Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(35)
February 19th,
I’m so afraid of dying like my father, I can’t even talk about it out loud. No one really knows what happened to him for sure, and ever since he disappeared on a heist when I was seven, I’ve had this secret fear that I’ll disappear like he did. I used to cry myself to sleep at night because I missed him tucking me in, reading me stories, checking under my bed for monsters. But worse than missing him, I used to wake in the middle of the night sweaty from nightmares and shaking from terror that someone was coming for me, too, to make me disappear like my dad.
My mom won’t talk about it, but Uncle Samuel had too much to drink one Christmas—no surprise there—and let some of the details slip. The way he tells it, Petrov hired Mom and Dad for a job, and it was the last job my mom ever agreed to do for someone else.
Back in those days, Mom and Dad both ran point together. But with this job, Petrov insisted Dad work with his men, and Mom was forced to stay back at the control—and by control, I mean the van—listening through her earpiece. She was supposed to be the lookout and the organizer, telling them if they were in danger and plotting alternate escape routes if necessary. But something went wrong. Samuel wouldn’t say what, but I got the impression from his drunken ramblings that the whole thing had been a setup, a double-cross orchestrated by Petrov to eliminate the competition: my mom and dad.
And it almost worked.
Men attacked my mom while she waited in the van, but she fought them off—that’s part of the reason she insisted I have martial arts training afterward, in case something like that ever happened to me. She wanted me to be able to defend myself, and now I can. But the whole time she was fighting the men attacking her, she could hear my father being attacked by the men he was supposed to be working with.
She tried to get to him, but by the time she got to where he was, everyone was gone. The only evidence that they’d ever been there was a puddle of blood—so much blood no one could have survived, according to Samuel—and my father’s earpiece on the ground next to it.
I remember my mom coming home in a panic; she couldn’t get rid of the babysitter fast enough, and even though I was in my pajamas and all ready for bed, she demanded that I pack anything I absolutely needed into a suitcase as quickly as I could. I didn’t understand then what was happening. If I had, I would have packed only the things my father had given me and nothing else. Now, the only thing I have left of him is the flashlight he would let me keep by my bed at night to chase the monsters away. I still keep it by my bed, right next to this journal, the one Petrov is after, even though now I understand that the only monsters in this world are human.
Chapter Sixteen
February 23rd,
So much for a normal life. I can’t even bring myself to attend school anymore. It’s been five days since Uncle Samuel dropped the bomb about Petrov wanting my journal, and I’ve spent almost every minute of that hiding in my room. Well, not literally hiding, but definitely avoiding the real world. And why not? Now I know that no matter how far we run, no matter how well I blend in, Petrov’s going to keep looking for me. Because I’m not on his radar for working in his territory. I have something he wants. For the last five days, I’ve been going back and forth about what I should, or even can do. Do I give him the book and hope that ends his preoccupation with my family? Or do I hold on to the book and keep hiding, hoping he never finds me? Logically speaking, I should destroy the book. Sure, my dad gave me this journal, but is it really that important? Is it really worth having to run from Petrov forever? I can’t even finish asking myself the question before I’m certain of the answer. Yes. It is that important. It’s all I have left of my father.
My phone chimes on the bed next to me, but I ignore it. It’s probably Trin again. She’s texted three times in the last hour wanting to know where I am, why I didn’t show to photography club. I’m sad to be missing out on it, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about now.
“Hola, mija. Can I come in?” my mother asks after she steps into the room and knocks on the open door for effect.
“I guess it’s too late to say no, huh?” I shouldn’t take my bad mood out on her. None of this is her fault.
My mother doesn’t even bat an eyelash at my sullen tone. Her lack of reaction makes me feel even guiltier, but I don’t apologize. I do make room for her on the bed, and she sits on the edge, ever the picture of grace and class.
“I’ll be leaving for a few days. Samuel is going with me to make a deal on our items,” she tells me. Translation: Uncle Samuel has a contact interested in the duchy jewels, and they’re going to try to unload the contraband.
“Yeah,” I say, and I’m sure my voice belies my frustration.
She’s quiet for several long minutes. Then she says, “I was younger than you when I met your father.”
I knew that already, but I don’t remind her of that.
“My father…” She trails off and stares toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words. I sit up and focus my attention on her. She’s never talked to me about her parents or her childhood. The only thing I know about Mom’s family is they’re Puerto Rican. But the only extended family I’ve ever known was the Italian side—my father’s side.
“He was not a good man, my father. Not like yours was.” She smiles sadly and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I left home when I was very young. And when I met your father, he was older, and handsome, and smart. And so sweet. We fell in love so quickly.”