Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She sets her knitting aside to rest her hands in her lap. “How do I know you are telling me the truth?”
I fish the phone from my pocket and access the live feed of Tanaka’s room. The doctor is gone, and she is resting, the trauma of earlier events forgotten in her sleep. She looks like a goddess on her white satin sheets, but it pains me to see the tube taped to her nose.
I show the image to Aida, and she studies it for a few moments to be sure. When she has drawn her own conclusion, her attention returns to my face.
“What is she doing with you?”
“It’s only until her father pays his debts. But I can’t in good conscience allow her to desecrate her body.”
Aida shakes her head. “Then you will try until you are blue in the face. If you want her to eat, I am not the person to ask. To be frank, I’m amazed she has survived for this long.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me why she does it.”
“What difference would it make?” She shrugs. “The girl is sick. She needs help. But her father never allowed it.”
Her indifference is forced. It would be a weakness to admit she cares, but her will is close to bending. I need her to keep talking.
“Why wouldn’t he allow it? I was under the impression that she was special to him.”
Aida purses her lips. “She is a mafia princess. You should know these things, thief. Her life has been sheltered. No outside influences. That is the only way, I suppose, to keep her safe.”
“I am open to suggestions.”
The old woman sighs, shoving her bottle thick glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Try minestrone. Her mother used to make it for her as a child. She would always eat it when I made it too.”
My lungs expand, and I feel lighter. Perhaps it’s relief, but every scrap of information I gather about Nakya only fuels the fire inside me demanding to know more.
“You can’t force her,” Aida adds. “It’s not the way with her. She is obedient but stubborn. If you tell her she must do something, it will only encourage resistance.”
There is no question I forced the feeding tube on her. But after the doctor’s examination and report, we both agreed it was necessary. I don’t like forcing nourishment on Nakya, but if I must do it to keep her alive, I will.
“Can you tell me more about her mother?”
Aida’s brows knit together. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I have heard rumors, and I am curious what happened to her.”
“The same thing that will inevitably happen to Tanaka,” she says. “It’s the mafia way.”
“Her mother killed herself,” I argue. “Tanaka is not of such weak disposition.”
“If you know already, then you have no need to ask these things of me.”
“I only want to know more about her so I can help.”
“Sure, you do.” Aida snorts. “You want to help as long as it benefits you.”
She is right, and to deny it would be an insult to her intelligence. Aida is done with this line of questions, and I’m out of angles. There are other avenues. It will take more time, but she is not the only possible lead.
I turn away, and her voice fills the silence.
“I’m an old woman. I just want to live out the rest of my days in peace.”
“Nobody will know I’ve been here,” I assure her. “You have my word.”
“What good is a thief’s word?”
I pivot to meet her cloudy gaze. “You tell me.”
She points down the hallway. “Go to the kitchen and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”
I do as she instructs, and Aida is not far behind, shuffling along in her robe and slippers. She busies herself with the preparations while I take a seat in an uncomfortably small vinyl chair at the kitchen table.
While the kettle warms, Aida sets the table for tea. Cups, saucers, sugar cubes, and creamer. She adds a plate of freshly baked banana bread from the microwave, and I eat two slices while I wait. Throughout the process, her eyes move to me often. She is still uncertain of my motives, and when she comes to sit across from me, I think she is undecided how much of the truth to indulge.
“Tanaka was a bright little girl,” she tells me. “Smart and inquisitive. Her studies taught her everything that a girl of her stature should know, but it was never enough. Her mind was always full of questions, and that curiosity would sometimes get her into trouble.”
My lip curls at the corner, though it should make no difference to me what the little dancer was like as a child.
The kettle whistles, and Aida brings it to the table, pouring it over the tea bags before resting it on a hot pad. She resumes her seat, the steam fogging her glasses as she stares into the cup.