Page 117 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. “She talked about you all the time,” I croak. “She told me how smart and brave and beautiful you are. And she was right.”

June shifts her weight back and forward on her feet. Then, as if reaching a decision, she scurries over to me and sits on the couch at my side.

I turn to face her. There’s wisdom and grief far beyond her ten years in her eyes.

“Did she tell you where she was going to go if she escaped?” Her words come out in a jumble, like she has to force them out. She retreats inward as soon as they’re spoken, protecting herself from the answer.

“It’s all she talked about,” I say honestly. “She wanted to come right back here to be with you and your grandma. It’s all she ever wanted.”

June’s lower lip trembles.

“Your mom loved you more than anything in the world, June,” I say, fighting through a wobbly voice of my own. “She’d be here right now if she could. I wish she were, in fact. If I could trade places with her, I’d—”

“No.” June lays a hand on my knee and shakes her head. “Don’t say that. Mommy wouldn’t like it.”

The girl came by her kindness naturally, but I’m still shocked by it. As the woman who came to tell her of her mother’s death, I expected hatred.

Instead, I found love.

“I wish your mom was here,” I say instead, nudging her gently with my elbow. “She was a good person.”

June wipes at her nose and nods, and then she sniffles and sits up straighter. “I’m really glad you came here. To tell us about Mommy, but also… just that you’re here. I’m glad.”

“I’m so happy to be here, too. Rose talked a lot about your house. She even told me about the frogs on the porch. That’s how I knew this had to be the right place.”

Neither Ernestine or June have asked many questions about what went on at Taras’s house or the exact details of Rose’s death. I’m grateful for that. I’m not ready to talk about it. I might not ever be ready to talk about it.

But it feels good to talk about Rose herself. To be with her family, in a world that hasn’t forgotten she existed.

June starts to ramble. “Mommy was the one who started the frog collection. One summer, we went to a lake for the day and a frog jumped in Grandma’s purse. She screamed and threw the whole bag into the water. I had to run and save it before it floated away.” June giggles at the memory. “Later, we went for lunch at a French café, and Mom bought me a croissant and then she bought Grandma a statue of a frog in flip flops at the gift shop. She also bought a picture frame with a frog on it. Now, everyone gets Grandma frogs because they think she likes them, but she doesn’t. They scare her.”

“Then why does she display them everywhere?” I ask.

June shrugs. “She doesn’t want to be mean.”

I laugh. “That sounds like your grandma.”

June sighs and lays her head back on the back of the couch. We’re quiet for a few minutes, somehow comfortable in each other’s presence. It’s nice.

“Mommy was trying to get us out of the trailer park when she was… when she went away,” June whispers, side-stepping the full truth of Rose’s kidnapping. “You probably know this, but my dad is in prison and he’s not very nice. Mommy was worried he’d come here looking for me some day, so she wanted to leave. She told me we’d get a place by the lake, near the French café. I was going to save my money and get goggles so I could see the frogs swimming underneath the water. But then she left and I was afraid she’d never find us again if we moved.”

My heart feels heavy in my chest. This little girl knows too much of the world. She has seen and felt too much. I want to take some of it away from her.

“Do you like the water?” I ask, changing the subject.

June grins. “I love it. In the summer, Grandma has an inflatable pool, and I practically live in it. Mommy always said she was afraid I’d grow gills. When I grow up, I’m going to move to the lake and eat breakfast at the French café every day.”

She says it fiercely. A promise to herself or to her mother or both.

And I believe her. I hope it happens for her. This little girl deserves a future. Both she and her grandmother do.

They’re broken, but so full of love that the breaks in their spirits don’t matter.

Ernestine and June are everything I’ve needed to see in the world over the last couple months. Seeing them gives me hope.

I don’t know whether they’ll make it to the water or the cafe. But I know I won’t forget these two women. Rose loved them enough to die trying to see them again. Now, I can see why.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.

---