"No. The government sent me to university in Vienna. That cost a lot, so I had to work for them for a long time to pay them back. I found out after I'd started that I would probably never be able to pay them back, so my choice was to leave the country." Luka turned to look out the window. "Here, I am... valued."

"Do you miss your home?" Peter's mother asked.

Peter continued driving, watching the road as he listened to their conversation.

"This is my home now," Luka said. "I live here and make a new life here." Luka turned to look at him. "America is land of opportunity."

His mother reached over the seat and lightly patted Luka on the shoulder. Peter swerved slightly and then got his attention back where it belonged. Such a tender gesture from his mother was rare. Peter swallowed hard and turned away, diligently watching the road.

He made the final turn and drove down Port Washington Road to the doctor's office. He pulled in and parked.

His mother opened her door. "This will take about an hour." She stepped out. "I won't be able to see c.r.a.p once they're done. He always dilates my eyes, so I'll need to go straight home afterwards or I'll get a headache." She closed the door.

Peter gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Your mother is nice," Luka said.

Peter nodded but said nothing. His mother was nice to everyone on the planet but him. She'd actually tried to comfort Luka, something Peter hadn't known his mother was capable of. Lord knew she never spent her time comforting him. f.u.c.k! He gripped the wheel harder, hoping he didn't rip it out of the car.

"You okay?" Luka asked.

Peter took a deep breath and released it. "Yes," he said. Then he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. His mother had said she would be an hour, so they might as well do something. "There's a small shopping center just up the road with a great bookstore. We can go there and browse until she's done."

Luka nodded, and Peter turned into traffic, going faster than he should until he noticed his speed and slowed down. After driving for a few minutes, he turned into the shopping center and found a parking s.p.a.ce.

Peter took Luka into the store. He let him browse and answered any questions he had. Then he looked through the store himself and found a few books. He found a seat and watched as Luka wound through the store, making his way up and down the aisles. Peter had intended to leaf through one of the books he'd chosen, but he ended up setting the book on his lap and simply watching Luka move. He couldn't take his eyes off him as he stretched to reach one of the books on a high shelf, and just seeing him walk was a pleasure.

After a while, Peter checked his watch and stood up, wandering to where Luka was standing in the corner of the shop, looking through a book of scientific principles.

"I understand this," he said with a grin. "English does not matter."

"Of course you do. Science is like music. It's universal," Peter said.

Luka placed the book back on the shelf and followed him out of the store and to the car. "I would like to come back."

"I think that can be arranged," Peter told him as they got in the car. He started the engine and drove back to the doctor's office. He parked in the lot and got out. "I'll see if Mom's ready," he said and hurried inside. He walked in the lobby and saw no one waiting. He asked at the window, and the a.s.sistant explained that Marie would be out in a few minutes. He didn't want to leave Luka wondering, so he wandered back out to the car. He got halfway there and heard the door whoosh open behind him.

"You couldn't wait for me?" his mother said as she put on a pair of sungla.s.ses. "I was on my way out."

He turned to explain, but gave up. She'd never listened to him, so why would she start now? As his mother approached the car, Luka got out and shifted to the backseat so his mother could sit in front. Peter's mother smiled at him and got in the front seat. Peter silently got behind the wheel and closed his door. Without saying a word, he pulled out of the lot and onto the street, taking the most direct route to his mother's house without uttering a word the entire ride.

Not that his mother noticed. She talked with Luka as though she'd known him for years, regardless of the language issues. He even had her laughing at one point. Peter saw Luka's smile in the rearview mirror and knew it should have made him happy, but it didn't. He simply seethed at the ease between them.

By the time he pulled into his mother's driveway, he was about ready to blow his stack. The worst part was he didn't quite know why. There was no reason on earth why Luka getting along with his mother should make him so angry, so....

"Thank you for the ride, Peter," his mother said before opening her car door, interrupting his thoughts. "It was wonderful to meet you, Luka," she added with a smile that made Peter grind his teeth.

She closed the door, and Peter was about to put the car in reverse when his brother's blue BMW came into view. He put the car in park and waited. Vince pulled to a stop behind him and got out of his car. Peter opened his door and got out as well. He was already opening the back door of the sedan by the time Peter approached the car. Vince emerged from the backseat with a car carrier that held a sleeping baby.

Peter motioned to Luka and waited for him to approach. "Vince this is Luka. Luka, my brother Vince," he said, and then turned to the carrier looking closely, "and this precious girl is Justine." He peered in the car, expecting to see another carrier. Luka and Vince shook hands, and Peter returned his attention to his adorable niece, preparing to lift her out of the carrier.

"Frances is home with her mother," Vince explained.

Their mother approached, nudged Peter to the side, and began unfastening the catches on the infant carrier. Once they were free, his mother lifted Justine out and into her arms, cooing softly.

"I have the diaper bag in the back," Vince said and hurried to get it.

Peter's mother was already heading toward the house with the baby.

Vince grabbed the carrier on his way through and hurried behind her. "I'll be right back so you can go," he said.

They stepped into the house, and after a few minutes, Vince came back out. "Thanks, Mom. I should be just a few hours," he called from the doorway and then hurried down the walk and driveway toward them.

Vince said a quick good-bye to both of them, got in his car, and started backing out of the driveway.

Peter stood rooted in his spot. He hadn't seen his nieces in weeks, and he'd barely gotten to see her before his mother had whisked Justine away. He couldn't believe how much that hurt. He wanted to ask Luka if he minded if they went inside, but after checking the time, he realized if they hurried, they could make a quick stop at a drive-through before the cla.s.s he had to teach. "We should go too," Peter said with resignation and walked toward his car. He could feel Luka's gaze on him. He opened his door and waited for Luka to get inside. Then he slid into his seat and started the car.

Luka was quiet as they rode out of Mequon's suburban quiet toward the freeway. "Why you angry with me?" Luka asked just before Peter turned to enter the freeway.

"I'm not," Peter answered. He should have been used to his family's treatment and att.i.tudes by now. "I'm angry with myself."

"You do that a lot," Luka said.

Peter wasn't sure if he meant it as a statement or a question. Since the statement didn't require a response, he took it that way.

"Do they...." Luka paused. "Do they make believe you're not there a lot?" he asked, switching to Serbian.

Peter thought for a few seconds. "I guess they do."

"Why?" Luka asked.

That was the question, and one Peter didn't want to go into. But it appeared he would have to. Luka was inquisitive and he'd wonder and ask until Peter told him. He was fairly sure of that.

"Why are you afraid?"

Peter continued driving. "I can't talk about this now. I really can't," he said softly. "I have to get my mind around the cla.s.s I'm going to teach, and if I start thinking about all this, I'll never get my mind in the right place." Peter knew why his family members acted the way they did, but he'd pushed the details aside for a long time, and he didn't want to bring them forward again.

"Okay," Luka said. "But you'll tell me later?"

"If I can," Peter said. He wasn't sure this was a good idea, and it wasn't the kind of thing he talked to anyone about... ever. h.e.l.l, that was why he never brought any of the few friends he had to see his family. He continued driving, exiting the freeway and driving to the Esperanza Unida building. He found a place to park and led Luka inside. "Most of the people in this cla.s.s speak Spanish as a first language," Peter explained, glad to be on more familiar ground. They took the stairs to the second floor and entered a small cla.s.sroom. There were already a number of familiar students-most young to middle-aged adults-gathered, talking among themselves.

Luka took a seat in the front, but off to the side. More students filtered in over the next ten minutes. Peter brought Luka a cup of coffee and a few of the cookies from the back table, wishing he hadn't forgotten to stop to eat. He ate a few cookies himself, and then, at one, he closed the door and began the cla.s.s.

He conducted the cla.s.s almost entirely in English and encouraged his students to ask their questions in English. Sometimes it was too much for them and they lapsed into Spanish, but Peter worked with them to make sure they understood the English equivalent before going on. This cla.s.s never moved very fast, but his students progressed, and that was all that mattered. Through most of the cla.s.s, he had to force his attention away from Luka and onto his students. By the time the hour was over, he was ravenously hungry and exhausted. He said good-bye to the students as they came up to shake his hand and exchange a kind word before leaving.

"How often you do this?" Luka asked once they were alone.

"Every two weeks," Peter answered. "Some of them have been taking the cla.s.s for a year or more. They learn more slowly because many of them have limited education to start with. But they want to fit into their adopted country." Peter walked to the window overlooking National Avenue. "This is the heart of the Spanish-speaking neighborhood here in town. Esperanza Unida is a community organization. They do job training and community support. The restaurant in the building is part of a food-service training program, and just down the street they have garages and other nonprofit businesses that teach other skills. This community has had a tough time, so they've banded together to try to help pull themselves up to a better life. And it's working."

Peter took one more look out the window and then turned back to Luka, who stared at him, his eyes wide, as if he'd just figured out some secret. "Is your family why you do this?" Luka asked. "You help people because your family not help you?"

Peter didn't answer right away. Luka's observation was too close to the mark for comfort. "I like helping people," he deflected. "Let's go get something to eat. They have great Mexican food at the restaurant downstairs." He hoped like h.e.l.l the thought of food would be enough to distract Luka, and it worked. They had a great lunch, and then Peter drove Luka home. He debated going inside and figured it would be better to simply go home to avoid what he knew was coming.

But Luka had other ideas, it seemed. "Come inside and we talk," he said.

Peter cursed silently and followed Luka inside. Peter sat down, and Luka got two beers, brought them into the living room, and sat on the sofa next to him.

"You want to use English?"

Peter had to. He wasn't sure he could tell this story in any other language. It was too personal. "When I was six and Vince about eight or nine, I guess, we were playing in the backyard." Peter tried to keep his mind clear. "We had a shed in the back where my dad used to keep his stuff. Vince got hold of the key somehow and unlocked the door. We never got to go in there, and I stood in the doorway, peering into my father's private domain. There were power tools and pieces of wood on the workbench. My dad carved duck decoys as a hobby, and I saw some wooden ducks sitting on one of the benches. I didn't dare go inside, but Vince did. He walked in and started looking around. He even climbed on one of the benches so he could see what was on the upper shelves."

Peter twisted off the top of the beer bottle and took a large drink. "I don't remember very much. It's been a long time. But it smelled like fresh wood and linseed oil. Mom hated the smell and made Dad work out in the shed. At least that's what she said." Peter took another drink. "I remember Vince making an 'oooh' sound and then he climbed down off the bench and showed me what he'd found." Peter shivered and looked around, wondering how he could get out of here. Luka placed a hand on his knee and patted him gently.

"It is okay," he said.

"Vince placed the gun he'd found in my hand. I remember it being heavy and cold. I almost dropped it." Peter closed his eyes. "Vince thought it was a toy. He grabbed it from my hand and raced out into the yard, pretending to shoot birds and stuff, making bang-bang noises." Peter tensed. "We heard Dad coming home, so we raced back into the shed. We knew Dad would be mad if he caught us." Peter's heart rate increased and he could barely breathe. "I remember closing the shed door, and then it banged open. I saw Dad standing in the doorway. The next thing I knew, the gun went off and I fell on my b.u.t.t. When I opened my eyes, I had the gun in my hands and a huge red stain was spreading over Dad's chest." Peter's voice broke. "The next thing I saw was Dad falling over. I dropped the gun and raced to him. Mom hurried out and told both of us to go in the house."

"What happened then?" Luka asked.

"A lot of people asked me all kinds of questions I couldn't answer. I don't remember very much after that. All I know is that I had the gun in my hands and then my dad was dead. I shot my dad. It was an accident, everyone told me that, but none of my family could ever really forgive me for it. I left my sister and brother without a dad and my mother without a husband." Peter shook like a leaf. "See, I told you-I don't deserve to be happy. I will never deserve it, not after shooting my own father." Peter drained the rest of the beer in a few gulps. "This is what I have to live with, what I've had to live with since I was six years old. The last time I saw my father, he was on the ground in a pool of his own blood, and I was the one who did that to him." Peter stood up, and the room spun for a few seconds. He found he could barely stand up. "I've had to live with this for almost as long as I can remember." He paused. "I understand why they treat me the way they do. I cost my brother and sister their father."

Luka stood and moved around the table. "You were six years old," he said softly. "You were very young and didn't know what was happening. It was...." He quieted briefly. "Accident?"

"Yes, it was. But I have never forgiven myself for it, and neither have they."

Luka nodded slowly. "That why you try to help. You try to make up for what you did. You no need to do that. You were child; it was accident. Brother and sister should forgive. Mother should forgive."

His mother was a completely different story. She had always treated him differently after that. Vince and Julie were always treated as though they were special, and he was ignored if at all possible. Otherwise they acted like he owed them something. "I was never good enough after that. Things were hard for Mom, and she did her best to keep the family together and functioning. She hadn't worked while Dad was alive, but she had to get a job after that. I was expected to take care of the house. Most six- and seven-year-olds are instructed to keep their room clean, but I had to take care of a whole house. The others had things they had to do as well, but I took on all I could."

"See? You try to make right, but can't."

Peter nodded. Luka was right. He could never atone for what he'd done, and he would never be able to even if he lived for a hundred years. They would never forgive him, and worst of all, he could never forgive himself. "You're right, I never will." Peter began walking around the small room. "See now why I don't deserve to be happy? I took away the happiness of my mother, brother, and sister. I deserve to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for something that can't be made up for."

"No," Luka said. "You need to stop. Everyone deserve to be happy."

Peter sighed. "Not me," he whispered. He turned away from Luka. "I should go." he walked toward the door and heard Luka hurrying behind him.

"No. You need to stay here. Not be alone."

"See," he began, stopping in his tracks. "I deserve to be alone." He reached for the door just as Luka caught his hand.

"No. You no deserve...." He swore under his breath using terms Peter didn't know. "You no worse... no, no, no... you are just as good as anyone else." Luka sighed and held Peter's hand. "When I boy, I want to go to circus. Mama say I no can go. So I sneak money from the jar she keep... savings in and go with my friends. I eight or nine, and stupid." Luka smiled. "We have good time and when I come home, Mama...." Luka paused and turned around, motioning toward his b.u.t.t. Peter got the idea and nodded.

"She spanked you," Peter supplied.

"Yes, she spanked me. The money I took was part of what we were going to use for food. I went to the circus, and now we had to eat less. Mama and Papa had less to eat, we all did because of what I did."

"So, you didn't understand," Peter said.

Luka nodded. "You didn't understand either. You just child like me. We do stupid things when young. It what children do. It not need mean they bad for always."

"But your mother or father didn't die because of what you did."

"No. But we not have enough to eat. We all go hungry because I think only of me. I learn. We all learn." Luka stepped closer, touching his cheek. "I very sorry about your dad. He sounds like good man."

Peter placed his hands over his eyes. "The memories I have of my father, us doing things together, were wonderful. He used to take us to the beach on Sat.u.r.days, and afterwards he always took us for ice cream or something like that, but we weren't to tell Mom. It was something special that we did just with him." The tears welling in Peter's eyes overflowed and ran down his cheek. "I loved him so much. I knew he would be angry if he caught us, but I never wanted to hurt him." Peter sobbed as he tried to concentrate on other memories of his dad besides seeing him lying on the ground in his own blood. "He used to take us in the backyard and give us airplane rides. He'd twirl me in a circle until I couldn't stand up. I remember wandering around like I was drunk, falling on the ground laughing, and then asking him to do it again." Peter cleared his throat. "He always had time for us. I know that now. He worked a lot, but always made time for us when he was home." The memories he had were snippets and impressions more than anything concrete. He'd hung on to them as best he could because it was all he had that wasn't painful.

"I used to pray that G.o.d would take me and bring Daddy back in my place. That way I would be gone and everyone would have what they wanted back." Peter lowered his hands and wiped his cheeks, "I'd still do that if it would bring him back. But nothing ever can." He took a deep breath. "I will never be able to replace him, so I have to do what I can to make up for the good he might have done if he were still with us. I know it might sound crazy, but that's what I feel I have to do."

"Okay," Luka said. "But you no have to do it alone."

"Yes, I do. I'm the one responsible, so I'm the one who has to bear the brunt of the pain," Peter said. He needed to get out of here and back to his apartment, where he could hide in peace and hold Milton for a while.

Luka narrowed his eyes, then took Peter's hand and led him back through the apartment to the sofa. "Everyone has pain," Luka said as he motioned grandly over his head. "Bella has pain because Josif not here. You have pain because your dad not here."

"But he's not here because of me me," Peter explained once more. He'd had years to think about this, and no matter how he tried to rationalize or try to let it go, he always came back to that fact. His father wasn't around because of him, and there wasn't a d.a.m.ned thing he could do about it. "I know it's hard for you to understand, but I've lived with this every day of my life since then. I've thought about it every way there is, and I always come back to the same thing: I shot my father. Yes, it was an accident, and I was only a child, but I still killed him and took him away from the rest of my family." Peter closed his eyes. "I've wished myself dead more times than I can count. But I always thought that was too good for me because then I would be out of my misery."

Luka gaped at him. "No. It was accident. Everyone blames you, but I ask this: Would your dad blame you?"

Peter paused, his eyes widening. In all the years, no one had ever asked him that question. "I...." He thought about it and realized he didn't have an answer for that.

"Was gun yours?" Luka asked. "No. It was your dad's. He put gun in there and kept it loaded. Did you put bullets in?"

Peter stared at Luka and then shook his head. "We still shouldn't have been playing in there, and Vince should have put the gun back when he found it." How many times had Peter wished he'd never seen or touched that gun? At least a million over the years. He'd never been near one since, and he never intended to touch one again.

Most of the time, Peter was able to keep the hurt and ache of what he'd done inside a box, where he could deal with it. Telling Luka the story had brought it all back, and the hurt seemed new and acute, like the incident had happened just a few days before. More than anything he wanted this to go away, but it wouldn't and it was never going to. So once again, Peter needed to figure out how to deal with the hurt and pain. More than once he'd considered moving far away. But that was only geography, and no matter where he ran, he couldn't get away from his own feelings. They'd follow him no matter where he went.

"I appreciate you wanting to be here with me, but I need to deal with this on my own." Peter stood up. "I really appreciate you trying to help, but no one can." He sighed and left without a word.

He got in his car, but couldn't keep from looking at the doorway of Luka's place. Luka stood there watching him with an expression on his face that Peter couldn't read. He sighed and backed out of the parking s.p.a.ce. He pa.s.sed a man walking through the alley, but barely gave him a second thought as he descended into his own thoughts and pain.

By the time he got to his apartment, he hardly remembered the drive. He got out of the car and shuffled up the walk before entering his building and then unlocking his door. Milton greeted him the way he usually did, and Peter closed the door and slumped onto the sofa. Milton immediately jumped on his lap, and Peter held the soft cat in his arms. Milton's purrs filled Peter's ears, and he desperately tried to keep himself together. Shooting his father had happened years-decades-ago and yet the emotion and pain jabbed at him like it taken place yesterday. He knew this pain, he'd felt it before, but not this intense. He thought the feelings he was developing for Luka had to be at the heart of it. He'd been enjoying the time they spent together. More than once Luka had allowed him to forget, at least for a little while.

Milton squirmed, and Peter released him. He jumped to the floor and sat down, stared up at Peter, and then began cleaning himself. Peter lay down and closed his eyes. Maybe he was just tired. He kept his eyes closed when Milton jumped back up and settled on his chest. He was such a fool. He opened his eyes and looked around the empty apartment. Luka had said he shouldn't be alone and had wanted him to stay. He would have comforted him and tried to help him feel better. Instead, Peter was alone and miserable. On top of that, he missed Luka. "c.r.a.p," he said softly. He now wished he hadn't left, because being alone like this sucked.

Eventually, from simply lying still and letting his mind wander, he dozed off. Sometimes he dreamed of his dad. The dreams usually centered on the shooting incident, but this time he and his dad were playing in the backyard, his dad twirling him in a circle until Peter cried that he was going to woof. His dad placed him on the soft gra.s.s and laughed. Peter laughed as well.

He started awake. Milton jumped down to the floor and mrowed at him for disturbing him. Peter wiped his eyes and realized his cheeks were wet. He'd been crying, and he was still crying as the last of his father's remembered laughter echoed in his head and then died away. He reached for a tissue and settled back on the sofa, letting the tears come freely.

Chapter 6.

LUKA WALKED WALKED into the Marquette Science Center and nearly stumbled over a student who'd bent to tie his shoes. He excused himself and shook his head to clear away the distractions. Ever since Peter left Sat.u.r.day afternoon, his head had felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He'd tried to think straight, but his thoughts and worries kept returning to Peter and the way he'd been hurting. Luka made sure the student was all right and then hurried on to his small office near the lab where he worked. He shared it with one of the other researchers, so it was a tight fit, but he didn't care. into the Marquette Science Center and nearly stumbled over a student who'd bent to tie his shoes. He excused himself and shook his head to clear away the distractions. Ever since Peter left Sat.u.r.day afternoon, his head had felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He'd tried to think straight, but his thoughts and worries kept returning to Peter and the way he'd been hurting. Luka made sure the student was all right and then hurried on to his small office near the lab where he worked. He shared it with one of the other researchers, so it was a tight fit, but he didn't care.