CHAPTER p [hree schlimazel (n.) a person who suffers from bad luck Wla, A\s THE DEADBOLT LOCKED INTO place, I wondered what happened to good ol’ Russian hospitality. They hadn’t even offered me anything to eat. Practically blasphemous, I’d learned from growing up in a Russian household, especially from a couple who seemed very in touch with their religious side. With the weight of my papa’s secret sitting heavy on my heart and the obvious fact I wasn’t welcome here, a pathetic part of me wanted to listen and just go home. But if I returned now... . Pd dream. Pd wonder. Pd carry on existing. And I wanted to live for a change. Just for a few days. Before The Moorings sucked me back into its passionless hole. Before I married Carter Kingston, had two-point-five kids, and drowned in social luncheons, pastelcolored cardigans, and ropes of pearls. The iron gate swung back and forth in the icy breeze. Squeeaak. Clank. Squeeaak. Clank. I slipped my duffle bag over my shoulder, put my numb hands in my pockets, and started to walk in the hope of finding some form of