“Yes.” There was something sad in the word. “You’re here. When it suits you.”
“Do you not like how I’m stealing? Or do you not like why?”
“Listen to me, Katarina—”
“What kind of thief do you want me to be, Uncle Eddie? What should I steal—whatever it is in Uruguay?”
“Paraguay,” her uncle corrected.
The newspaper lay on the table, staring at Kat—calling to her like a dare. “Oh, hey.” She reached for it. “I see the Cleopatra Emerald is coming to town. Maybe I’ll make a play for that.”
Kat had no idea why she’d said it, but the words were already out there—too late to take them back. Maybe she wanted her uncle to forbid it. Maybe she expected him to laugh—as if the idea were far too absurd. But instead he reached for the paper and tossed it among the eggshells and coffee grounds with the rest of the trash.
“We do not joke of such a thing.”
“I know,” Kat said, but Uncle Eddie was already turning.
“The Cleopatra Emerald is no plaything!”
“I know,” she said, trying to make him understand, but it was too late.
“You’re a smart girl, Katarina—too smart to take stupid chances. Better thieves than you have gone after that blasted stone, and they have paid.” He stopped, and Kat could have sworn she saw his hand shake. His lips were a thin hard line when he whispered, “Great thieves have paid dearly.”
Kat’s voice was different when she said, “I know.”
“We do not steal the Cleopatra, Katarina. It is…” Eddie trailed off, struggling for words.
“Cursed,” Kat offered.
Eddie turned to her. He shook his head. “Forbidden.”
On the stove, grease was popping, and smoke was rising from the skillet, filling the room. It was the first time in Kat’s life that she had ever seen her uncle burn the bacon, so she stayed quiet, thinking of all the things she could not say.
“If you don’t want to be like the rest of us, Katarina, then you should go back to school. You should leave this world—really leave us all behind. Don’t let this old man stand in your way.”
Kat wasn’t going to cry. Her voice wasn’t going to crack. “I came back, Uncle Eddie. Last year, after the Henley, I could have gone to any school in the world—I could have done anything, but I came back.”
“You ran away, Katarina.”
“And now I’m back.”
It should have been an easy thing to prove, a fact to verify. She wanted him to say, Good work, nice job—to tell her that he was proud to have her at his kitchen table—but instead he turned back to the bacon and the stove.
“You’re still running.”
The kitchen was too hot—the big house suddenly too small. Her uncle’s words were too loud, ringing in her ears, and Kat knew she couldn’t stay there. Outside, the early morning air would be cool and fresh, so she didn’t even stop for her jacket; she didn’t look for her purse. She just moved down the long hall to the door without another thought or worry or fear. Outside. She’d be able to think outside.
“He’s right, you know.”
Kat stopped at the sound of the voice. Her hand was on the doorknob, freedom just inches away, but it was like she’d forgotten how to unlock a door when she turned and saw Hale sitting alone at the top of the stairs.
“I thought—after the Henley—you were back with us.” He looked down at his hands. “With me. But now—”
“I don’t need another lecture, Hale.” Kat’s hands were shaking. Her lips were trembling. It was as if her own body were against her. “I don’t need someone else telling me what to do.”
“Oh, no one tells you what to do, Kat. You’re the girl who robbed the Henley.”
“Yeah,” Kat told him. “And I—”