Page 85 of Maksim

“No,” he says, stopping at the barn. “A boy named Kofi got free one night.”

“Free?” I wring my hands, waiting for a response, but he just pulls the barn door open, his forearms flexing from the old wood that hasn’t been moved in what must be years.

I squint into the barn while my eyes adjust to the dark and walk in after Maksim. Cages, like ones you put dogs in, line one side of the barn, some stacked on top of another. I stare at them but don’t wonder what was kept inside.

My heart falls, and it snaps me back to the semi-truck, sitting in our own filth, being treated like animals.

He spent nine years of his life like this.

“I was asleep when it happened,” he says, his tone no longer cold. Now his voice is pained and full of regret.

It wasn’t your fault.

He knows it wasn’t his fault, right?

I turn to him as his hand reaches to brush a rusted chain hanging from the ceiling. I don’t ask what it was for, but I can guess.

“I can understand wanting to kill the old man. If I hadn’t been such a coward, I probably would have years before Kofi did. But Elizabeth was as much of a prisoner as the rest of us.” His voice sounds strained. I go to him, touching his arm gently. “He’d stabbed her three times in the abdomen by the time I reached them.” He shakes his head. “It was too late. She bled out in my arms.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Maksim.”

He doesn’t say anything. I open my mouth to repeat myself, but I know it would do no good. It’s been years, over a decade. In his mind, this woman’s blood will forever be on his hands.

“Sometimes I have these vivid dreams…” He speaks so softly, I lean in to hear him. “I’m running toward the house, but my legs feel too heavy, and I can’t get there fast enough. By the time I make it inside, Kofi is stabbing her, but as I get closer, it isn’t Elizabeth. It’s Anya.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m so fucking terrified all the time that I’m failing her, but I have no idea what to do. The more I try to control her, the more she hates me. But these guys she dates….”

“She’s going to be fine.” I take his hand and squeeze as my heart does. One by one, things click into place.

He’s never had help with Anya. Never. But not only that, he’s never seen the proper way to raise children, let alone teenagers.

He never dated. Had probably never seen a woman other than his surrogate mother through his pubescent years. That’s what he meant when he said he hasn’t had ideal experiences with women.

He was a slave. A slave who only knew how to be cold and detached.

No wonder he had no desire to own me. No wonder he was so desperate for me to help with Anya.

I’m here.

I squeeze his hand and hope he knows this. I’m here to stay. I don’t have anywhere else to go, anyone left in this country to love me.

I wonder if that’s how he feels.

“She loves you,” I say in case he doesn’t know it. “She’s a teenage girl who pushes the envelope because it’s her way of checking to make sure you’ll still be there. My sister Asher is the same way.”

Maksim has been staring at the chain, but now he looks at me curiously.

“You’re all she has,” I explain. “It wasn’t their fault, but she may feel like her parents abandoned her. It must be terrifying for her to feel like she could lose the only person she has left, so her subconscious is constantly testing you. Asher feels abandoned by our father, so it’s a similar thing.”

Maksim nods slowly before leading me from the barn by my hand. Stars twinkle in the sky, brighter than I’ve seen since leaving Albania. He closes the barn door like he’s afraid of letting out the ghosts, then he takes my hand and leads me to the bed of an old pickup that makes a loud creek when he lowers the tailgate.

He helps me onto it, then sits down beside me, both of us looking up at the stars.

“You’ve never mentioned your sister.”

A chorus of crickets speak to each other in the field, and a frog groans. I close my eyes for a second and pretend to hear the call of the sheep telling me I’m home.

The mere mention of my sister makes me homesick, but I know I can’t go back. More than that… I don’t want to.

We had a good life, but it was impoverished. With me here, they will have an opportunity to feel financial security for the first time in their lives, maybe even taste abundance.