MILLIE
I settled into the plush seat graciously offered by the waiter, my fingers instinctively smoothing down the edges of my wig. A twinge of concern gripped me the wool hat I had worn outdoors could have easily shifted its position, potentially revealing my covert appearance. Yet, a quick self-assessment reassured me that everything remained in its carefully planned place.
Aiming to maintain an air of nonchalance, I proceeded to order a cup of peppermint tea, hoping its soothing properties would calm my restless stomach. Accompanying the tea, I selected an omelet adorned with creamy avocado slices and perfectly toasted bread. While waiting for my order to arrive, I feigned engrossment in my mobile phone, surreptitiously stealing glances toward a figure of great significance Kaye.
My clandestine observation was interrupted as Leila, her face radiating a vibrancy that defied the shadows of recent loss, joined Kaye at the table. It was truly remarkable how she managed to retain such vitality despite the tragedy that had befallen her family. Her husband’s demise seemed to have failed in dimming her spirit.
The waiter diligently brought forth my chosen refreshments the cup of steaming tea and the artfully arranged omelet. However, his presence became a recurrent disruption, not only attending to my dining needs but also indulging in flirtatious banter that tested my patience. Such distractions were unwelcome as my primary focus was to surveil Kaye. My meal lay almost untouched; the avocado, which I had always adored, now betrayed me with its unwelcome intensity. A single bite threatened to unleash waves of nausea, quelled only by a large gulp of the soothing tea.
Kaye and Leila engaged in animated laughter, momentarily oblivious to their surroundings and their own progeny. In that unguarded moment, fate presented the opportune catalyst. Patrice, their shared daughter, accidentally spilled her drink, her distress manifesting in tearful sobs. Swiftly, I rose from my seat, maneuvering with urgency towards the ladies’ room, my intention veiled in a carefully orchestrated escape.
Inside the confines of the restroom stall, I concealed myself, heartbeats echoing in my ears, an audible testament to my heightened anticipation. The door’s creak announced a new arrival, and soon after, the rhythmic cadence of heels reverberated through the space. Kaye’s voice, tender and consoling, wove a cocoon of maternal reassurance around Patrice. Witnessing her love in action brought a small, appreciative smile to my lips.
As the sounds within the restroom shifted a toilet flushed, footsteps nearing Kaye’s silence bore testament to her caution. Emerging from the stall, I encountered her gaze, directed towards the task of blotting her daughter’s dress with a napkin. The recognition that dawned upon her was a spectacle to behold a fleeting glance to the stalls behind me, a testament to her suspicion that my presence wasn’t solitary. Did she suspect an elaborate trap?
Astonishingly, I was her cousin, bound by blood. With a warm smile, I uttered, “Hi Kaye,” allowing familiarity to thread through the words.
Her gradual relaxation mirrored the lifting of a veil, her smile a reflection of recognition, yet a hint of confusion lingered. “What are you doing here?” she inquired, her brows knitting together in genuine bewilderment.
Patrice’s face, an epitome of Kaye’s lineage, portrayed her curiosity. As I observed this young embodiment of family heritage, my thoughts wandered to my own future, pondering how my child with Gio might manifest physically. My hand inadvertently sought my stomach, the notion of pregnancy kindling a latent sense of happiness within me.
Kaye tracked the movement of my hand, prompting a hasty withdrawal on my part. Moving toward me, she disregarded the constraints of her gravid state, enfolding me in an embrace that resonated with a blend of fondness and urgency. As the distance grew between us, her eyes sparkled with warmth, a silent testament to the joy of reunion. Yet, an undercurrent of concern lingered in her furrowed brows.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” Kaye’s voice conveyed, yet her words bore a whispered caution. “But this isn’t a safe place for you. It’s too perilous.”
Patrice’s voice, pitched higher in her innocence, ventured, “Aunt Millie?” The recognition finally pierced through despite the wig.
Kaye’s swift response silenced her daughter’s utterance, her finger pressed gently against her lips. “Shh, Patrice. Millie is playing hide and seek. Let’s ensure she doesn’t get caught, alright?”
With unspoken understanding, Patrice embraced the game and inched towards me. Kneeling to her level, I enveloped her in a gentle hug. “You’re growing bigger every day.”
Eyes alight with pride, Patrice declared, “I’ll be a big sister soon.”
Affectionately, I acknowledged her impending role. “I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing big sister.”
A knock echoed, a deep voice followed “Mrs. Ruberti, everything alright in there?”
Kaye’s reply bore the veneer of normalcy, concealing our covert discourse beneath mundane excuses. I couldn’t help but grin, recognizing her ruse. The bodyguard’s presence posed a barrier, his entrance averted by the prospect of glimpsing Mathias’s wife in a state of undress.
Upon her pivot back to face me, a somber undertone swept across Kaye’s demeanor. The gravity of my purpose resurfaced. “I came to see Karsen, Kaye. That’s the sole reason behind my presence here.”
Apology danced within Kaye’s gaze, her response layered with urgency. “Time is short, and Luigi’s suspicions could rise.”
Awareness permeated our exchange. “How about we rendezvous this evening?”
Kaye weighed the logistical challenge, her thoughts transparent yet resolute. “Shaking off my bodyguards won’t be simple, especially with my pregnancy and the escalating war dynamics. But I’ll find a way.”
In mutual agreement, I nodded. “Can you ensure Karsen’s presence as well?”
Luigi’s knock persisted. “Mrs. Ruberti?”
The impending conversation remained suspended, awaiting its continuation in a future shrouded by uncertainty.
Kaye’s eyes rolled in a gesture of exasperation, a silent signal of annoyance. “Yes, I’ll be ready in just a moment,” she responded, her tone tinged with a mixture of impatience and resignation. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension as her words lingered. After a brief pause, her voice softened, revealing a hint of uncertainty. “Millie, I’m not entirely certain if I can manage to bring him along, but I’ll do my best. Shall we aim for five o’clock in the Santa Fe?” The words danced hesitantly from her lips.
Amidst this interaction, Kaye’s impulsive movement sent a sprinkle of water onto her blouse, a subtle yet vivid detail that underscored the agitation in the room. In the wake of her response, Millie’s affirmation came promptly, a confirmation that resonated with determination. The undertones of their conversation were like the quiet crescendo of a suspenseful melody.
Having exchanged farewells with both Kaye and Patrice, I enveloped them in embraces that conveyed both warmth and a trace of apprehension. Slowly, I retreated back into the privacy of the stall, allowing the echoes of their departure to fade. It was only when the distant shuffle of another customer’s arrival reached my ears that I chose to emerge from my temporary refuge.
Stepping out from the restroom’s confines, I found my way back to the table, a sequence of actions imbued with an air of nonchalance that masked the complexity of emotions brewing within me. Kaye’s conversation with Leila appeared innocuous on the surface, a facade of normalcy concealing a tapestry of intricacies. The ease with which she navigated this charade was a testament to the facade she had cultivated in her marriage, and in parallel, to the one I had woven in mine.
With a calculated fluidity, I settled the bill, the exchange of currency a mere transaction compared to the unspoken exchanges that had transpired. As I exited the restaurant, the sharp gusts of Chicago’s chill enveloped me, a harsh reminder of the world outside the establishment’s warm interior. My path was driven by an impulse to return to my former abode, a place tinged with memories and perhaps answers. Yet, caution reigned supreme – to cross paths with Karsen carried a risk I dared not entertain.
The yearning for shelter, both physical and metaphorical, propelled me towards the search for a sanctuary in the form of a cafe. A temporary haven where I could navigate the minutes until the pivotal rendezvous with Kaye later. But as a prelude to this quest for solace, I acknowledged the need for a more tangible form of protection. Thus, I resolved to acquire a knife, an emblem of self-reliance and preparedness in the face of uncertainty.
In the intricate tapestry of decisions and emotions, the thread of secrecy intertwined seamlessly. The clandestine meeting with Kaye promised revelations, the streets of Chicago whispered stories of their own, and the knife I sought became a symbol of the vigilance demanded by the precarious situation. The narrative of entwined lives unfolded, each layer of detail revealing the intricate depths beneath the surface.