Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)(75)

Sitting at the bottom of the empty pool, my mind drifted. I thought of Mexico. The water there had been so blue. I wondered how Theo was. I had been too embarrassed to contact him. Had I done it over the phone, I would have had to confront one of the mighty Marquez women. A letter seemed impossible—I wasn’t good with words.

A man in a purple suit turned to me. “Anya, are you planning to consult with Fats? I like knowing that at least one of Leo Balanchine’s children is in on things.”

I promised to keep tabs on my cousin. Then, out of respect, I bowed my head toward Fats.

“Anya knows my door is always open to her,” Fats replied. “And when she’s a little older and knows more, I imagine her involvement in the business can be even greater, if that’s something she desires.”

Not long after, the meeting was over. My abdication was brief and bloodless. As Mr. Beery might have said, The Merchant of Venice, and not Macbeth.

XVII

I HAVE DOUBTS

JUST BEFORE EASTER, we heard news of Sophia and Mickey. They had landed in Belgium, where they planned to open a new branch of Bitter Schokolade. In the photo that Natty located, I noticed that their entourage included a one-handed giant. It seemed safe to assume that the man I’d maimed at Granja Mañana hadn’t bled to death in a Mexican rain forest. I did not yet have the black mark of murder on my soul.

Easter Sunday, Natty and I went to church. Even for a semilapsed Catholic having a crisis of faith, Easter was too big a holiday to skip. Daisy Gogol had gone home for the weekend, but security hardly seemed necessary anyway with Sophia and Mickey in Belgium and Jacks still in prison. Natty and I were safe, if only because we were the last women standing. Hadn’t Daddy once said that “he who survives, wins”? Who cared what Daddy had said, though.

I had always loved the Easter liturgy. I loved the candle lighting and that renewal was the theme of the day. But that year, I felt disconnected from the entire thing. I did not, could not, could no longer make myself believe. It was during the renewal of baptismal vows that I felt this most strongly. The priest asked the congregation, “Do you turn to Christ?” Easy enough. Yes, I thought, of course I did. Then the priest asked, “Do you repent of your sins?” This one was more difficult. My list of sins was long, and most of them I’d committed knowingly. For instance, could I honestly say I repented cutting off that man’s hand? If I hadn’t, he would have murdered Theo and me. Despite everything, I was glad to be alive. And I was definitely glad that Theo was alive. And, toward the end of the liturgy, when we were all meant to say “I believe and trust in Him” over and over again, I said it because everyone around me was saying it, but I could not honestly say that I did believe and trust in Him. I had prayed and been devout but where had that led me? Leo was dead. My parents were dead. Nana was dead. Imogen was dead. I wouldn’t be graduating. I had a criminal record. Sometimes it seemed as if my whole life had been decided from the moment of my birth, and if that was the case, why bother with religion or prayer or any of it? You might as well just do what you wanted. Sleep with whomever you wanted on Saturday. Sleep in on Sunday.

At that moment, Natty looked at me. “I love you, Annie,” she said. “And I am so grateful for you. Please don’t be bitter.”

I shook my head. “I love you, too,” I told her. That was about the only thing I knew to be true.

*   *   *

After church, we took our time walking back home. The late-March afternoon was humid and gray, though there was a lackluster patch of sun poking through a thin spot in the sky. I was warm in my spring coat so I unbuttoned it.

“I want to go back to genius camp this summer,” Natty announced when we were about halfway home.

“Good. You should go.”

“But you seem…”—she searched for a word—“adrift, Anya, and angry, and I’m worried about leaving you alone.”

“Natty!” Had I become Leo to her? Someone she felt she needed to watch? “Natty, I have friends. And interests. Go to your destiny. Go to genius camp.”

“By interests, do you mean fulfilling various vendettas?” Natty asked.

“No!”

“Listen, Annie,” Natty said gently. “Leo is dead. And the people who planned it are gone. Win will be in college, and he’s the nicest boy in the world, but you have to be prepared that he might meet someone new. Scarlet is having this baby and she might even marry Gable Arsley. You’ve fired Mr. Kipling and Mr. Green. Everything is about to change, and you need to be ready to move on.”

Of course my wise little sister was right. But what was I to do? I didn’t want to spend my whole life on the opposite side of the law—in and out of Liberty until I was too old to go there, then in and out of Rikers or whatever the age-eighteen-and-up equivalent was for female habitual criminals. I didn’t want to end up like Jacks or Daddy, which is why I had agreed to let Fats take over. Still, the truth was, I wasn’t suited for anything else. I knew a little bit about chocolate and a little bit about organized crime and I had an infamous last name. What did all these things add up to?

“So,” Natty continued, “if you want me to stay and help you out this summer, I will—”

“Natty, I want you to go! Of course I want you to go.”

Natty looked me in the eyes, and then she nodded. “Maybe you should go see Dr. Lau?”