Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Johan?”
“My brother,” she says as if I should’ve known.
“Your brother?” I ask with surprise.
Clutching Beatrice in one hand, she selects a pebble from the small heap at her feet and throws it over the cliff. “I saw him through the window.”
I glance at the forest again, but it’s quiet now. “When?” Fixing my attention on Sophie, I ask, “Did you see him this morning?”
“Yesterday.” She aims and projects another stone through the air. “He was sneaking around the yard.”
“Why didn’t you tell Heidi?”
She shrugs. “They’re always sneaking around.”
“Why didn’t he come to the house?”
“Because he’s careful. You never know. Maybe he thinks you’ll chase him away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“People always chase us away.”
I take her shoulders and turn her to face me. “If you take people’s property or break it, they will want to chase you away. If you’re kind and respectful, they’ll be more inclined to be welcoming. Do you understand?”
She bobs her head. “You don’t want me to take people’s stuff and break their flowers.”
“Exactly.” I hold out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go check what we can make for lunch.”
We decide on grilled chicken and baked potatoes. While the chicken grills in the oven, we mix cake batter. When the food is ready, I set the table on the veranda in the sun. It doesn’t take long for a scruffy boy with a dirty face to emerge from the woods.
He’s not dressed in rags, but his clothes have seen better days. I judge him to be about four years older than Sophie. I pretend not to see him as he slowly creeps closer.
“Sabella,” Sophie whispers, leaning over the table.
“I know,” I whisper back.
It’s not until I carve the chicken that he finally walks up with a straight back and his arms standing away from his body.
“Hey,” he says in a brusque manner, stopping at the rail.
I acknowledge him with a smile. “Hey.”
He points at the chicken. “Give me that food.”
“Are you hungry?”
He fixes his gaze on the chicken, almost salivating as he nods.
“Then you can join us at the table when you’ve washed up,” I say.
He glares at me. “Why will I do that?”
“We wash our hands before we eat, Johan,” Sophie says, swinging her legs.
“I never wash my hands to eat,” he grunts.
“That’s the rule,” I say. “You can use the bathroom inside.”
Stomping to the garden tap, he opens it and scrubs his hands. He shakes off drops of water as he returns. “There. Happy?”
It’s a start. “Sit down.”
He watches me with wary eyes as he climbs the steps and scrapes a chair over the floor. Throwing himself in the seat, he says, “Give me some chicken now.”
“The magic word is please.”
“Please,” he snaps.
I dish up a big portion of chicken and potatoes on his plate. “My name is Sabella.”
He grabs his fork in a fist and mutters, “Johan.”
“Are your brothers around too?”
He stabs a potato and stuffs it in his mouth. “Somewhere.”
“We don’t speak with a full mouth,” Sophie says.
He sneers. “What do you know?”
“She’s right,” I say. “At my table, you don’t.”
Rolling his eyes, he shoves a big chunk of chicken into his mouth next. He eats as if he hasn’t eaten in days. I let him eat in peace, knowing he must be starving.
Sophie says proudly, “Heidi showed me how to hold a fork and knife properly. Look.”
“Who the fuck is Heidi?” he asks around another mouthful of chicken.
“No swearing,” I say. “When you’ve swallowed, you can ask again, and Sophie will answer your question.”
He scoffs but swallows before asking, “So, are you going to tell me or not?”
“She’s a really nice lady who cooks for Angelo,” Sophie says in her serious voice. “She’s going to take care of me when Sabella has to go away with Angelo, but only for short whiles.”
He chugs down a glass of water. “You’re staying here now?” He points the fork at me. “With her?”
“Yes.” Sophie adds salt to her potatoes. “She’s very nice too. She’s Angelo’s wife.”
He squints at me. “That true?”
“Is that true? Yes,” I say. “I’m Mr. Russo’s wife.”
He waves the fork at his sister. “That she’s staying here.”
“Don’t point at people with your eating utensils,” I say. “That’s bad table manners too.”
“What the fu—” He catches himself. “What’s with all the manners?”
“Like I said, these are the rules in my house.”
“This your house now?” He lifts his fork to indicate the house but stops midway.
“Is this my house now?” I correct. “I live here now, yes.”
“Ha.” He sucks a piece of chicken from his teeth, watching me as he drinks more water. “You cleaned up the place all nice.”
“Why did you make such a mess of it in the first place, if I may ask?”
Engrossed in eating, Sophie doesn’t seem to pay attention to our exchange.
“There was nobody to clean it.” He shrugs. “The cook got scared.” He takes another bite of potato and makes a show of swallowing before adding, “She left. After that, Grandpa didn’t care if the goats got in the house.” He reaches across the table for another piece of chicken with his hand.