Part 3 (1/2)

”And you came straight here?” she eventually asked.

I nodded. ”Until the storm hit.”

”So how do you know your father is in jail?”

”Zetta saw it coming,” I answered. ”That's the really c.r.a.ppy part about all of this. I knew what would happen, but I let it happen anyway.”

I watched her face as everything fully sunk in. She frowned at me. ”Lola, you can't blame yourself for your father's mistakes.”

”What? Of course I can.” I took a deep breath and then let the air out slowly. ”I know I have to accept it. But ultimately, I let this happen, Grams. He followed me because I left, and for that reason alone, he got caught. This is my doing.”

She shook her head as if refusing to believe me. ”Good grief. You better believe this is all your father's doings, little girl. And it's his doings because he is an eternal blockhead. Are you even listening to yourself, Lo? He tried to sell his own daughter into prost.i.tution!”

”He doesn't think of it that way,” I pointed out.

”Regardless,” Miriam said, waving her hand in the air. ”I don't care how fancy Madam Wilda tries to make her business out to be. She's in the business of prost.i.tution, no matter what angle you spin on it.”

I s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. I hated talking about Madam Wilda and my almost-future with her. ”No matter how justified you think I am, Christo will never agree. The whole troupe, with the exception of Lina and Zetta, will hate me for this. Even after he gets out.”

”They'll get over it. But- did you just say he's going to get out?”

”Yes, but Zetta said it would take a while. I guess Dad's lackeys will find a way to break him out.”

”And you're still torn up about it?” She made a woos.h.i.+ng noise and slapped her thigh. ”Sounds to me like justice was served, after all. Soon enough your papa will be out free and clear. Zetta's visions are never wrong. And in the meantime, he can sit in his cell and think about what an imbecile he is. Might even do him some good.”

”Grams, the future isn't always clear. Just because Zetta saw him getting out of prison doesn't mean it will happen. Things can change, you know.”

”So then how do you know he was ever locked up in the first place?”

I shrugged. ”I just know. About fifteen minutes after I had ran away he called my cell phone. . .but I didn't pick up. Me, plus the car I was driving, equaled a whole lot of money that would be out of Christo's pockets.”

My grandmother considered this. ”So do you think they'll come after you?”

I knew right away she was referring to my father's men. I shrugged. In all honesty, I didn't know the answer to her question. ”The way I see it,” I began theorizing. ”They're either angry enough to come after me. . .or they resent me enough that they won't bother. I think and I hope it's the latter, even though that probably means that they'll never forgive me for what I've done.”

She nodded. There was a slight flicker of worry in her eyes, which I hated seeing. It made me question my decision to come here. I forced the thought aside. Miriam's house would be safe. No one would try to come for me here. I had to believe that.

”What about after they break him out?” she asked.

I swallowed. ”I don't know.”

She nodded once more, lost in thought. ”Grams, don't worry,” I a.s.sured her. ”I would never come here if I thought I would be putting you in harm's way. Christo has a deep respect for you.

Miriam only chuckled. ”Little girl, I am certainly not worried for myself. It's you who I'm concerned for.”

”Why?”

She sighed. ”Because I don't think your father will ever let you go.”

FOUR.

Dakota and I lounged around in my new bedroom; me on the window seat and her on the thickly padded rug next to the bed. Since she was leaving tomorrow to go back to school, she'd invited herself into my room earlier this evening for a slumber party of sorts. I suspected she was attempting to do the whole female bonding thing, which was perfectly fine with me. I was happy to be hanging out with my newly found cousin. Or anyone, for that matter.

Mostly, Dakota regaled me with her college stories. After she finished telling me about her present life, she moved on to recounting her past lives, which always entranced me, no matter who was doing the storytelling.

”My favorite life was my only non-gypsy life. It was...beautiful, really.”

I was instantly curious. There weren't many gypsies who had the chance to experience a life outside of the gypsy tribes. It was considered a novelty. Those lives were as rare as one of the gaje having a gypsy life, which I've never witnessed, though I knew it was possible.

My mother had been a gaji, but she'd married into the gypsy folds. Sometimes, I suspected I inherited her genes. Maybe I was just an ordinary gaji. Maybe I was one of the few exceptions within our world. Maybe I was a rarity. It would definitely explain why I couldn't remember my past lives. The gaje never remembered. Their memories were wiped clean with each birth. And inexplicably, only gypsies ever remembered.

”What was it like?” I eventually asked Dakota, wondrous.

She grinned, moving closer to me on the rug. ”Well, I grew up in New England, in the late eighteen hundreds. I married a man who was in the s.h.i.+pping business. His name was David.” Dakota's eyes grew hazy as she remembered this 'David'.

”I suppose it was my natural instinct to marry a man who owned s.h.i.+ps. And he was a good man. He indulged me by letting me travel with him. I. . .I loved him.”

I smiled. From what I understood, love was not always found in a lifetime. Not true love, anyway.

”We bore two children,” Dakota continued. ”Two boys. Together, we had so many adventures on the high seas. Once, we even escaped a band of pirates!” Dakota chuckled now and then she sighed. ”It was so dangerous. . .but so much fun. I loved my little family.”

Her green eyes seemed to clear and her attention was brought back to the present. She looked up at me now. ”So what was your favorite lifetime?”

There it was, the question I hated, though I'd heard it many times before. I used to tell the members of my father's troupe such outrageous lies about my past lives, just for the sole purpose of fitting in. The only person who'd ever caught me was Auntie Zetta. Then again, she could see inside people's heads in a way that other gypsies couldn't. While I told countless stories about the people I'd been in my past lives, she had probably looked inside my head to find there was nothing actually there.

I was seven years old the first time she'd caught me. I'd been in the middle of telling the other children one of my riveting stories when she overheard. She'd taken me by surprise by yanking me by my arm and pulling me into one of the nearby RVs.

”Lola, why do you tell such lies?” She held a bar of soap in her hands, which my worried eyes remained locked upon.

”I'm not making up any lies, Auntie, I swear!”

She crossed her hands over her chest, eyeing me dubiously.

”Do you even know where Cleopatra is from?” she asked.

”Course I do,” I tilted my head back, trying to appear very regal. ”Back then I was a like a queen, but they called me a 'phar-aoh'. And I lived in Egypt, next to the pyramids.”

”Uh-huh.” My aunt continued to eye me and I grew nervous. ”And did you have any lovers in that lifetime?”

”Y-es.”

”And who were they, eh? What were their names?”

I grinned c.o.c.kily before replying. ”Caesar and Mark Antony.”

I knew she wasn't expecting my effortless answer.