For the better part of the next hour, Josh and I pour over photographs; most of them are of
our two Austrian trips, taken by Pop. Therefore, he’s not in many of them. Now
and then, muted television noises drift down the stairs. Obnoxious commercials
always come on twice as loud as the show you’re watching. I smile to myself.
Nice that Pop gave Josh and me some
space to work on our project. For the moment, I’m alone on the floor in front of
the fireplace, bent over looking one with the big magnifying glass. It’s one I
don’t remember having.
“We should start scanning those,” Josh says, returning from a potty break.
“I can’t believe I have so many that James Beal
took, in my possession.”
“He’s a major shutterbug.”
“He’s a freak. Josh,
I recall finding random photos of me at school or around town, stuck in my
locker and between the pages of my notebooks. Did he put them there to show me
that he’s watching me?”
Josh stands over me, and then sits down next to me on the floor.
“You think Jimmy has a crush on you?”
“Ick!”
I shove Josh
and it’s like shoving a brick wall. I almost fall sideways. He barely moves. I
sit straighten up and pass him a small stack of photos we’ve deemed suspicious.
He offers his hand and takes it. Sparks. I stand up and look around at the photographs
scattered all over the coffee table, couch cushions, and floor.
“Wait, check this one out,” I say, bending my head
forward, hiding my red face with my hair. “See if you see what I see. It’s the
one when I was eight. You saw it the other day, in the frame.”
Josh squints. “Yeah, so…?”
“Look at everything.” I scoot the floor lamp closer.
“You mean the figure in the corner?”
“Yes. It has to be Fredi. It proves that he’s been watching
us for years.”
“I sort of noticed it the other day when I was in your
room for the first time.”
“Here, switch places with me.” I pat the floor, stand
up, and move a fake potted ficus tree that is throwing a shadow over him, over
by the fireplace. Josh moves but
doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t seem interested any more.
He looks up and smiles guiltily.
“What? Don’t you believe me?” I cross my arms. “I’m
surprised you didn’t see it since you were spending so much time look at my
pictures––”
“I did. I just forgot to mention it because...” he
raises his eyes to the ceiling letting the end of his sentence trail off like
you do when you’re trying to think up a white lie.
I wait.
“To be honest...I got distracted by that picture of
you in your bathing suit.” I roll my eyes and Josh
shakes his hand like a clown. “I-chi-wa-wa!”
“Josh, stop
it. It’s him isn’t it?”
He stares at the photograph and shrugs. “Sure, but
there’s no way to be 100% certain.”
“Come on; let’s scan these before Ivan calls back wondering why we are stalling.”
I open the door and Josh
follows me in to the den. The musty smell of paper and books fills our
nostrils. “This is the only room Pop leaves dark,” I say, turn on the lights.
Josh doesn’t comment. I get out of his way as he crosses over,
sets the photos on the shelf, turns on the scanner / fax / printer machine, and
lifts the lid. He’s been in here numerous times and is familiar with the
layout. The machine clicks to life and he steps back. I punch in the number Ivan gave us.
We stand side by side faxing the photos.
I glance at each one before giving it to Josh. I pause looking at the one of us eating breakfast
in the main dining room at the Alpine. There are a lot of people, but none that
look like Valentine. Josh places it on
the glass and closes the lid. He hasn’t spoken a word since we came into the
den. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. He pushes the scan button. When it’s
done, I pass him another photo. “Yet another restaurant photo. Pop likes to
catch every aspect of our trips on film. Huh, this one has a dark figure
sitting behind us next to the kitchen door…the collar is clearly up on his
coat. I think it’s him.”
No comment.
Fine. I can be quite too. I like how our hands touch
briefly as I pass him the photos that have sketchy images of Valentine in them.
Suddenly. I find myself feeling safer by his being here next to me. I’m tempted
to lay my head on his nice shoulder, of course I don’t. Instead, I lean closer,
inhaling a whiff of Josh’s aftershave.
After a several more long minuets of stark silence, Josh finally speaks. He asks, “Are you discouraged
that we haven’t found one clear close up of Valentine?”
“Of course,” I say, shifting my weight. I didn’t
realize that I had locked my knees. My legs are beginning to ache. My body is
fighting fatigue and the lack of a good nights sleep. “This was taken at a
restaurant in the village.”
“Fredrik Koshechka
is a trained KGB, he’s way too smart to let that happen,” Josh
comments as he studies the picture using the little loupe.
“Right. Nevertheless, I would swear under oath that
he’s the dark figures we see. Or lurking just out of the shot.”
Josh holds photo up. “This could be him. There’s a big guy
with his back to you.”
“Yes. Dark coat, big shoulders much like the ones I
watched walk into the Checkmart… And in the back seat of the Taxi at school…
and in our front yard… Need I go on?”
I take a breath. “I know. I sound incensed, but I can’t help my self, I want
this over and done with.”
Josh’s stares at me with his big chocolate brown eyes. A
little smile curls up the corners of mouth. Then his expression changes to one
I’ve seen a lot.
“You’re giving me a 'you’re trying to make something
out of nothing look'.”
Josh frowns. “No I’m not.”
I hold up my hands. “You’re right. Forget it.” I place
my hands on the shelf. “I’m forcing things.”
Josh briefly places his hand over my hand. “Cookie, I’m on
your side. Tell me again what made
you watch him.”
I sit on the edge of Pop’s desk remembering every
detail of what happened before my surprise birthday party. “I got this really
weird feeling that he was up to something. I slithered down in my seat and
watched him go into the store. Coming and going, he looked right at me and did
that eye-wink-thing, just like he did in the elevator at the Alpine.” I point
at the image in Josh’s hand. “Plus, he
always puts his coat collar up like Humphrey Bogart.”
Josh glances at the photograph. “In reality, there are a
lot of Russian people in Austria.
And it could be anybody in a dark coat. It was very cold and snowing like
crazy.”
Determined, I turn on my heel and snatch up the next
picture off the shelf. I go over and hold it under the desk lamp’s shade. I
hold it in front of Josh and point at
a man sitting in a corner table. “This picture was taken at a café across the
street from the Alpine. We went there to sample Bavarian specialties. That’s
him for sure.”
Josh takes the photo.
A series of snowy Schladming village scenes flash
through my mind. I rise up of the desk blinking myself back to the den. Josh
comes over stands next to me watching me as I pull out the photos and match
them to my memories, as best and as I can. Then I place them one-by-one, on top
of Pop’s desk lining them up in order of date and time.
“What are you doing?”
By now, half of Pop’s desk is completely covered with 4x6 photographs and I only have a few more to add.
“Proving a point through these photographs.” I
indicate the time and date imbedded on the edge of each photo.
Josh catches on quickly and helps me correct a few out of
place. “We should’ve done this first.”
I smile and nod.
We gaze down at the photo collage for a moment.
“In every single photograph there’s dark figure
lurking in the shadows.”
“Now that I
think about it, I definitely saw someone who resembled Fredi––several times in this café. And he always sat at that table next to the
front window.”
Josh points at the date stamp. “Cookie, it was taken nine years ago. You were only eight. And like any normal child,
you had a vivid imagination. You told me how you played with your dolls as if
they were your friends––” Josh sees me
balk and snaps his mouth shut.
I look away, hoping I don’t regret opening up to him.
I truly want to trust him, but if he starts throwing my confessions back at me,
it’s over. I’m not telling him another thing about me.
“All I’m say is that the mind will play tricks on you.
You start to see things that aren’t there because you desperately want to tie
the ends up quickly and move on—”
“Duh...” I
say incredulously. “I’ve heard all the pshyco-bable and worked through my
grief. I’m good.” I breathe. “I get it Josh.
You’re playing devil’s advocate like you’re supposed to, but just hear me out
first.”
Josh looks relieved that I didn’t go all weepy.
I turn my attention back to the photographs. “For some
weird reason, this one stands out in my mind the most.” To make my point, I
reach across the sea of photographs and thump with my finger the picture of me
on the bunny slopes with Mom, our skis are stuck in the snow and we’re munching
on health-bars, and watching the people on the Hochwurzen sled run. I can’t
help but smile as I recall the cute guy in the lobby kiosk selling tickets to
various tourist attractions.
Josh sees me grinning. “What?”
“The hunky tour guy hooked us one day as we made our
way to breakfast. After he gave us his spiel, Pop bought two tickets. The Hochwurzen
sled run is one of the longest sled runs in the Alps.
Mom insisted that she had too much work to do. That she’d been on the run too
many times so it wasn’t a thrill any more. At least Pop was game and we had a
blast! You can go during the day and the night so we went both times. In the
evenings, it is lighted and so beautiful.”
“Very cool.”
“The next picture was taken a little later. Right
before I fell skiing on the Alpine’s intermediate ski slops. You can see part
of the Alpine Chalet Resort on the right.”
“Nice.”
“I remember studying that little sign that we’re
standing next to. If you could see it up close it shows a layout of the
Intermediate slopes with tiny skiers holding numbered placards depicting the
difficulty of each run.”
Josh takes the photo from me and picks up the loupe
holding it close to his eye studying the other people in the photograph.
I point at the steep Intermediate slopes off to the
left. “I thought wow, I can tackle those slopes. The bunny slopes are for
babies. Huh, not! I wiped out big time!” I pull my hand away. It is visibly
shacking.
Josh doesn’t seem to notice. He’s busy scoping the picture
with the little loupe. “If you look real
close there is a man in a black long coat standing off––”
“I know. Wait, use this.” I reach over and flip on the
lighted magnifying glass Pop uses to look at his old stamp collection he’s had
since he was a boy. While Josh is busy
examining the photograph, I rub my temples with my fingers thinking, I really
need some sleep.
“Did you notice the pair of binoculars hanging around
his neck?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh man, Fredi is clearly spying on you guys in this
photo.” Josh places the photo back in
its space. “This really tells us a lot.”
I find my head bobbing. “Yes! Josh,
after Mom left us to go back to our suit, I begged Pop to let me try the
Intermediate slopes. I knew Mom would never let me. And as you know, I wiped
out and cut my head on the stump buried in the snow.”
Josh consults his watch. “Whoa. It’s getting late.”
“Keep talking while we finish faxing the last five
photos to Ivan.”
“Okay, but we need to gather up our stuff and go up to
my bedroom to work on our timeline.”
Josh re-enters the fax number. “You’re right. We are too
close to solving this to stop now. Continue.”
I tuck the sides of my hair behind my ears and pass Josh another photo. “Um, so when Pop saw I was hurt
he wanted to take me straight to the resort’s infirmary, I insisted I was okay
even though while walking through my head throbbed with every step. On the way,
we agreed to go up to our suite to let Mom decide if I needed stitches or just
a band-aid. While we waited for the elevator to come, my knees buckled. I
caught myself by squeezing Pop’s big hand in mine. The elevator stopped on the second
floor and Valentine…I mean Fredi…got on...” I pause. “To put him on the second
floor the same time as us, he either left when he saw Mom leave or what?”
Josh looks at me. “So, the question is… did Fredrik Koshechka
just happen to be waiting for the
elevator or did he boogie up the stairs to follow you to your suite?” He holds
out his hand for another photo.
“That’s it.” We’ve faxed all of the pictures to Ivan. I can’t wait to hear his take on the dark
shadow in all of them.
Josh shuts the lid and clicks off the scanner. He helps me
put the photo back in order, and then follows me back to the living room to get
the rest of our stuff.
I go around turning off just a few lights, since we’ll
be down again, and make sure we have everything. “And now that I know what I
know, my gut tells me Valentine was on his way to
our suite to kidnap Mom and got caught. Why else would he get off on our floor?”
Josh looks thoughtful as I stack empty frames in his
outstretched arms. “Anything’s possible.”
Up the stairs, I pause. Pop’s door is closed, however
TV noises come from his room.
“Is he asleep?”
“No. Pop’s a night owl. He’s just giving us some
space.”
“Ah.”
I flip on lights in my bedroom, dump the shoebox on my
desk and take the frames from Josh. Wait. I hope Josh
doesn’t think that I mean space to be alone.
Josh pulls open the center drawer, takes out two black
markers and closes the drawer. Josh
crosses to our Timeline taped to my wall. He uncaps a black marker. “We have a
lot to add to our timeline.”
I turn and face him. “Yeah. That’s good. Um, and by space I don’t mean to imply anything.
Just that Pop knows how serious we are about this project therefore he stays
out of our hair. So we can work.” I flash a big smile. Shut up Cookie.
Josh smiles back. “So. I think Fredi was in all
probability on to his suite.”
“Or his,” I interject,
and drop to my knees, storing the empty frames under my bed for the mean time.
My mind going back to the Alpine. While Pop struggles to open our door, I turn
and see Valentine strolling down the corridor. He stops at a door, slides a key
card then looks back at winks and me. He was staying just down the hall. I rise
up and blink back to the present.
Josh says something.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
He caps the marker and strolls over to me. “I said if
we think like Jung––”
“I know. There
are no coincidences.”
Josh sits down next to me. “Think about it, a pro like Fredrik Koshechka
wouldn’t stay on the same floor or hotel of his victim. It’d be too risky. Even
in disguises, you guys captured him in amateur photos. The authorities could
trace his movements with security cameras and paperwork.”
I’m shocked that Josh
doesn’t believe me. “But I clearly
remember Valentine sliding a key card into the door right down from ours.” I
stare off at nothing. “You’re right. Does it really matter? I mean at this
point?”
Josh goes back to the Timeline and adds some more
information. I join him and check what he has added. He turns and looks at me
with revelation. “So, it stands to reason Fredrik Koshechka
has been following you since you were born.”
“No… Josh, I think Valentine
was following Ivanova
Artamonov, AKA Mom. He has to
complete his mission. Unfortunately, Pop and I am screwing up his retirement
plans.”
“Ah, I see your
point.”
I return to my bed to ponder. Frustrated, I lean back
and place a throw pillow over my face. After a few minutes, I put the pillow
down and Josh rolls his head to the
side, probably wondering if I’m okay. I ask, “So what will make him stop?”
“A bullet.”
“Yuck!”
“Hey, don’t be bummed.”
“Let’s wait and see what turns up after Ivan has these digitally enhanced the faxed photos. They
have coolest software. Advanced forensic strength deconvolution technology.
I’ve seen it do amazing things to totally blurred photographs by literally
“undoing” the blur and recover lost detail. Josh
digs in his school bag and hands me a brochure.
I read the heading. “Deblurring Images Using the Blind
Deconvolution Algorithm?” I flip through the pages and shoot him a look. “Why
bother? We already know that Valentine is in the
photographs.”
Josh grabs my arm and shakes me. “Come on partner, let’s
keep going. What else happened while
you were in Austria,
I mean out of the ordinary?”
I kick off my shoes, scoot to the head of my bed,
crossing my legs. “I don’t know.” I shut my eyes and frantically search my
memory, remembering how I looked and felt at eight years old. I was a twig, but
cute enough even with my freckled face and long auburn hair, large green eyes
the same color as Pop’s. Oddly, my mind summons up this touching story Mom told
me during the train ride from Vienna
to Schladming. Pop was napping in the next seat. I feel the bed raise up open
my eyes.
Josh goes over to the Timeline, reading over our list of
clues, again.
“Josh, for
some reason, I just thought about a story Mom told me when I was eight. It may
be relevant. Anyway, we were in the train headed to the town of Schladming, Mom is telling
me about the Alpine Chalet Resort. Then she said, want me to tell you a story?”
Josh faces me.
“My mom made up stories to entertain me on long trips.
She was a really good storyteller. Anyway, this one was about a little girl who
was so heartbroken after her family moved to a new country that she decided to
have a funeral for her old life so she could start her new life, clean of her
past memories. I think Mom said the little girl missed her grandmother terribly
or something like that and she was very sad. Anyway, the little girl wrapped
her favorite doll—a special doll her grandmother gave her—in the dress she wore
when they traveled from their motherland. She said that the dress symbolized
the girl she used to be. Then after a brief ceremony which was attended by her
other dolls and stuffed animals, she buried the doll in the backyard under her
mother’s rose garden. Mom said this gave the little girl closure. By burying
her old self, she could go on with
her new life.” I stare at nothing. “Josh, Mom
was telling me about her own life.”
My heart stutters as another piece of the puzzle falls
in to place.
Josh nods his head.
“And because the little girl’s father—a Russian
Diplomat at the time—chose to defect when approached by the CIA operative. The
whole family was put into a protection program by the FBI. They were given
brand new lives... papers... each changed their first names. And last name to
Sheahan. That way they’d fit in smoothly with the growing Irish community in Georgetown and live
happily ever after as an American family until...”
Josh pauses then blinks a couple of times.
“You see it too. I can tell by your stunned
expression.”
He nods his head.
“So there you have it. There’s no doubt that Eva Sheahan
was…is…Ivanova––relentlessly hunted down by the KGB.” I sit up straighter. “Wow. It’s all starting to make sense.
Mom always wore a motion sickness
patches when she traveled.” I put my feet on the floor and push off the bed. My
left foot has fallen asleep. I hobble around to get the blood circulating, all
the information about Mom exploding in my head. Luckily, right now, my brain is
completely numb. Otherwise, I would probably have an aneurism. I sit down and massage
my foot.
Josh is going over the Timeline, adding more data here and
there. I go over and look at what he’s added. He’s taped up a new paper strip
and a whole new list to the left of the original TL. The
header is Eva Sheahan-Blakely Ivanova
Artamonov LIFE EVENTS:
Born
in Nizhny Novgorod Oblast,
Russia father Boris Diplomat
in Moscow: Dec. 25, 1962. Defected to US: 1968, age six, new identity, Eva Sheahan,
Georgetown, Washington, D.C. Parents Murdered in flight Eva survives. College
GRAD Georgetown
University: YOA 20-22 Intern DOD
linguist and train Quantico
special agent code breaker. Married: 1987, age 25, Christopher Alexander
Blakely. Cookie born: 1988, Eva age 26.
There it is. My Mom’s life laid out in a one
paragraph.
Or whatever.
“I can’t help but think
that poor Ivanova was forced lived in the shadows, even from you guys, only to
someday to return Russia. I trust
against her will––or, Cookie, what if your mom wanted to go back?”
“Josh, Mom
was supposed to die with her parents when they were served poisoned
airplane food. Stop with the devil’s advocate. Mom was kidnapped! We have to find her.”
“You’re right. If Ivanova
wanted to return to Russia she
could’ve defected.” Josh laughs
softly. “And with her espionage skills and dossier, to have her on his side, Putin would give his left…”
“A-hem!”
“Fredrik Koshechka didn’t complete his
mission,” Josh says. with a smirk. “Just
saying that must’ve really ticked off the GRU. And even though the old regime fell, the Russian military
never absolved Ivanova’s death sentence.”
“But she was
just a child! It’s so unfair.” I
cover my mouth with my hands. The implications are overwhelming. “If Mom didn’t
suffer from airsickness I wouldn’t be here.”
The floor vibrates with heavy bass.
“Once a
traitor always a traitor,” Josh states bitterly and looks down.
Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra float through the air.
“Pop’s playing his
old swing music albums. Josh, in my
Russian language class, we discussed how Boris Yeltsin
was willing to talk to the President Parks about the KAL 007 crash and the Sverdlovsk anthrax leak. Mr. Vick thinks the Russian
court system under Boris
Yeltsin is foggy at best.”
“Mr.
Vick speaks the truth. With the
new Russian Federation
in charge, I’m not sure if anyone really
knows how their court system works. Huh. I wonder if your Mrs. B was involved
with freeing the POWS transferred to the territory of the U.S.S.R. and kept in
labor camps. Yeltsin said that he could only surmise that some of them may
still be alive.”
“I never thought about that.” I sit down in my dormer
window seat. “Wait…do you think Yeltsin would know anything about Mom’s case?”
Josh comes over and stares out the window. “Of course he
does, but he’s a weak leader, his own people don’t trust him for as far as they
can throw him.”
I look up at Josh
and ask, “The GRU, exactly who were they again?”
Josh looks at me closely as if he’s trying to read my mind,
again. He rolls my desk chair over and sits down. “They’re the Soviet military
intelligence agency. Just picture the bad KGB guys you always see in the James Bond
movies. The GRU works alongside the KGB. The CIA knew that the Russian
government wanted your mom back, that’s why she was so protected everywhere she
went. Think of it as just another case of Russians settling their scores in a
foreign country.”
I get what Josh
is saying. “So, no matter who is in office certain factions will never stop
hating those who don’t follow their beliefs. This can be said of just about any
communist country in the world.”
“Exactly. A Russian reporter who was poking his nose
into the rumors that Russia
has an active chemical weapons program, claimed he was threatened by a former
GRU officer. Then they found him dead.”
“We discuss
stuff like that in Mr.
Vick’s class.” I shake my head in
wonder thinking about Mom’s fate.
Josh frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” I climb out of the window seat.
“Just recalling some other things Mr.
Vick told us about his homeland.”
Josh spins the chair around. “Such as?”
“How on the surface, the current Russian security appears
to be less ruthless.” I say over my shoulder and go back to our growing
Timeline. “Even with the new civil liberties supposedly enforced by the United
Nations, global officials know that under the surface clandestine stuff is brewing
like a biological bomb.”
Josh comes over and uncaps the marker. “Your mom started
working for the government right out of college, what in eighty-three?”
“Um, there abouts,” I say, because I can’t remember
the exact year. “I know how we can find out the exact date.”
Josh follows me downstairs the living room. Pop’s record album is spinning on the turntable. I lift
the arm and shut off the stereo. I peer around the wall. The den door is
closed. Pop is either in there or the kitchen.
I cross to the nook off the far wall and I click on the picture lights above
each framed certificate. Josh is at my
side.
I wave my hand. “These should help
fill in the dates on the timeline.”
“Sweet.” He steps closer to look and starts jotting down
data in his little notebook.
I back up a few steps and sit down on the arm of Pop’s
chair—my legs feel like they’re going to collapse. “Yeah. When the FBI left, we
went through what was left of Mom’s things. We found her FBI training
certificates and honors, her college diploma, awards, yada-yada.” I guess Pop had
everything professional framed and hung them up because he wanted to…um...honor
Mom’s accomplishments.”
A large lump forms in my throat.
I stare across the room though tear blurred vision. I
sniff and Josh turns around and we lock
eyes for a few minuets. “I’m just trying to process all of this.” Then a
horrible thought occurs to me in a wave of nausea and fear. “They will never
stop will they?” I ask wearily.
“Some are merciless and will never stop.” Josh passes me a tissue box sitting on the fireplace
mantle.
“Thanks.” I pull out tissues and blow my nose.
“Hey, don’t forget, we’re not certain of Fredi’s
motives, yet. Dad and Ivan promised
they will get to the bottom of this. Trust them.”
“I do.” I dab at my eyes and cross my arms over my
chest. “I just want to know if Fredrick
Koshechka was the one who did my
grandparents in. If he is—he has to pay for it! I don’t care if he is an old
man.”
Josh goes back to the look at Mom’s wall of fame.
“Is there any way we can find out if Valentine
was on their plane? Don’t airlines keep passenger list?”
“Not back then. It was before TSA.”
I get up and pace the floor. “Why is Fredi Koshechka
after me? I didn’t do anything;
I have never even been on Russian
soil.”
“Good question, we must be missing something.”
I go over and stand in front of him. “Like what?”
Josh is looking at me funny. I grab him by the shoulders. “Just tell me.”
“I was just thinking that it bugs me that you and Mr.
B never actually laid eyes on her again...why...?” Josh’s
voice trails off.
“Uh! That stupid law about transporting the deceased
from country to country!”
He holds up his hands. “I know this is going to sound crazy…
but is there a very good chance that your mom’s body isn’t the person in the casket.”
I nod. “We’ve thought that about a million times too. If
your dad exhumes the casket we will out.” I feel a flood of anger and wave my
arm in the air. “At this point, I just want to know!”
Josh nods his head. “Someone––perhaps Valentine––came to your
suit, knocked Mrs. B unconscious by pressing a cloth soaked with ether and
chlorophyll to her nose and mouth—the oldest trick in the book.”
“Right, then kidnapped her.”
“Let’s say they did haul her back to Russia… by force… because they want
to make her pay for her father’s defection, except she’s more valuable to them
alive.”
I feel my breath catch in my throat and hands fly to
the side of my head. I rake my fingers through my long hair. “Oh my gosh, that has to be it! In my dreams, she’s alive. She’s in a cage.” I
jump up and down. “What if she’s locked up in a Russian prison? My dreams…” I
feel my eyes grow wider. “Josh, Mom has
to be rescued! Now! We have to alert the President… oh God, what if it’s too
late?”
Josh and I stare at each other. The BOOM-BOOM of bass
noise vibrates the air again, this time it’s coming from outside. A car driving
by with loud music. Pop comes out of the den yelling his head off. A few Irish cuss words gush
out and I make a face. “He really hates Rap music.”
