Trafficked (16 page)

Chapter Thirty

H
annah was folding clothes on the long narrow table in the garage. If she had her choice, she'd do it at the kitchen table with the back door open so she could listen to the birds and the lawn mowers, but Lillian didn't like a mess in the kitchen.

She folded Michael's pants. All his little clothes took forever. If taking out the garbage had become her unexpected favorite chore in this country, doing the laundry was her unexpected least favorite. She hadn't known to dread laundry, because she'd never had to do it before. Her mother and then her babushka had done all the washing by hand and hung it to dry outside over the balcony in the summer or on a rack next to the heater in the winter.

The washing machine stopped. She banged open the lid and reached in for the white clothes and heaved them into the dryer. At least she had a washer and a dryer.

Dark clothes next. On cold. When anything got ruined, Lillian said, “I'll just add this to what you owe us.” Hannah's debt was an invisible number that seemed to be forever expanding. The bill for the new stove and for repainting the kitchen had surely been added to her debt, and who knew what else.

She reached into one of Sergey's pockets. Emptying pockets was one of the many gross parts of doing laundry. She always hoped for something that would be useful to her, like keys to his office or a letter from her family, but instead she found cigarette butts, receipts from restaurants and coffee shops, and spare change. One time she got gum on her fingers that he'd stuck between two pieces of paper. Another time she found an unused condom in its package, and ever since, she'd worried she'd find a used one. That would be even worse than the poop on Michael's pants and the bloodstains on Lillian's underwear, which she'd had to spray with stain remover.

Hannah pulled out a wad of bills and one piece of paper from the pocket of Sergey's jeans. She unfolded the bills and counted them. Four hundred dollars, all in twenties. Was it an accident, or had he left the money there for her? He'd never had this much money in his pockets before, just random change and one-dollar bills now and then. It was especially odd to leave four hundred when that was the exact amount she was supposed to get paid per week or per month, depending on who she believed.

“Take it,” Colin said. He was sitting on the dryer. Well, not actually sitting, and he wasn't speaking out loud, just in her thoughts. She liked to imagine him hanging out with her, so that if she wanted to share her opinion, someone would respond.

“I thought you were a nice boy,” she chastised.

He laughed his big American laugh. “They owe you,” he said. In her daydream, Colin was speaking Russian because that's what came naturally to her and she couldn't imagine him speaking broken English. Anyway, daydreams didn't have to be realistic.

“They say
I
owe them,” Hannah said.

“It's for your grandmother. What are they going to do once you've sent it?”

“I can't just mail this. Someone at the post office in Moldova will take it. I have to transfer it into her bank account. I asked Babulya to send me her account number in my last letter, but she hasn't written back yet.”

“Do you really think Lillian sent your letters?”

“Sure,” Hannah said, stuffing Sergey's jeans into the washing machine. “Nobody would be that awful.” She glanced at the money and thought that maybe the doctor would do the surgery for less, or at least do one eye.

“You should look for the letters,” he said.

“They're probably in the office,” she said, picking up the piece of paper. Maybe it was a note to her, telling her to keep the money.

No such luck. Just some scrawled notes in Sergey's messy handwriting.

She tried to read it. There were a bunch of numbers and words, but they made no sense—it was almost like a code, and then a number—24,388—with a dollar sign in front of it. Maybe the cost of a shipment. That was a lot of money. Near the bottom, one word made her heart stop. Tiraspol. It was the name of the capital city of Transnistria, the breakaway republic of Moldova, the place where her parents had been killed.

“Hey, Hannah!” Maggie loped into the room, speaking English. Colin disappeared.

Hannah quickly dropped the note on the money and placed a folded towel carefully on top. She hadn't decided to keep the money, but she needed a few minutes to think. Her head was swimming with that one word, the place of her parents' death. She'd left that word behind her in Moldova, and yet, somehow, it had followed her here.

“Whatcha doin?” Maggie was holding a book.

“Hello, belka,” Hannah answered in Russian, keeping her face neutral. “You'd better speak Russian.”

“Mama doesn't care. She even gave me back my dolls and the book.” Maggie held up the vampire book. “She said I could read it as long as I don't start biting anyone.” She giggled.

Hannah smiled. Lillian was the one who was more likely to bite. “Are we allowed to speak English now?” she asked, hopeful.

“I don't know. Probably,” Maggie said, but then switched to Russian anyway. “What are you doing?”

“Folding laundry,” Hannah said, then paused. Maybe Maggie could help. “I was thinking of my family.”

“Yeah?”

“Did your mom or dad ever tell you anything about my family?” she asked.

“Your mom and dad live in Moscow and you don't have brothers and sisters.”

She didn't know much, clearly. “Did they ever say anything about an uncle?” she asked.

“I know Papa isn't your uncle. It was just something they said.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I told him you must be my cousin if he's your uncle. He said he wasn't really your uncle, not biologically. But he said he was friends with your parents, so he was
like
an uncle.”

Hannah's breath caught in her throat and her chest constricted. It was hard to breathe, like someone had just clamped a hand over her mouth. Maggie had no idea what she'd just revealed. Finally, she found her voice. “When—when did he tell you this?”

“I don't know.” Maggie stretched her arm around Hannah's shoulder and stood on her tiptoes. “I'm almost as tall as you.”

Hannah made herself smile, because she didn't want Maggie to suspect she'd just told her something she shouldn't have. “I'm shrinking, that's why. I'm becoming a babushka.” She curved her back and hobbled around, changing her voice into a babushka's. “Don't worry about me. I'll just clean.”

Maggie laughed, then rested her head on Hannah's shoulder. Normally Hannah loved these bursts of affection from Maggie and Michael, but at that moment, she could only think about what Maggie had just told her. Maybe it wasn't true. If Sergey really knew her parents, she would've heard his name at some point. Maggie continued, “You should come out and do something fun with us. Papulya was talking about going on a picnic this weekend to this park where they play polo on horses. You could come.”

Not if Lillian has anything to say about it
, Hannah thought. Lillian's paranoia was even stranger if Sergey was a friend of her family. And why wouldn't they have told her? It wasn't something they needed to hide. It had to be another lie.

“Can you come? Please?” Maggie honestly believed it was Hannah's choice.

“I'm very busy.”

“You have time. Mama will just say you have a day off. People do that here.”

Hannah wanted to tell her that people had days off in Moldova too. Her mother had always worked long hours, but on rare days, she stayed home with Hannah. They'd gone for walks through the woods on the edge of Chişinău and Mamulya had shown her the mushrooms that could calm the stomach, the berries that were good for eating, and the ones that were poisonous. Even when her father had worked at the garage, he'd had Saturdays off. They used to sit on one of the park benches and he'd read to her. She could still see that misty expression in his face when he read Dostoyevsky's
The Idiot
; he was so in love with that book.

“Maybe,” Hannah said, folding a towel. She wondered if her parents could see her now. Had they seen her hiding the money that had been in Sergey's pocket? Did her mother see the piece of paper with “Tiraspol” written on it? What did her parents know that she did not? Maybe she could get Sergey alone and ask him.

“It'll be so much fun. You'll like it,” Maggie declared, as if Hannah needed to be talked into having fun. “We can play soccer on the big field. Please?”

If only she could say it was going to happen. She ran her hand over Maggie's perfectly brushed hair. Maggie didn't see what was happening right in front of her.

“I would love that.” Hannah looked at the towel covering the money. If Maggie found out that Hannah was a thief, she'd lose all trust in her. Hannah lifted the towel and thrust the money at Maggie before she could change her mind. “Give this to your father. It was in his jeans.”

“Wow,” Maggie said, taking it from Hannah, and running out of the room.

Sorry, Babulya. I couldn't do it.

Chapter Thirty-one

A
t the kitchen table, Lillian gasped. It was morning, when she typically opened the mail. Hannah glanced up from the dishes she was washing and saw Lillian staring down at a typed letter, her hand covering her mouth.

Hannah took the butcher knife out of the soapy water, rinsed it, and placed it in the dish rack before she dried off her hands. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Does everything look all right?” Lillian barked.

Hannah waited for her to go on. Perhaps Lillian had received a letter from the government saying that they knew all about her. Perhaps it had something to do with her family. Or what had happened in Tiraspol.

“My life is ruined,” Lillian said, standing up, gripping the letter in one hand. “That's what this letter means.” Her lip quivered.

Hannah wondered if they were going into foreclosure and would all be thrown into the streets. She waited to hear more, but Lillian's jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth together. “For the next week,” she said, her voice wavering, “you will do nothing but clean. Thanksgiving is coming next Thursday, and Rena and Paavo will be our guests. He's very allergic to dust. Last time he came over for a drink, he said his eyes got puffy from the dust.”

Hannah stared at Lillian with barely concealed contempt. Couldn't she see that Paavo was trying to make it look like she was doing a bad job? “I dusted everything the day before he came. It must have been pollen.”

Lillian's eyes flashed with hatred. Hannah had seen that look before and her instinct was to run, but she couldn't get out of there fast enough. Lillian marched toward her, grabbed her arm, and dragged her to the back door. “Do you see that dirt?” She pointed at the white tile floor.

Michael had run outside that morning without his shoes on and he'd left two dark footprints right by the door before Hannah had stopped him. “I'll clean that up,” Hannah said, trying to pull her arm away. “I haven't washed the kitchen floor yet.”

Lillian's fingers pinched tighter and Hannah winced, despite herself. “You will clean on your hands and knees every little corner, every wedge, every molding, every ledge, the ceiling, everything,” Lillian said, her eyes wild. At that moment, it was clear to Hannah that Lillian didn't see her, not really. Something else was making her act this way. “I don't want to see a speck of dust. If he sneezes even one time, I'll hold you responsible.”

“I'll clean it,” Hannah insisted.

Finally, Lillian released her. Hannah rubbed her arm. “Why do you care so much about Paavo?” she asked.

“What business is it of yours?”

“It's none of my business,” Hannah said. “I don't even care. But it might help if I knew.”

Lillian hesitated. “Sergey has borrowed some money from him. We owe him.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Hannah asked.

“It has everything to do with you. If you don't help, you'll never see a dime. And that means you have to do everything that is asked of you. Do you understand? You bow to him if you have to. Paavo can do things to you and your family that will make you wish you were never alive.”

Hannah stared at her, her mouth open. Lillian paused, realizing she'd said too much. “Put Michael in front of the television. I'll be in my bedroom,” she barked, and then fled the room, clutching the letter in her hand.

Hannah listened to her trot up the wooden staircase into her bedroom. The door slammed behind her, shaking the house. A moment later, Lillian started to sob.

Good,
Hannah thought. Sergey wouldn't be home with Michael for at least half an hour. Now was a good opportunity to start searching for an extra set of keys to the office. She might need that plane ticket sooner than she'd thought.

Chapter Thirty-two

H
annah didn't find the keys. Not in the pockets of a random pair of pants. Not in the hall drawers. Not in the entertainment center. They were probably in the master bedroom, but Lillian was in there all day. Sergey came home briefly. He went into the bedroom, where Lillian screamed at him. Then he left and stayed out all night.

In the morning, Lillian greeted Hannah with a stony silence, handing her a list of unpleasant chores. Her eyes were rimmed with red. She went into the dining room with her textbooks and slid the door shut behind her.

Hannah waited until she heard a chair slide out and Lillian sit down. Then she hurried out of the room and up the stairs to the master bedroom.

She stepped into the room and looked at the bedside tables. She'd been curious about these drawers in the past, but it had seemed wrong to look in Lillian and Sergey's personal things when she had no legitimate reason, like putting away clothing. But she was finished with worrying about what was wrong or right. They weren't telling her everything, so she had to find out herself.

The drawer on Sergey's side opened easily. To her surprise, it was filled with takeout menus. She glanced through them but didn't see anything else. She went over to Lillian's side. There was a kids' brush on the top, a broken teacup, and a few old bills and notices from Maggie's school. She was about to give up, but then, under the bills, she spotted a too-familiar envelope.

She pulled it out. It was one of the letters she'd given Lillian a couple of months ago. It had been opened and read. She searched through the drawer and found the other six letters she'd given Lillian to mail, all opened. The fifty dollars for Babulya had been removed.

The fact that Lillian had read the letters seemed worse to Hannah than the fact that she hadn't sent them, which she'd already guessed. It was a violation of her mind, of her thoughts, which, until now, Lillian hadn't been able to access. And still worse than that was taking the money for Babulya. How could a doctor do such a thing?

Hannah ran down the stairs, holding the letters in her shaking hand. She didn't care about the consequences. She was going to tell Lillian what she thought. There was no reasonable explanation for what she'd done. As she reached the bottom of the steps, she heard Sergey and Lillian arguing in the kitchen.

“I can't do it, Sergey!” Lillian yelled. “Can't you understand?”

Hannah crept down the hall and stood next to the kitchen to listen.

“It's Saturday tomorrow, Lily. Why don't you take it easy for one day? Come with me and the children on a picnic. It'll be fun.”

“I have to volunteer at the doctor's office. He needs help on Saturdays, not other days.”

“Does it matter now?”

Hannah wondered why it wouldn't matter now.

“Of course it matters.” Lillian let out a sound of frustration. Hannah could imagine her rolling her eyes in that haughty way of hers. “You don't want me to be a doctor, do you?”

Sergey swore. “What do I have to do? I'm ripping the seams of my pants so you can go to school and study. I even got you a goddamn nanny.”

“You never liked it that I was more educated than you.”

“Lillian, give me a break. You sit on your high horse and act like you're a master surgeon. You never even practiced as a doctor.”

Silence. The air was still. Hannah wanted to get out of there as fast as she could. If Lillian knew she'd overheard, she'd punish her for listening.

Lillian's voice was low, boiling with fury. “I did not plan on getting pregnant. If I hadn't, I never would have—” She broke off.

“What? You never would have married a man like me?” He made his voice higher, imitating her. “A man who destroys lives instead of saving them.”

Hannah wondered what that meant.

“Well,” she said. “If the kettle's black . . .”

“You've got to be kidding me.” He was mad now. “I cut off all my old connections even though I was making good money. I've had to find new partners and work much harder to get the business going. But I don't see any appreciation.”

“You haven't cut off everyone, Sergey,” Lillian said, her voice rising. “I hear things.”

“I cut off everyone I could,” he said. “I have a legitimate business. I'm barely making enough money for us to live on, and you're spending like we're still rolling in cash.”

There was silence.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, I just asked if you could come on a picnic. If you can't, fine. Go to your doctor. Study for your test.”

“I'll need to support our family when you get thrown in jail,” she spat.

Hannah's mind was buzzing. Lillian had never practiced as a doctor. And Sergey claimed he'd quit what he used to do, which was clearly illegal, but Lillian didn't believe him. Hannah didn't believe him either. He was writing things in code on a piece of paper, which had mysteriously disappeared from the table in the garage, like he had something to hide.

The dining room door slid shut and Sergey was walking across the kitchen toward her. She glanced back down the hall, but it was too late to reverse and not look like she was eavesdropping, so she took a large step forward, intending to appear as though she were just walking down the hall. He strode through the kitchen door and she careened right into him.

“Oh!” she said, feigning surprise.

He steadied her, running his hand down to the small of her back. They were close, too close.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to continue on to the kitchen, but he didn't release her.

“Come,” he said in a low voice, pressing on her back, guiding her down the hall, away from the kitchen. She walked with him, scared that he knew she'd overheard. At the foyer, he stopped and faced her. “Hannah, would you like to go on a picnic with the children and me tomorrow?”

She blinked with surprise. “Oh no, I couldn't.”

“Come on. You can watch polo. Did you ever see the movie
Pretty Woman
? The park is at the same field where they play polo in the movie.” He grinned at her. “You deserve it. The house is spotless and I know you don't get many chances to get outside. We'll pick up lunch and relax for the day. I could use some help with the children.”

She'd seen the movie and knew exactly what he was talking about. His eyes flickered down to her hand where she held the letters. She pressed them to her side, thinking that maybe if she went, he'd send them.

“What about Lillian?” she asked, pretending she hadn't heard their conversation.

“She's volunteering at a doctor's office,” he said.

He was the one who was suggesting it, so she couldn't get into too much trouble. Babulya would be getting worried now that she hadn't heard anything for almost three months. She already had a bad heart—any kind of strain wouldn't be good for her. Soon, it would be Christmas.

As Hannah answered, she felt a kick of fear in her stomach. “Sure. Why not?”