Page 24 of Bred To Be Owned

“You know my name?” I didn’t know why it surprised me. People had addressed me by name in her presence, but I hadn’t thought she was having conscious thoughts then.

“Of course. You’ve always been Ilya to me, but my sisters have pet names for you.” Her smile turned mischievous, and I smiled back at her.

“I don’t want to know what Kat calls me.” I pretended to shudder, wanting to hear her laugh again. She didn’t disappoint me.Laughter is good medicine, right? She’ll be fine if I keep her giggling.

“No, probably not. Kat has a mind of her own, but it’s Toula I worry about.” She paused, making sure that we were eye-to-eye. “I think you do, too.”

“Go on,” I encouraged her. I wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading, but I wouldn’t disrespect my wife. I’d made the deal with Toula, and I would see it through, even if it meant that Irini was officially mine.

“You were my savior, but I remember you telling me that Toula sent you. I’ve had a few days of sporadic clarity, and it’s all making sense to me. You don’t look at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but if Toula’s in the room, the lights sparkle a little brighter. I would know; I had a husband once.”

I shifted so that I was leaning against the counter, no longer in danger of falling on my face. Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked her, “What happened to him?” I didn’t want her to stop talking. I was more concerned that she’d retreat into the chaos.

“My father happened. Markos never pushed me to be anything I wasn’t, and I loved him with my whole heart for that,” she said with a sigh. “I was eighteen, and the three years before the arranged marriage were supposed to be enough time to allow him to save enough money and get us new passports. He worked hard to make sure that we’d have a new life somewhere else. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Toula.” She wiped a few tears from her eyes and then shook herself, as if she was clearing away the memories.

“I thought we should have left sooner, and I begged him to listen to me. As long as we were together, everything else would fall into place. My father might have sent men after us, but Old Man Lombardo wouldn’t have cared. A few days before my twenty-first birthday, Markos paid off the priest to marry us, and then we were supposed to hit the road, but my father called. He gave Markos orders that he couldn’t ignore, so we waited. Fate intervened. The priest must have turned us in, and my father made Markos disappear.”

“I’m sorry.” I offered my condolences.

“It’s alright. He’s waiting for me.” She smiled again before continuing. “I’m telling you this because my father is pushing Toula to her breaking point. Running’s not the answer when she should be with you.”

“What makes you think this?” I didn’t like any of this. It was the second time she had mentioned dying without explicitly saying so.

“Toula needs her Markos. Someone who will love and appreciate her for the way she is. You don’t hide it very well, and she won’t believe you as long as I’m here.”

“You’re my wife…” I said, but she held up her hand, stopping me.

“No, don’t lie to me. You’re not mine when you belong to someone else, and I love her too much to let her run from the future because she’s angry.” She stood and walked towards me. “May Ihug you?”

I stood straight and held my arms out to her. She shuffled the last few steps and wrapped her arms around my waist, laying her head on my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

I held her tight, not wanting to pull away, but she broke the hold first. Turning back around, she walked towards the kitchen door, only looking over shoulder at me. It felt like it was the last time, and a chill crept down my spine. “She’ll want to name your daughter after me out of guilt, and I don’t want my niece to carry those expectations. Make sure you talk some sense into her.”

I stood in the same spot she’d left me, watching her walk away until I couldn’t see her shadow anymore. I told myself I’d check on her in an hour, and if she was still functional, I’d call the doctor, no matter what she said. Finishing the soup, I went over every detail, from the time she’d walked in to the time she’d left. I wanted to rehash everything, looking for any clues that I’d missed. I’d been too stunned watching her to pay attention.

I didn’t make it an hour. Some intuition told me I needed to go check on her immediately. Knocking at her bedroom door, I waited to see if there was a response. When there wasn’t any, I knocked again while turning the door handle quietly.

“Irini?” I whispered, in case she was honestly sleeping. Opening the door completely, my eyes instantly found her under the covers. “Hey.” I walked over and shook her shoulder gently. “I’m checking to make sure you’re alright.” There was no movement, and her body was cold. I checked her pulse, but I didn’t need to confirm my suspicions.

Irini had rallied enough to say her piece, and now she was gone.

***

Toula, Age 21

The sun was glowing, and the birds were singing on the day we buried Irini. They were welcoming her home, but all I felt was extremely cold.Why is the cemetery always ten degrees cooler, no matter what time of year it is?

The Russian had made the funeral arrangements before calling my father. It hadn’t sat well with my parents. They believed they had deserved to be informed earlier, even though only a few hours had passed since Irini’s death. My father had even had my mother make her own arrangements, but the Russian had instantly shut that down. He had claimed Irini was his wife, and he would give her the proper burial she deserved.

We walked into our church, surprised when the Russian priest stepped up to perform the rituals. My father hid his temper, but the blood vessel at the top of his forehead throbbed. He was angry the Russian hadn’t respected our culture.

It seemed like there were better battles to fight. Irini’s death had placed a wedge between our families. The Russians stood on one side, and we stood on the other. The Italians were the buffer in the middle.

I was numb. I thanked the guests for their condolences, but their faces were a blur. There were too many people that I had to excuse myself from before I made a scene. They either wanted to network at a funeral or talk about anecdotes they remembered. I wished I could have screamed that she was too good for any of them to speak of, but I maintained my aloof expression, hiding my rage.

We sat on the plush chairs provided by the funeral home at the burial site, listening to the priest give a final blessing. The Russian stood off to the side, but I could feel his eyes shift to me every so often. Mine never left the casket. I barely held it together as theylowered Irini into her final resting place. The pulley gears made a grinding sound I was sure I would never forget.

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