.”

  “Because of water and unfolded towels?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could someone do that to their brother? He would have known how his father would react. Did he want Maxim to get hurt?”

  She clears her throat and sniffles. “Yes, I think so.”

  “What about Maxim’s mother? She didn’t help him when his father did things like this?”

  Yara scoffs at that. “Irina? No, she would never go against Sergei. She knows better.”

  “Maybe she was helpless, too.”

  Yara laughs, but there is no humor behind it. “Irina is as bad as her husband. She knew what Andrei did that day. After it was over, I overheard her and Maxim in his room. He was in bed, and she had an ice pack pressed to his head. You’d have thought she’d be comforting him and reassuring him. But no. She called him weak for letting his brother get the better of him. And then she told him he better become stronger if he wanted to earn his place in the family.”

  I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Imagine how scared Maxim must have been as a child to be so careful and conscious of his actions at such a young age. It explains so much. Like why when I dated him he never told me details about his life or shared his feelings. Though he could be so intense with touch, and I could sometimes read his emotions in his face, I didn’t really know him. I realize now much of our conversations were about me. Did anyone ever share their feelings with him growing up? Did they ask him about his? I know the answer without having to ask Yara. My heart breaks for him. I’m always okay, he said to me. But is he? No, I don’t think so. He just knows he has to pretend to be.

  I pick up another T-shirt. Slowly and carefully, I fold it exactly as she’s shown me. I lay it on the pile in the hamper, and she nods with approval.

  “Perfect.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” She folds some socks. I’ve never seen anyone fold socks before.

  “Do you trust Maxim? If he were to promise you something, would you trust him?”

  “Yes. I trust him with my life.”

  While Yara’s strong recommendation to trust Maxim feels heartfelt and true, I know I don’t have the same relationship or history with Maxim as she does. He hasn’t made a promise to her—that I know about—that could put him and the people he cares for at risk. Would she still trust him then? I want to ask her, but I don’t want to involve her any more than she is. I don’t want to taint her image of him by giving her details. I want her to keep loving the boy she helped raise. Because he needs her.

  I continue helping her around the house until she leaves a little after five o’clock in the afternoon. The time between suppertime and when Maxim comes home is the hardest. The house is so quiet, and I feel so alone and so open to thoughts about my dad. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over him choosing his life over mine. And I’m not sure I can ever forgive him, no matter how much my mind tries to convince me he was sick. I wanted a hero and for him to protect me. His addiction was stronger than his love for me.

  I nod off after nine, and when I wake, in the chair in my room, it’s almost eleven. After wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sit up and yawn. The house is still so quiet, and I don’t think he’s back yet.

  I push to my feet and grab the cardigan on the dresser that Yara brought me today. Then I scuff my feet to the hallway. The door downstairs shuts, and I follow the sound. At the bottom of the stairs, I come face to face with Maxim. On the second step, I’m just about eye level with him. His wavy hair is messy and stuck up, and I’ll admit that I have a desire to touch it. His jacket is open, and underneath he wears a dark collared shirt with dark dress pants to match.

  “Hello,” I say.

  He nods.

  Then a long moment passes where we say absolutely nothing. I’ve been so angry since he brought me here. Angry and hurt. I want to hate him still, but I don’t feel as passionate about it tonight. Yara’s stories are having an effect on me. Because now when I look at him, I do it with an appreciation of why he is the way he is. Maybe it isn’t his nature to be a ruthless criminal; maybe it’s all nurture. Maybe he can’t help but be that way because he doesn’t know better. My heart aches for the boy he was and the man he could have been.

  “Is something wrong?”

  I shake my head and swallow hard. “I think I’m hungry.”

  “Think?”

  I nod and walk down the rest of the stairs, careful to step around him without touching him. I’ve been here nearly a week now, and since I’ve been helping Yara, I know where a lot of the things in the kitchen
are.

  I open the fridge door and search the contents. Though I don’t turn around, I feel Maxim’s eyes on my back. Snatching some cheese and butter, I decide I’ll make some grilled cheese. It reminds me of my mother, and it makes my heart hurt.

  Maxim strolls into the kitchen but stays near the wall. He’s removed his jacket, and as he leans back against the wall, he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves. His forearms are tattooed and hard with muscles. I clear my throat, ignore my audience and find a pan. After I turn on the stove, I start to butter my bread. While I’m feeling a little more forgiving tonight, I’m still upset with him, so I don’t offer to make him one. Call me stubborn.

  “What do you do all day?” I ask. “I’ve never known anyone to work so much, and I probably worked over sixty hours a week before you abducted me.”

  His eyes. The smile in his eyes. It kills me. “Abduct? That’s a strong word.” He takes a seat on one of the stools by the island.

  “What else would you call it?”

  “Saving your life. And you’re welcome.”

  I frown at him. “I didn’t say ‘thank you.’”

  “No, you didn’t, but I forgive you.”

  I roll my eyes at his playful banter. He can justify all he wants. He did abduct me, even if his intentions were somewhat questionably good. Although I do think there is more to my abduction than him simply wanting to repay a debt. I'm not sure if he’s lying to me or himself. Sometimes he looks at me with such vulnerability that I think he still cares, and other times, it’s like I’m a burden he can’t wait to get rid of it.

  “To answer your question, I have a lot of obligations that consume much of my time.”

  I roll my eyes. His answers are so vague. “You had more time before.”

  “Before what?”

  “When we…”

  He raises an eyebrow, but I don’t want to finish or talk about us before.

  “That was nearly two years ago,” he says.

  “Okay, you have more to do now. But that still doesn’t answer my question. What do you do?” I lay a piece of bread in the pan and hear quiet sizzling before I lay down some cheese and another piece of buttered bread. When we dated, he told me he managed a club his dad owned. He also said he didn’t enjoy it, but when I asked him what he wanted to do, if he could do anything, he didn’t have an answer. All he said was, ‘No one has ever asked me before.’ It seemed to stump him. I remember thinking how sad that was, but now I think I understand why. He likely never had a choice.

  When I still don’t get an answer, I ask, “Do you still work at that club?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still hate it?”

  He offers a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “You’re the only person who would ever roll their eyes at me. Why do you do it?” he asks in that thick, sexy accent of his. He clasps his hands together and rests them on the granite.

  “You give away so little. A yes or no here. A shrug there. Maybe a little diversion to shift the focus or an abrupt change of topic.” I sigh. “Are you your least favorite topic?”

  He frowns at me. The tension in his eyes and forehead speak of irritation. I don’t want to push him, especially after he said I could see my mother, but…the more I learn about him, the more I want to know. And I think talking would help him, even if he’d disagree if I asked for his opinion.

  “What do you want from me?” he snaps back.

  I narrow my eyes and smack the spatula on the countertop. “Nothing. I want nothing.” I walk to the stove. After flipping my sandwich, I stare at the perfectly browned color on top. It’s a thing of beauty, and I can’t fully appreciate it when I’m annoyed.

  The wooden stool strains as he stands, and I’m sure he’s leaving but, instead, he approaches me. I watch from my peripheral as I stare down at the pan. He stops at the cupboard beside the stove and leans back. Like a magnet, my eyes are drawn up to his dark eyes looking down at me from under long lashes.

  “I don’t hate the club. More…I’m indifferent.”

  I swallow hard and look away. My sandwich is perfect on the other side when I peek under it. With a hesitant hand, I reach up to the cupboard behind his head. He leans away so I can open it, and I grab a plate. After the sandwich sits on the white plate, I consider giving it to him.

  “Do you want one?” I hold it out to him, and he takes the plate.

  “My father was in his forties when he had me. He’s nearly seventy now, and one day he’ll retire,” he tells me. “He’ll leave all of his businesses to one of his sons. It’s possible that son will be me. More than possible, I suppose.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich.

  “Is that what you want?”

  He finishes chewing. “I have no interest in clubs or pawn shops.”

  “Then you should tell him that.” I step away to butter some more bread.

  He chuckles without humor. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure, it is.”

  “I would think you of all people would know why that isn’t true.”

  I swallow and then nod.

  “If he wants me to take over the businesses…and everything else, then refusing wouldn’t be an option.” He takes another bite, and the sandwich is nearly gone.

  “What do you mean everything else?”

  He stares at me, chewing. It’s very clear to me he’s not going to elaborate. While I have a feeling “everything else” means a whole lot of illegal things, I suppose I don’t need or want to know.

  “Realistically, what would he do? You’re his son. He’s not going to hurt you, right?” By hurt, I mean kill. From what Yara’s told me, he’s willing to hurt his son physically, but could he kill him? He can’t be that much of a monster, can he?

  With his eyes still focused on me, he swallows and finishes chewing.

  “Wow. He’s even a bigger bastard than I thought.” I assemble my sandwich and put it in the pan. “So then, if you don’t really want it, why don’t you just do less? Make him want to give it to your brother.”

  “That’s not really an option either.”

  “Why?”

  He sighs and sets his plate down on the island. For a moment or two, he looks like he’s looking for the words to explain so I let him take his time.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. But put simply, I’m not sure I could remain in this city if my brother were to take over.”

  “Would he hurt you?”

  “He could try,” Maxim says with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “Then why?”

  “People respond better to me, and I know many would prefer me to lead. So, if I stay here, my brother will consider me a threat to something he believes he’s owed. Something he deserves as the oldest son. There’s no love lost between us, but I’d prefer not to have to kill him—if I can help it.”

  I open my mouth but then snap it shut. I don’t know what to say to him. He’s giving me more than he ever has about his life, and I shouldn’t be shocked at what I’m hearing, but I am. Yara said his brother did cruel things to him. Is he just as bad as his father? Would he kill Maxim to take his father’s place? I found, at the end of my father’s life, I couldn’t trust him, and it broke my heart. But I have my mother. Family should always be there, no matter what. Who does Maxim have? Has Yara been the only person in his world worthy of his trust? If that’s the case, I’m sad for him.

  “My mom and I used to eat grilled cheese late at night. It was our thing. She mostly worked evenings. She would get home late and be ravenous so I would stay up and make her something that was easy. I’ve never been a great cook, but I try.”

  “You said once you wanted a home with a big kitchen so you could learn to cook.” He holds up a hand. “No, I’m wrong. You said you wanted a ‘great’ kitchen so you’d want to learn to cook in it.”

  I look at him, feeling heavy in my heart. “You remember?”

  “There’s little I forget.”
/>
  He said he hasn’t thought of me since I ended things, and it hurt—more than it should have, given my situation. I suspected, but now I’m growing more and more confident he lied.

  I clear my throat and remove my sandwich from the pan. After putting it on a plate, I take a seat at the island.

  “The sandwich was good. Thank you,” he says.

  I smile at him and mean it. “Did you mean what you said last night? Are you going to let me see my mother?”

  He nods, just once.

  “When?”

  “I told you. Soon.”

  “I know, but maybe you could give me a date? Or a timeframe?”

  He lets out a long breath. “We have to be careful. I need it to be after dark. I’ll need to study her schedule. Make sure it’s safe.”

  “I can tell you everything you need to know.” I pick up my sandwich and blow on it. Behind him, a clock on the wall clicks louder and dings to announce it’s midnight. “She normally works five or six days a week at a diner on Eighteenth Street. It’s called Lily’s Garden. Have you heard of it?”

  He nods. “I’ve been once or twice.”

  I wonder if he’s ever met my mother. Not that he would have cared, but still, I wonder.

  “Usually, she works until close, and that’s two in the morning. She’d likely still be there now…if you wanted to…well…”

  “Go tonight?” he asks, deep lines appearing in his forehead. He shakes his head.

  I slump in my seat and take a bite of my sandwich. When he told me I could see my mother, I hoped it would be immediate, but I suppose deep down, I knew it wouldn’t be. Full of emotions, I blow out a shaky breath between chewing. I only wanted to see if she was okay. With my own two eyes. It would make being here easier and lift such a worry off my shoulders.

  He runs two hands through his hair. It’s messier than before, yet still looks purposeful.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” I say with my mouth full.

  “No games. We go. You stay in the car. You cause no trouble. You see her and we go.”

  “Just like that?”

  He scratches the side of his jaw. “Just like that.”

  I can’t fight the smile that builds on my lips, and I aim it straight for him. “I don’t hate you anymore,” I say softly.