Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

“Charlie has a short attention span, and he repeats syllables, but he eats and sleeps well.”

“We’ll do an extensive evaluation beforehand,” the doctor says.

“If it’s in Charlie’s best interest…” She looks at me.

“It is,” I say. “There are also legal issues you neglected, such as declaring Charlie financially incompetent and formalizing your guardianship. We’ll look at that after breakfast.”

Her gaze flickers between Magda and me. She doesn’t trust us, and I don’t blame her. She always took care of her brother without help, and we were going to kill him, after all.

“You’re not alone any longer,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Valentina

After breakfast, Gabriel gives me documents to sign to declare Charlie financially incompetent and to secure my guardianship. I’m eager to see how my brother is doing this morning, but Charlie wakes late. I’ll have to have a word with Rhett about the movie nights. Charlie is happy with his new bedroom, especially the flat screen television mounted on the wall.

I make Charlie a breakfast of tea and toast, and introduce him to Bruno, but the two don’t hit it off. Bruno must sense Charlie’s apprehension. Usually, Charlie doesn’t venture outside unless lured by someone dangling a reward in front of his nose, but I give him strict instructions about asking before going to the garden. I don’t think Bruno will attack him, but I prefer to be over-cautious. To get Charlie out of the house, I decide to take him shopping with me after lunch.

When I tell Gabriel about my plan, he’s pleased that I’m getting out and spending money. He walks us out and hands me a set of keys.

My fingers fold around the key ring. “Keys to the house?”

“Yes.” He chuckles. “And your wheels. Sorry it wasn’t ready when you arrived, but there was no stock on the floor. I had to order it.”

There are five cars parked on the curb of the circular driveway. To who do they all belong? Maybe the guards or Magda and the cleaning service staff.

“Go on,” he says, indicating the remote in my hand.

When I press the button, the indicator lights of a Porsche Cayenne Turbo lights up.

“That’s very kind, but––”

“Don’t say you won’t take it,” Gabriel says darkly, “because it’s my job to provide for you.”

“All right, I won’t say I won’t take it, but it’s a big car. I just need something small.”

“It’s a safe car with enough space for a pushchair, carrycot, feeding chair, nanny, and whatever else women need when they go out with a baby.”

The wayward look of panic in his eyes as he rumbles off the items makes me laugh. I punch him playfully on the arm. “I won’t need more than a pushchair and definitely not a nanny.”

“No?” He seems surprised.

“My mom and I were close.”

He still looks at me with his brow raised in question.

“I want to raise my child myself. I want to experience everything, both the hard and joyful parts.” Kris’ words suddenly haunt me. I wrap my arms around his waist and look into his eyes. “You’ll let me take care of our baby, won’t you?”

The tenderness in his touch as he brushes the hair from my face reassures me. “Anything you want. As long as it doesn’t tire you too much.”

Going on tiptoes, I kiss him. “Thank you for the car.” I learned my lesson. There’s no point in arguing.

“My pleasure. Drive safely.”

He nods at the guards standing next to a black Mercedes as Charlie and I get into my new car. I know they’ll follow, but I also know it’s for our safety.

“Mi–milkshake. Can we have mi–milkshake?”

“We’re going to buy Gabriel a gift, but we can stop for dessert. In fact, we can do better than milkshake. How about a banana split?”

Charlie’s mouth drops open. I swear there’s a drop of drool on the side. I pat his leg. “I know. You haven’t had many of those. Not nearly enough.”

We drive to a nearby mall in Rosebank. After Orange Grove, Rosebank is the suburb with the largest Jewish settlement. It thus comes as no surprise that I run into someone from the Jewish business from way back.

“My goodness,” Agatha Murray cries, “aren’t you the Haynes girl?” She looks Charlie up and down. “You must be Charles.”

“That’s right. How are you?”

“You probably don’t remember me.”

It’s hard not to remember her. Agatha has the same look from when she removed her false teeth and slurped her tea from the saucer in our kitchen. From head to toe, she’s dressed in black, always a lacy dress with a cloak and hat. She’s been dressed that way since her husband died, a long time before Dad passed away. She must own a thousand hats. I’ve never seen her with the same one. Today, she wears a box style creation with a crow feather bouquet and a big, faux diamond that keeps the lot together.