picked it up sometime in the night, because I was certain it had been in a crumpled pile against the wall when we went to bed last night. I’d left it right where he'd taken it off of me.
I felt a sudden pang of loneliness, and I shook my head, embarrassed at myself. He’d been gone for a few hours at most, and I was already missing him? How stupid of me.
I’d wanted to wake up next to him, though. I’d wanted to see his gray eyes staring back into mine, warm and inviting, and to hold him as I got ready to face the day. Instead, he was gone and I was alone. Every time I thought that he’d finally opened up to me, he slammed himself shut again. I knew what I’d seen beneath the corporate façade, the suit of executive armor, were glimpses of the real Peter. I longed for that man to come out and to stay out. Maybe once the strange undercurrent of intrigue in his family had passed—whatever it was that had brought us all the way to Croatia—he could open up to me.
My stomach growled loudly, and I pushed the thought of Peter into the back of my mind, threw on a pair of jeans and a purple turtleneck, and ran downstairs to breakfast.
Anneke was the only person in the dining room when I arrived, and she sat at the small, round table near the window and stared out the floor-to-ceiling picture windows into the garden. She dipped a toasted croissant first into olive oil, then into crumbled parmesan cheese, and finally munched on it contentedly as she watched the rain streaming down outside. A tiny pile of Kalamata olives rounded out her meal, and though it seemed like a strange breakfast combination to me, who was I to criticize the woman’s tastes?
Anneke waved to me, greeting me warmly this time judging by her body language, and she gestured to the empty, white wicker seat across from her.
“How are you doing this morning?” I signed to her, and she nodded back to me.
“I am well. Slept very nicely. And yourself?”
“The same. It was a very comfortable room. Very lovely!”
The butler, Alex, apparently did double duty as waiter in the morning, and he brought me a muffin and a glass of orange juice. I took a bite of it. Sesame seed.
Anneke stared at me for a long time, her eyes sharp and bright, before signing again.
“Peter told me I need to babysit you today,” she signed, and I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t figured out how to broach that subject yet, and I was grateful that she had done it for me.
“He told me the same thing about you,” I signed back, and Anneke rolled her eyes.
“My stupid son knows nothing at all. I don’t need a babysitter; I need my children to stop bickering with each other and to grow up.”
Anneke shook her head and finished off the last bite of her croissant.
As she got up from her chair, she pulled a tiny notebook from her pocket, scribbled something down in it, and then slid it across the table to me.
"Grocery list," it read.
“You want me to make up the grocery list?” I signed to her, trying to clarify her note, and she shook her head.
“Ask the cook, then put on whatever else you want, and we will go together when the rain stops.”
I stared down at the note for a moment. Something still didn’t make sense to me.
It’s in English, I suddenly realized, and I looked back up at her again.
“You know English too?”
“I can read it, yes. Have to for business,” she signed to me, nodding.
Fluent in Croatian sign language, writes in English, but comes from Russia? Anneke certainly had her oddities.
****
“I’m surprised that you are doing your own grocery shopping,” I signed to Anneke as we left the market. My arms felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets under the weight of the bags as Anneke walked at a snail’s pace across the cobblestone square at my side.
“I need exercise, and I get bored too,” she signed back, and she waved to a toddler as the little girl passed, clinging to her mother’s arm. Anneke looked at me with a
I felt a sudden pang of loneliness, and I shook my head, embarrassed at myself. He’d been gone for a few hours at most, and I was already missing him? How stupid of me.
I’d wanted to wake up next to him, though. I’d wanted to see his gray eyes staring back into mine, warm and inviting, and to hold him as I got ready to face the day. Instead, he was gone and I was alone. Every time I thought that he’d finally opened up to me, he slammed himself shut again. I knew what I’d seen beneath the corporate façade, the suit of executive armor, were glimpses of the real Peter. I longed for that man to come out and to stay out. Maybe once the strange undercurrent of intrigue in his family had passed—whatever it was that had brought us all the way to Croatia—he could open up to me.
My stomach growled loudly, and I pushed the thought of Peter into the back of my mind, threw on a pair of jeans and a purple turtleneck, and ran downstairs to breakfast.
Anneke was the only person in the dining room when I arrived, and she sat at the small, round table near the window and stared out the floor-to-ceiling picture windows into the garden. She dipped a toasted croissant first into olive oil, then into crumbled parmesan cheese, and finally munched on it contentedly as she watched the rain streaming down outside. A tiny pile of Kalamata olives rounded out her meal, and though it seemed like a strange breakfast combination to me, who was I to criticize the woman’s tastes?
Anneke waved to me, greeting me warmly this time judging by her body language, and she gestured to the empty, white wicker seat across from her.
“How are you doing this morning?” I signed to her, and she nodded back to me.
“I am well. Slept very nicely. And yourself?”
“The same. It was a very comfortable room. Very lovely!”
The butler, Alex, apparently did double duty as waiter in the morning, and he brought me a muffin and a glass of orange juice. I took a bite of it. Sesame seed.
Anneke stared at me for a long time, her eyes sharp and bright, before signing again.
“Peter told me I need to babysit you today,” she signed, and I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t figured out how to broach that subject yet, and I was grateful that she had done it for me.
“He told me the same thing about you,” I signed back, and Anneke rolled her eyes.
“My stupid son knows nothing at all. I don’t need a babysitter; I need my children to stop bickering with each other and to grow up.”
Anneke shook her head and finished off the last bite of her croissant.
As she got up from her chair, she pulled a tiny notebook from her pocket, scribbled something down in it, and then slid it across the table to me.
"Grocery list," it read.
“You want me to make up the grocery list?” I signed to her, trying to clarify her note, and she shook her head.
“Ask the cook, then put on whatever else you want, and we will go together when the rain stops.”
I stared down at the note for a moment. Something still didn’t make sense to me.
It’s in English, I suddenly realized, and I looked back up at her again.
“You know English too?”
“I can read it, yes. Have to for business,” she signed to me, nodding.
Fluent in Croatian sign language, writes in English, but comes from Russia? Anneke certainly had her oddities.
****
“I’m surprised that you are doing your own grocery shopping,” I signed to Anneke as we left the market. My arms felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets under the weight of the bags as Anneke walked at a snail’s pace across the cobblestone square at my side.
“I need exercise, and I get bored too,” she signed back, and she waved to a toddler as the little girl passed, clinging to her mother’s arm. Anneke looked at me with a
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