Page 72 of Silent Ties

I came up with the idea to hire a full-time person, thinking it’d help Russ, but when I mentioned it to Mom she hired Olga for me.

“Brother,” Elijah says. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got to start believing me when I tell you your mother’s a bitch.”

I wait to see if Roma tries to dispute it. When he remains quiet, I elbow him.

“What?” He wipes his mouth and shrugs. “I love you, twin brother, but at some point you’ve got to understand that our parents aren’t saints.”

He’s been like this since Ren.

“Then why do you still work for Dad?” I ask. I expect every day to hear that my twin’s vanished in the night. That he’s left us all behind. He almost did after Ren. I still don’t know why he came back.

But Roma surprises me, his dark eyes serious. “I’m not complaining about my boss. I’m complaining about our father.”

“Or in this case, his wife,” Elijah says. “You understand what Olga does right?”

I don’t.

Elijah groans at my stupidity. “She’s spying on you!”

“She’s spying on Russ,” Roma quietly corrects.

They’re right of course. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to see it.

My thumb taps the handle of my fork. “Would. . .”

Russet wouldn’t be afraid of tattling on Olga if she’d been the one who slapped her. And since as my brothers point out, her social circle isn’t wide, there’s only one other possibility.

“Would Mom slap Russet?”

Elijah’s head snaps up. “She never mentioned anything.”

Roma, for all his bitching, stops eating. “You think?”

Only Dima, remains unbothered, letting us work it out.

“You think the worst of her,” I remind Elijah.

He sighs, leaning forward on his elbows. “She used to slap the staff around.”

“What?” Roma’s flabbergasted again.

So am I.

Elijah explains. “When she first came.” His life is solidly divided into two time periods—Before Yelena and After Yelena. “I remember she slapped the shit out of one of the maids. Dad put a stop to it.”

I turn toward Uncle Dima, who remains focused on his food.

“Why?” I ask.

I’ve always thought I was more like Mom. My quietness often mistaken for cold arrogance.

What’s the point of Mom installing Olga in our place? Or slapping my wife.

My molars grind at the idea. The memory of a desolate Russet on the floor sparks pain in my chest.

How the fuck is my mother the cause of Russet’s pain?

And how did I not see it before?

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