The Cheesemaker's Daughter by Kristin Vukovic

Author:Kristin Vukovic
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2024-05-20T17:08:08+00:00

Chapter Ten

On New Year’s Day, Dragica made palačinke for breakfast, rolled with fresh, creamy skuta and homemade jam. Marina had attempted to make the crepes in New York, but the flour was different, the butter was different, or maybe it was the milk. She could never replicate the recipe with American ingredients, it just didn’t taste right. Besides, skuta was impossible to find, even in the city. How was it that she could find burrata from Italy in specialty stores, but not her beloved sheep’s milk ricotta?

Nikola was immersed in the newspaper, reading about the former prime minister’s corruption scandal that broke the day before New Year’s Eve. Franko emerged from his bedroom and sat down at the dining table. He picked at a thread coming loose from Grandma Maržić’s crocheted tablecloth. Marina glanced at him and quickly averted her eyes. Last night’s brawl was written across his face.

Dragica emerged from the kitchen. “Bože moj!” she exclaimed, almost dropping the plate of palačinke.

Franko’s left eye was different shades of purple. Her brother looked almost clown-like with his swollen, red nose, the eye patch-shaped bruise. Nikola lowered the newspaper and stared calmly at his son. Franko had had his share of scuffles in the schoolyard, and after the war, his aggression intensified. He was a reckless boy, and the war had unleashed something inside him, or maybe the conflict itself was the root. He carried the fury everywhere, ready to boil over at any slight.

“What happened?” Dragica said, setting down the plate in front of him and caressing his hair. “Let’s get you some ice.”

Marina hated how her mother babied her brother.

“It’s nothing, Mama,” Franko said.

“Your eye says otherwise,” Dragica said, frowning.

“We ran into that Janković bastard,” Franko said.

“He made a problem?” Nikola asked, smoothing his mustache. He lit a new cigarette, which was ready, resting on the edge of the almost-full ashtray.

“He thinks he’s better than us just because they won the World Cheese Awards, and his wife disrespected Marina,” Franko said.

“We really shouldn’t have gone there,” Marina said, taking a bite of crepe.

She wished she could take back the night.

“Now we can’t go to Zrće because of your boyfriend?” Franko said, his eyes narrowing.

Marina stopped chewing. Her temples pulsed. So much for the truce with her brother. More than anything, she wanted to call Luka, to ask if he was okay. But seeing him with his arm around his wife—glimpsing that small window into his life—had left her bereft.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and there’s nothing going on between us,” Marina said, narrowing her eyes. “But you had to start something, didn’t you? You couldn’t help yourself.”

“He’s not going to disrespect our family,” Franko said.

“There’s no disrespect. Why do you have to make everything a fight?” Marina said, raising her voice.

“What did he say?” Dragica said.

“His wife called Marina a slut,” Franko said.

Marina looked down at her plate, feeling her mother’s gaze. A long moment of silence passed. Nikola smoothed his mustache.

“Marina, I’ve heard the rumors,” Nikola said, his voice heavy.

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