Secrets and Shadows Read Free Page B

Pietr’s behavior far enough from my thoughts.
    Since his seventeenth birthday Pietr had become a little distant. We’d agreed he needed to continue dating Sarah, slowly weaning her away from him as he moved closer to me. More than smart not to freak Sarah out or hurt her feelings by having Pietr suddenly dump her, it was kinder, too.
    But doing the kind thing made me even more of a liar. Pietr used to snatch an occasional kiss in a dark corner, grab my hand in his to marvel at my fingers, or just stare for long, breathless moments down into my eyes.
    That was al before he made his first change.
    Since then he’d stolen less than a dozen quiet moments with me. And it wasn’t like he was moving forward with Sarah, either.
    Pietr and I stil talked on the phone—he seemed to enjoy integrating bits of Russian in our conversations. I knew horashow meant “good” and puzhalsta meant “please” and I could order coffee and find a bathroom if I needed to. Could I read any of it in Cyril ic? Absolutely not. To me, Cyril ic was stil nothing but an elegant scrawl.
    The only phrase Pietr denied me was the one I wanted most—and not because I was going to sling it around like it was nothing. But Pietr refused to tel me how to say “I love you” in Russian. Yes, I could have figured it out online, but words just sounded better coming out of Pietr’s mouth. And maybe if he couldn’t say it, I shouldn’t want to know how to, either. It was al so confusing.
    I pul ed Rio to a stop and slid off her back, leading her to the barn before gently freeing her from the bridle and rubbing her down with a towel. The door to her stal was pinned open; she had options tonight as chil y as it threatened to be.
    “Good girl,” I assured her. “Believe me. It’s not you, it’s me,” I said wryly, worried the words were ones I might hear from Pietr if I let the distance between us grow.

    * * *
I washed the last of the dishes and set them in the rack to drip dry as the final beams of sunlight smoldered across the sky and nipped at the racing clouds. Though the wind shook the bare branches of the trees in our yard, I kept the window over the sink open a crack, listening for Catherine’s signal.
    A howl hurtled across our farm, and I jerked drying my fingers on the towel.
    Just the wind.
    Another howl and I started toward the door. This time the noise ended with leaves skittering across our smal porch. I sighed and pul ed my jacket off its hook.
    “Where are you going?”
    Jumping, I turned to face Annabel e Lee. She had been sitting so quietly reading her latest book, I’d completely forgotten she was stil at the table.
    “Out for a walk. It’s a beautiful night.”
    The wind shook our home and Annabel e Lee tore her eyes from the pages of Atlas Shrugged long enough to give me a look that was as easy to read as Rio.
    She did not believe me. Not one bit. “Is Pietr out there? Waiting for you?”
    “What? Who?” Crap! Where was Dad—what were the odds he overheard us?
    She set the book down. “Dad headed back to the factory. Some machine broke and spewed chocolate al over the line. Luckily no one’s hurt. No blood, just foul, he said.”
    “Hmm. Blood and Chocolate . Great book. Not a flavor the factory would want, though.” I shrugged into my jacket.
    “Dad kissed your cheek before he left. I can’t believe you missed that.”
    Touching the spot, I vaguely remembered the rasp of his five o’clock shadow.
    Her eyebrows drew closer together. At twelve, Annabel e Lee was very bright, but she was frequently confounded by people. I often caught her (when she wasn’t reading or snooping) peering at me like something on a microscope slide.
    Studying me. I simply hoped her fascination meant she’d learn enough from my mistakes not to make them her own. “You real y want to go for a walk?”
    “Yes.”
    “By yourself?”
    “Yes.”
    The door hummed under the force of the next gust.
    “It’s invigorating,” I insisted, winding