Page 64 of The Silent Princess

“Hey.” Nate’s hand lands on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Sure, yeah.”

I shove his hand away, snapping myself back into the present.

“Nice bruise,” he remarks. I managed to sign up for a fight last minute last night. Stayed there thirty minutes, in and out, just in time to get my fist covered in blood and fight my demons on a poor jacked guy’s face. Worth it.

“Nice hair,” I taunt, his disheveled light brown hair betraying a rushed morning running after Maddie.

After a day of meetings with Matt and Saoirse, giving them new instructions, I have been following up on the legal side of work, burying myself in paperwork until Nate offered to eat dinner at his place. Maddie is slurping spaghetti off her fork, her plate a battlefield of meatballs cut open to reveal the hidden green peas Nate tried to sneak in. Balancing a human trafficking hunt, contracts, and high-level corporate strategy along with family is, well, easier said than done. Ella is inserting herself into every corner of my mind, tearing my guts apart as I imagine her hurt on the concrete floor but also sitting there, in a fourth chair at the table, with my family.

Is it normal? Do other people go through the same symptoms when they encounter someone who can read them like a book?

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Uncle Tristan,” Maddie signs, giggling, grimacing with both palms in the air, mimicking a ghost. We are eating, the three of us, at the kitchen table in Nate and Maddie’s house, the decor coastal style, like when Elise was still there. She had picked it out, and I do not think Nate has it in him to change it.

The house is not as large as mine, the kitchen and living room occupying the same open space, making it warmer, with pictures of them and drawings Maddie made on the fridge, held under fruit-shaped magnets. Despite the cream and light-wood atmosphere, it gets shaken by the kaleidoscope of toys, pencils, and plushies my niece has scattered everywhere. His house is only fifteen minutes from work, in the best neighborhood downtown, expensive and safe, with a backyard and brick at the front. There is a picture of the three of them right in the entryway, and the kitchen is behind us as we look at the living room, which towers over the garden where Maddie has all sorts of dolls seated at a small table, ready for a tea party.

“Sorry, Mads. Just work,” I sign back, trying to hold on to the picture of innocence before me, keeping Nate and me in the present moment.

“You always work, like Dad,” she remarks, signing before going back to her meatballs as if she is suddenly too bored by us.

Nate clears his throat, signing with his white shirt raised at the elbows. “Have you told him about the incident at school?” A smug smile sits on his face. An incident? I hope to hell no one bothered her, or I will find a way to get in touch with the parents and…

“Cecelia. She is one year older than me and super pretty. She said I was stupid because I talked with my hands.” Maddie signs, frowning and pouting dramatically. “She pushed my shoulder in the hallway, and then, well…” Maddie stops, unsure. My nerves twitch, and my hand, which used to be flat on the table, is now turned into a fist.

“Tell your uncle what you did, honey,” Nate says out loud, pride standing right beside him.

“I said, you’re rude and, also, I’m a little sunshine my dad says so I’m not listening to you. Nothing’s wrong with me and if you can’t see it, then maybe you have poo in your eyes.” She bursts into silent laughter, one so similar to Ella’s that I can’t help but grin like an idiot.

“You did the right thing, Mads,” I sign. “Bullies lose all their power when we stand up to them.” The sentence has a bitter taste, as if I have just confessed a lie to a saint. I have been standing my ground for the last decade, and still, Cole Vodianov is still there, at every corner, threatening my work and the people I care about.

“Dad, I’m done. Can I go watch Bubbly now, please?”

Nate fakes hesitation before complying. “Just one episode, and then you brush your teeth.”

“Yes.”

“I mean it. Just one.” Maddie takes her plate with great care, walking extra slowly, as if the floor is made of eggshells, puts it in the sink, then storms to the living room, where we see her jump onto the couch and turn on the TV to a cartoon.

Nate sighs. “She normally doesn’t watch…”

“I don’t care.” I dig my fork into the dish.

“Screens, I kid you not, worse than candy. I’m trying to have her watch less, but sometimes…”

“You do your best, Nate. An hour of TV won’t melt her brain. She has more wit than most men we know. I’m not worried about her.”

“So what are you worried about, then?” he taunts. Am I so obvious?

“Our mother really cannot hold a secret, uh ?”

“Not to her favorite son,” he smirks. “She means no harm. Just thought I could help.”

“Well,” I say, putting my fork down, “can you?”

“Mom said she’s mute.”

“Yeah.”