#
For the second time in as many days, I drive up the brick road leading to the front of the Novak house. This time, there are no other cars and no valets. Just Andrej standing by the front door in an impeccably tailored gray suit. He has always presented this face to the world, the picture of wealth and class, a king presiding over his kingdom. As far as I know, I’m the only one to have ever seen behind the mask. That means, unless he’s found some other confidante, he hasn’t been without this disguise in front of anyone for fifteen years. I wonder if he feels like he’s suffocating.
He eyes my car as I get out. “Is that a Kia?” he asks like it’s a bad word.
I look back at my white sedan. I’d bought it new and paid cash for it, which had been a huge moment for me, second only to paying off my student loans. “Yes,” I answer.
“If it leaks oil on my driveway, you’ll be scrubbing it off.”
I open my mouth to object to his implication, but he’s already moved on, turning toward the house and opening the door.
Following him inside, I say, “I thought I would be meeting Elya.”
He scowls at me. “I wouldn’t trust her with this. You’re lucky I’m giving you this opportunity.”
I smile at him. “She told me you insisted on calling me.”
He rolls his eyes. “She is prone to hyperbole. As are most women.”
I shrug, running my finger over the dusty chair rail in the foyer. “If I hadn’t agreed, you’d probably be meeting with some college hunks to remove your junk.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but when he turns to me, his eyes are dark and angry. “This isn’t junk.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“If you can’t take it seriously—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. His lips clamp together but he looks at my hand indignantly, like he might cut it off. “I grew up here, too,” I remind him. “You can trust me.” And he knows it, or he wouldn’t have called me.
He looks at me skeptically but doesn’t press the matter. Instead, he leads me into the house, talking as he goes. “The estate sale is in a week. Everything needs to be cleaned and cataloged. Then, when the items are moved out, each room needs to be scrubbed spotless for the realtor.”
I freeze at the top of the stairs. “The realtor? You’re selling?” The Novak estate has been in his family for generations.
“That is what realtors do,” he says, stopping down the hall and turning to look at me. “And cleaners clean. They don’t ask so many fucking questions. I’m done with this place. Done with my father. Done with the past. Done with everything.”
I want to object. I’m not just a housekeeper or an employee. I grew up here, too. But now isn’t the time. I need to get the contract signed first. Then, maybe my dad can wear him down and convince him selling a piece of his family history just because he’s mad at his father isn’t the right decision.
“You don’t live here anymore?” I ask.
He gives a small, humorless chuckle. “No. I haven’t lived here for a long time.”
We go room by room. Andrej flings open doors on empty, dusty bedrooms full of antique furniture and family heirlooms.
“Magda has already picked through the rooms and taken what she wants. All of this is for the auction.”
“You don’t want any of it?” I ask, picking up an angel statue from one dresser. It’s heavy, maybe marble.
He narrows his eyes on me. “No, and you won’t take it, either. Unless you pay for it.”
I put the statue back down. He knows I’m not a thief, so I don’t deign to respond. I’m not going to sink to his level.
We continue the tour. He gives me the key to the attic and the sheds in the back, and then moves to the staff wing. After being in the main house, these halls are narrow and dark, but no less empty than the rest. They feel haunted, though.
“Most of this furniture can go to the women’s shelter in West Valley,” he says. “I’ll get you in touch with Losev’s wife to arrange the donation.”
I nod absentmindedly, my eyes on the dingy carpet. Normally, I wouldn’t be thrilled at having anything to do with Losev, who was one of the ringleaders in high school, but I met his wife at the memorial service, and she was delightful.
When we reach my old room, I can’t help it. I open the door, half expecting it to still have my pictures on the mirror and lights above the bed. To still have the imprint of my body on the pink quilt. But of course, it doesn’t. It’s cold and lifeless, just like the rest of the house.
Andrej peeks over my shoulder. “Ah. Memories.”
I shut the door firmly, only to find myself sandwiched between it and Andrej’s hard body. I feel his breath on my neck, but I don’t look back, afraid to see how close he is. My heart wants more. It always does when it comes to Andrej. Old habits die hard, and I am not trying to fall back into them. Not until I know exactly what he wants from me.
After a tense moment, he steps back, and I can breathe again. We move down the hall and out the side door onto a small porch. The stairs descend to the gravel pathway that leads around the house. There are two white rocking chairs. I sit in one, but instead of sitting beside me, he leans against the railing and looks down on me. He always has to be in a position of power.
I make notes on the tablet, marking how many rooms and estimating the work involved, how many people I’ll need, adding in the sorting and cataloging.
“So,” he asks, “how much?”
I tell him.
He doesn’t bat an eye. In fact, his face doesn’t change at all. I think he’s going to agree, but then he says, “What do you think this is? A robbery? Cleaning isn’t rocket science, for fuck’s sake.”
I look up at him, stunned, but he isn’t even looking at me. Instead, he’s adjusting the cuff links on his shirt like I’m not even worthy of eye contact. I know I’ve done well for myself. It may not be the most glamorous job, but I’m successful, maybe even more than he is because I did it all on my own. No one handed me anything. But it still hurts to have him lash out at me. I loved him once, and I think I still do, though not this version of him. Somewhere deep down, he still has a good heart. And I won’t sink to his level because that will only bury it further.
After taking a moment to gather myself, I look back down at the tablet, scrolling through the work order. “Okay. Would you like to make a lower offer? We could possibly reduce the price if you’re willing to go through the attic on your own. That’s the—”
“Why do you do that?”
I stop and look back up at him. “What?”
He glares down at me, his cuffs forgotten. “Are you really that weak? Why do you let me talk to you like that?”
I cock my head at him and gather the nerve to tell him the truth. Our history together gives me some privileges that I’m willing to take advantage of, especially when I can sense the deep well of pain he tries to hide. “Because I know inside, you’re still that hurt little boy you used to be, just in big boss man clothes, now.”
“Bullshit.” He scoffs and turns away, leaning on the railing. “Of course, that’s what you think. Yes, my father ruled with an iron fist, and yes, I hated it then, but it’s made me what I am today. Strong. A leader.”