Wanderlove (4 page)

“A shame,” Dakota said. “You have the talent for it.”

I shrugged uncomfortably.

“I’ll let you get changed.” Dakota excused herself politely, and quickly left the room.

I stood there for a moment, wondering what else Dakota had seen about me. I hoped it hadn’t been much. If she saw things with her touch, then she couldn’t have seen much. She’d only held my hand for a moment. The thought relieved me a little.

Once I was presentable, I headed back towards the kitchen where we ended up eating dinner. Miriam didn’t like to use the dining room. Instead she preferred to use her massively large island, which she surrounded with wooden barstools. It was less formal, and I supposed more comfortable.

I was introduced to the elder sister, Annika, who was a slightly older version of Dakota. I could tell that although the sisters resembled each other significantly in appearance, they seemed to differ vastly in personality. Just as Dakota had been outgoing and friendly, Annika was quiet and reserved. Yet they seemed equally kind.

Annika fawned over Miriam, coddling her as if she were a caretaker instead of her granddaughter. I discovered over the dinner conversation that Annika lived her with Miriam permanently and worked as a detective in the city.

My grandmother seemed happy to have the company, which made me wonder if she’d been very lonely after my grandfather died. I suppose it was something I’d never considered before. I found myself regretfully wishing I’d been able to visit much more often than I had in the past. It would have been good for Miriam, especially after being left alone.

At least I’m here now
, I thought to myself.
At least I finally found the strength to come.
I reassured myself that for right now, I was where I was supposed to be.

I didn’t realize how famished I was until I started eating. The meal was simple, plain, but absolutely delectable. They roasted a chicken with garlic and onions, pairing it with mixed vegetables and mashed potatoes with gravy. I ate my food quickly. It was almost as if I hadn’t eaten in weeks. Actually, now that I thought about it, I remembered I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

While I ate, I listened quietly as the girls conversed with Miriam over the meal. Their voices held my rapt attention as they spoke; Dakota’s was giggly and fast, while Annika’s was softer and more pronounced.

“Strange weather last night, eh, Kota?” Annika asked her sister.

I watched as Dakota rolled her eyes. “It was only a lucky guess,” she replied. “That storm had been developing in the gulf for nearly two weeks.”

“But the forecasters didn’t predict it would hit Clearwater. I called it fair and square.”

“Course they did.” Dakota swallowed her mouthful of potatoes. “As soon as it switched tracks.”

“Oh, give over, Kota,” Annika said. “I named the time and date it would hit. Pay up.”

Dakota looked towards Miriam incredulously. “Are you going to let her rob me blind, Grams? And here I am, a starving artist, still in college, no less.”

Miriam held her hands up in mock protest. “I’m out of this one,” she said to them both.

Dakota reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. She slid it across the table to Annika. “Next time I’ll know you’re trying to dupe me when you want to make a bet. Should have realized not to trust you and your strong
feelings
.”

“Why’s that?” Annika began to chuckle.

“Because what it really means is that you had one of your freak show premonitions.”

“Dreams,” Annika corrected. “It was a dream. And stop being such a sore loser.”

Dakota snorted. “I’m only a sore loser because you made it sound like you were guessing.”

“Only fools make bets they’re not sure of.”

Dakota arched a brow. “So I’m a fool then?”

Annika shrugged. “I never named you, specifically. But if the shoe fits. . .”

“Now girls,” Miriam chimed in. “Let’s not forget we have company. We wouldn’t want to frighten Lola off so soon, would we?”

I didn’t like that the attention turned back towards me. I was enjoying listening to the sisters’ banter. Although they threw sarcastic barbs back and forth at each other, I could tell it was lighthearted. Still, I couldn’t help but notice the topic of conversation wasn’t very typical. I doubted many siblings placed wagers on the next natural disaster to strike.

“The food was delicious,” I commented to no one in particular. It was the first thing I’d said since we started eating dinner.

“We’re happy you liked it,” Annika said.

“You’re lucky it’s mashed potato night,” Dakota added. “Miriam only serves potatoes about once a month.”

Miriam set her fork down. “Oh, what a whopper.”

“It’s true!” Dakota exclaimed. “Grams, when was the last time you cooked any starches for dinner?”

Miriam contemplated while counting on her fingers. Her face lit up as she remembered. “Why, just last Tuesday I made rice.”

Annika shook her head as she raised her glass of water to her lips. “Nope, doesn’t count. That was brown rice.”

“Why doesn’t that count?”

Dakota took a moment to explain to me in an aside, “She’s on a health kick.”

“They’re just mad because I don’t stock up on ice cream and potato chips,” Miriam countered.

The playful arguing continued for a while longer. The dynamic between the three women seemed very foreign to me, nothing like I’d ever experienced with my father. I wondered if this was what a normal home was like.

Unfortunately, it ended too soon. Or maybe it just felt that way because I was dreading the approaching conversation I’d promised Miriam. After everyone was finished eating, Miriam shooed Dakota and Annika out of the room so we could talk privately.

“Lola can help me with that,” she’d said to Annika, who had begun to wash the dishes. She motioned her towards the door. “Now off you go.”

I became uneasy when I realized what was coming. My legs felt as heavy as bricks as I slowly collected the glasses and plates off of the table and brought them to the sink for Miriam to wash. Afterwards, I grabbed a towel to dry the wet dishes while she washed. I remained silent.

“Why don’t you start with the whys?” she suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,
why
did you want to leave, Lo?”

I glanced downwards. Here it comes. There was no use prolonging it. “Because of Christo. I just couldn’t do what he wanted anymore.”

“And what did he want you to do?”

I frowned. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “You’re much too smart to run away from your father for dumb reasons.”

I sighed, knowing she would fly through the roof after hearing this. I braced myself. “He tried to sell me to Madam Wilda.”

My grandmother paused in the middle of washing a plate.

She flung the plate across the room, letting it shatter into a thousand pieces across the tiles.

I winced at the clinking sounds. In a low voice, I mumbled, “Told you that you wouldn’t like it.”

“I swear,” Miriam said, pausing to take a deep breath. “Your father has always been two bricks short of a load.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“He’s one fry short of a happy meal--
that’s
what I mean.”

Puzzled, I simply nodded, pretending to understand her.

“Where is that good-for-nothing?” she continued to bellow. “I think I’ll take my shot gun and have a little talk with him.”

I cast my eyes downward. “It’s no use,” I said dejectedly. “He’s in prison.”

She marveled at me. “Are you serious?”

It made me feel ten times worse that even Miriam-a
gaji
- understood the underlying meaning behind what I’d just told her. She knew how much it would kill his spirit to be locked away.

“It’s all my fault,” I choked. A knot formed at the back of my throat. Watching Miriam digest the news brought out all the shame I felt.

“Why is this
your
fault?”

“Lina and I devised a plan so I could leave,” I explained. “We were working a job. We were lifting a truckload of Mercedes that were headed down from Nashville. I escaped in one of the cars.”

She stiffened and stood up straighter, as if she were deflecting my words. Normally, my father and I left out the unsavory parts of our lives when we spoke to Miriam. She knew anyway, but it became a habit to not tell her certain things (like how our income was made). Christo and I knew she didn’t approve.

“And you came straight here?” she eventually asked.

I nodded. “Until the storm hit.”

“So how do you know your father is in jail?”

“Zetta saw it coming,” I answered. “That’s the really crappy part about all of this. I knew what would happen, but I let it happen anyway.”

I watched her face as everything fully sunk in. She frowned at me. “Lola, you can’t blame yourself for your father’s mistakes.”

“What? Of course I can.” I took a deep breath and then let the air out slowly. “I know I have to accept it. But ultimately, I let this happen, Grams. He followed me because I left, and for that reason alone, he got caught. This is
my
doing.”

She shook her head as if refusing to believe me. “Good grief. You better believe this is all your father’s doings, little girl. And it’s his doings because he is an eternal blockhead. Are you even listening to yourself, Lo? He tried to sell his own daughter into prostitution!”

“He doesn’t think of it that way,” I pointed out.

“Regardless,” Miriam said, waving her hand in the air. “I don’t care how fancy Madam Wilda tries to make her business out to be. She’s in the business of prostitution, no matter what angle you spin on it.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I hated talking about Madam Wilda and my almost-future with her. “No matter how justified you think I am, Christo will never agree. The whole troupe, with the exception of Lina and Zetta, will hate me for this. Even after he gets out.”

“They’ll get over it. But-did you just say he’s going to get out?”

“Yes, but Zetta said it would take a while. I guess Dad’s lackeys will find a way to break him out.”

“And you’re still torn up about it?” She made a
wooshing
noise and slapped her thigh. “Sounds to me like justice was served, after all. Soon enough your papa will be out free and clear. Zetta’s visions are never wrong. And in the meantime, he can sit in his cell and think about what an imbecile he is. Might even do him some good.”

“Grams, the future isn’t always clear. Just because Zetta saw him getting out of prison doesn’t mean it will happen. Things can change, you know.”

“So then how do you know he was ever locked up in the first place?”

I shrugged. “I just know. About fifteen minutes after I had ran away he called my cell phone. . .but I didn’t pick up. Me, plus the car I was driving, equaled a whole lot of money that would be out of Christo’s pockets.”

My grandmother considered this. “So do you think they’ll come after you?”

I knew right away she was referring to my father’s men. I shrugged. In all honesty, I didn’t know the answer to her question. “The way I see it,” I began theorizing. “They’re either angry enough to come after me. . .or they resent me enough that they won’t bother. I think and I hope it’s the latter, even though that probably means that they’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done.”

She nodded. There was a slight flicker of worry in her eyes, which I hated seeing. It made me question my decision to come here. I forced the thought aside. Miriam’s house would be safe. No one would try to come for me here. I had to believe that.

“What about after they break him out?” she asked.

I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

She nodded once more, lost in thought. “Grams, don’t worry,” I assured her. “I would never come here if I thought I would be putting you in harm’s way. Christo has a deep respect for you.

Miriam only chuckled. “Little girl, I am certainly not worried for myself. It’s you who I’m concerned for.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “Because I don’t think your father will
ever
let you go.”

Dakota and I lounged around in my new bedroom; me on the window seat and her on the thickly padded rug next to the bed. Since she was leaving tomorrow to go back to school, she’d invited herself into my room earlier this evening for a slumber party of sorts. I suspected she was attempting to do the whole female bonding thing, which was perfectly fine with me. I was happy to be hanging out with my newly found cousin. Or anyone, for that matter.

Mostly, Dakota regaled me with her college stories. After she finished telling me about her present life, she moved on to recounting her past lives, which always entranced me, no matter who was doing the storytelling.

“My favorite life was my only non-gypsy life. It was…beautiful, really.”

I was instantly curious. There weren’t many gypsies who had the chance to experience a life outside of the gypsy tribes. It was considered a novelty. Those lives were as rare as one of the gaje having a gypsy life, which I’ve never witnessed, though I knew it was possible.

My mother had been a gaji, but she’d married into the gypsy folds. Sometimes, I suspected I inherited her genes. Maybe I was just an ordinary gaji
.
Maybe I was one of the few exceptions within our world. Maybe I was a rarity. It would definitely explain why I couldn’t remember my past lives. The gaje never remembered. Their memories were wiped clean with each birth. And inexplicably, only gypsies ever remembered.

“What was it like?” I eventually asked Dakota, wondrous.

She grinned, moving closer to me on the rug. “Well, I grew up in New England, in the late eighteen hundreds. I married a man who was in the shipping business. His name was David.” Dakota’s eyes grew hazy as she remembered this ‘David’.

“I suppose it was my natural instinct to marry a man who owned ships. And he was a good man. He indulged me by letting me travel with him. I. . .I loved him.”

I smiled. From what I understood, love was not always found in a lifetime. Not true love, anyway.