And, through it all, I want to turn to my brother and scream. Did you know Mom was involved in some kind of secret society? Did you know someone ordered her death? Did you know that even though I pulled the trigger, someone else sent an assassin to her door?
Did you know it might not be over?
“The potatoes.” It takes a moment to realize that Spence is whispering to me. “If you don’t want to eat they make a great hiding place for the rest of your food.”
I look down at my plate, which is almost full. I haven’t taken a bite in a long time, I realize. My fork just dangles in midair.
“Or you could always slip whatever you don’t want under the table and give it to me. Like a dog,” Spence says, then grins. “I’m not joking. The food here is a lot better than what we get at school, and I’m always hungry. It would be an honor.” He takes a big bite and gives me a wink, but I can’t help thinking about what John Spencer doesn’t do.
He doesn’t ask me how I’m doing. He doesn’t wonder what is wrong. He isn’t watching as if waiting for me to implode or explode or just turn into a puddle of mashed potatoes. Spence is the only total stranger at this table. So he’s the only one I really trust.
“Well, John.” Grandpa’s never been a fan of nicknames. “Jamie tells me that you have family ties to Adria.”
“Yes, sir,” Spence says. “My grandmother on my father’s side was Adrian. Her family immigrated to the US after the Second World War.”
Grandpa considers this. “Yes. A lot of people left then. Those were dark days for Adria. But they passed, I’m happy to say. The dark days … they always pass.” Grandpa doesn’t look at me as he says this last sentence, but I can feel everyone at the table not staring at me as the words reverberate around the room.
The silence is too much. All I hear is the sound of Spence chewing his asparagus. I’m allergic to asparagus, but right now I would welcome the feeling of my throat closing up, an excuse to go to the emergency room — anything to leave here. Now.
“So, I hear you’ve made friends.”
It takes a moment to realize that Jamie is talking to me. It isn’t his teasing older-brother voice, though. It’s his I’m-trying-to-hide-how-worried-I-really-am voice. And I don’t like it.
“A few.” I would tell him about Noah and Rosie and Megan, but I don’t think my brother wants to hear about the hours we spent in the basement of the Iranian embassy or the time we broke into the Scarred Man’s house. There are a dozen lies I could give him, but suddenly I remember one essential truth. “Alexei’s gone.”
I wait for Jamie to react, to say something or make some kind of sign that he’s heard me, but nothing comes, so I go on, “Did you know that? His dad had to go back to Russia a few days ago. Alexei is gone, Jamie. I mean gone gone. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“I heard” is all Jamie says.
“So have you talked to him? Did he tell you why he left or —”
“It’s for the best,” Grandpa says. He doesn’t look up from his potatoes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, but Grandpa spears me with a look.
“Our relationship with the neighbors is hard enough without the two of you gallivanting around the city. You should have stayed away from that boy, Gracie.”
“Alexei running around with me was a problem? He and Jamie have been best friends for forever,” I say with typical younger-sibling outrage.
Grandpa cuts his steak. “And your brother is now a cadet at West Point. Jamie should not be gallivanting around with Russians either.”
My retort is on my tongue. Jamie, I can tell, is trying to decide whether or not to argue. But before anyone can say a thing, Spence turns to Jamie and asks, “You’re friends with a Russian?”
“Embassy Row.” My brother shrugs. “It’s a crazy place to grow up. The Russian embassy is next door. Alexei’s dad was the Russian ambassador’s chief of staff. We used to play together when we were kids. We kept in touch.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing — what Jamie isn’t saying.
“Alexei is your best friend,” I remind my brother, but Jamie only grins.
“In fact, I left Alexei in charge of Gracie here.” He gives me a wink. “No wonder he had to leave the country.”
Jamie is trying to tease, to take the awkward out. But Spence is staring at him, trying to process what he’s just learned. James Blakely, Jr. — Blake — is friends with a Russian. He’s looking at Jamie as if he never really knew him at all.
“Where in Adria was your mother’s family from, John?” Ms. Chancellor asks Spence. He takes a moment before turning to her.
“Valancia, ma’am.”
“And what was her name?”
Carefully, Ms. Chancellor draws Spence into a discussion of family trees and Adrian history, but I don’t listen. I just sit, staring at my peas.
After a while, Jamie leans closer. “You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I don’t look up, but I know Grandpa and Jamie share a look. I’m starting to regret not taking Spence up on his offer to help me smuggle food off my plate.
“She’s never hungry,” Grandpa says.
At the other end of the table, Ms. Chancellor uses her best posture and smiles her brightest smile. “Now, Jamie, how long will you boys be able to stay?”