Page 28 of The Wolf

Vega

We drove most of the day, only stopping for gas. Poppy fell asleep about an hour into our journey and barely stirred while I filled the tank. I was taking her far away from this place.

I knew Poppy wanted to talk to her father, but that wouldn't end well.

Poppy would never feel a sense of closure from talking to him.

There were no answers he could give her that would rationalize what he had done.

Her father had killed her mother. Gerard Aneska had drugged his wife, driven her to insanity, and killed her.

And then he attempted to do the same thing to Poppy.

He was a cruel and vile man. Gerard didn't deserve to ever call himself her father again. Call me a killer. Call me emotionless. Call me a soulless devil. But what he did to his wife and daughter was far worse than anything I had ever done.

The sun was starting to go down as we pulled into the driveway.

The house was set back on the top of a hill.

It was a small, rundown cottage with wood shingle siding and peeling gray paint.

The salt off the ocean had done a number on the outside.

Shingles were missing from the roof, and a few windows were broken.

There was a rust-colored hue seeping up from the ground and tinting the base of the house.

The bushes were all overgrown. The grass was thick and tall, and bags of trash were piled up against the side of the house.

No one had touched the house in years. I would assume the place was abandoned if I didn't know better.

“What time is it?” Poppy asked with a yawn as she lifted her head.

“Six thirty.” I put the car in park and turned off the engine. “We'll finally be able to get some rest, at least.”

“Where are we?” Poppy asked as she rubbed her eyes and looked out the window.

“An olive branch,” I said. “Hopefully.”

“Olive branch, huh?” Poppy peered up at the house through the windshield. “Does this olive branch know we're coming?”

I watched the front window but didn't see any movement. The house was dark; not a single light could be seen. “They will in a minute,” I said. “Come on.”

I climbed out of the Jeep, and Poppy followed suit. We both stood in the driveway for a long moment. We were still, wary, and uncertain of so many things. I was uncertain of the future and how I would set this girl free, and Poppy looked uncertain of the present and what was about to happen.

She followed me up the stone steps to the front door. I pressed my face to the giant glass window but couldn't see inside. The curtains were pulled tight, and there were no sounds of movement inside. I paused to run my fingers through my hair and brush any loose dirt off my clothes.

Poppy watched me quietly. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You're white as a ghost.”

“I'm fine. I just. . .” I stopped talking and swallowed my words. “Forget it. I'm fine.”

Poppy's eyebrow arched high as her jaw crooked to one side in thought. “Whose house is this, Vega?” she finally asked.

I didn't answer her; I rang the doorbell instead.

I wasn't sure how I would be received. It could be open arms. It could be a slap, and then the door slammed in my face.

It could be unanswered, and a call to the cops.

I had no idea. It might not even be the same owner anymore.

Maybe I'll be met with a confused stranger, and then what?

The door opened a crack. I saw a set of weathered, blue eyes peeking out from the dark interior. I exhaled a slow breath and then forced an awkward smile.

“Hey,” I said. That was all I could muster out. I didn't expect the door to open, and I was surprised it did.

There was a gut-wrenching silence as her eyes shifted around my face. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cold. I was a stranger to this woman.

“Good to see you, too, Mom,” I said.

Poppy's eyes widened, and she took a small step backward. The door opened as my mother glared at me. She looked so much older than the last time I saw her. I hadn't seen her since my father's funeral twelve years ago. Time had not been kind to her. But why would it?

Her entire world had been uplifted and twisted into something unrecognizable. She had become a hermit with no family. I could smell the scent of stale cigarettes and alcohol wafting out from inside.

“Why are you here, Vega?” she demanded. Her eyes moved between me and Poppy. Her thin fingers with knobby knuckles clutched the door frame as if to hold herself upright.

“Can we come inside?” I asked. My heart was breaking. To see what I had done to this woman. To see the pain I had caused her. It hit hard.

My mother's lips thinned and pulled tight as she stepped to the side. She grunted instead of answering the question. I went in first, and Poppy followed closely behind me. “Close the door,” she said with an icy tone as she turned her back to us and walked deeper into the house.

My mother's feet shuffled over the wood as we followed her to the kitchen.

She coughed a few times as she opened a cupboard and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

She leaned against the counter, sparked a cigarette, and took a long, slow pull.

Smoke curled out from her mouth like gray ribbon as she stared at me.

Her eyes were glassy. Thin, red veins crept out from the corners, stretching for the deep black pits of her pupils.

She stared at me, emotionless on the outside, but I could feel the weight of our past all around us.

Her lips wrinkled as she sucked the end of the cigarette.

The blazing ember on the tip sizzled and popped as it burned.

“It's been a long time. How are you?” I asked.

Poppy stayed close, her hands balled up against her chest nervously. I could feel how nervous Poppy was. Her body was stiff, and her breathing was shallow but quick. She didn't know my estranged mother was my olive branch. It was the only place I could think of where no one would find us.

My mother gave me a side-eyed look as she took the teapot off the stove and began to fill it in the sink.

She didn't say a word. The cigarette dangled off her bottom lip as she took out three mugs and placed a teabag in each.

She lined them up on the counter and flicked the head of ash into the sink.

“This is a nice place you got here,” I said. I was trying to get some sort of response out of her. Anything. I hated the silent treatment. I always had.

My mother grunted as she looked back at me and then moved her gaze to Poppy. “Who is she?” she asked. Her voice was soft, almost motherly, but I could hear the accusatory undertones. Where did she come from? Why is she with you? What did you do?

“This is Poppy.”

“Poppy? Is that your real name?” my mother asked her as she looked up at her under hooded eyes. “Sounds made up.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Poppy answered. “My name is Poppy Aneska.”

My mother froze her movements, keeping her eyes on the counter. “Did you say, Poppy Aneska? Like Aneska Pharmaceuticals?”

“Yes,” Poppy said. “My father owns it.”

My mother cocked her head over her shoulder with a sneer on her face. “What the hell is a girl like you doing with my son?”

“Excuse me?” Poppy asked.

“Why would a girl from a wealthy, prominent family be hanging around with someone like him?”

“Mom, come on. Can you be a little less abrasive?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Vega. Let me start over.” My mother turned to face Poppy head-on, her back straight and chin up high.

“My name is Marcella Lobos. It's a pleasure to meet you.” She turned to me and gave a fake smile.

“Is that better? Does that have your seal of approval?

You want me to pretend like we're a loving, caring family, too?”

“Mom, please. I didn't come here to start an argument or open up old wounds.”

“Then why did you come here, Vega?” My mother grabbed the edge of the sink tightly. Her bulbous knuckles turned white as she leaned over the sink.

“I came because I need your help.”

“You do look like shit.” Her brows dropped hard into the bridge of her nose as her gaze moved around my face and body.

I looked down at my dirty clothes and stained hands. “Yeah, it's been a long couple of days.”

“What did you do now?” she asked. My mother quickly threw up a hand and said, “You know what? I don't want to know. I did everything I could to avoid this. I moved; I changed my name; and yet, here you are.”

“Mom, we just need a place to stay for a day or two, and then we'll be on our way. That's it. I'm not here to cause any trouble.”

“You got involved with the wrong people again, didn't you? I knew this would happen. This is why I left. This right here.” My mother pointed at me with her cigarette perched between two fingers.

“I warned you, Vega. I warned you. But did you listen?

No. You couldn't be bothered. You thought you knew it all. But I fucking warned you.”

“Mom, please. It's not what you think.”

“Oh no? You said the same thing before, and look what happened.

Your father was killed because of you. And now you want me to just let you waltz right back into my life and ask me for a favor?

This type of favor? I've spent the last twelve years hiding because of your choices, and trying to forget the past.”

I hung my head and stared at the floor. “Mom—”

“No,” she growled. “You don't get to do this. You ruined my life, Vega. You stole everything from me. This life stole everything from me. I lost a husband and a child because of it. So don't expect me to jump around for joy when you show up at my door.”

My gaze jumped to Poppy. She was trying to read the situation and figure out what had happened between us. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. I shrugged a shoulder.

“Can we do this later? We're really exhausted and just need to get some sleep.”

My mother took another long drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke straight in my direction. “And you want to stay here?”