Surprise Melody Flintkote. Part Two
Copyright© 2019 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 25
A set of grandparents more unusual than Kris’ would be hard to find.
After the Great Patriotic War, Comrade Kucherenko, undeterred by the travesty that was Stalin, continued to support and even honor the cause. His son, a Young Communist, met and married a beautiful Odessa University student ... a native Ukrainian. Not what daddy wanted. But, as things go, a grand daughter was born ... and not out of time.
Grandmother (babushka) and grandfather (dedushka) Kucherenko had been hard-line communists. They were responsible for Consul General Kucherenko’s position before the CCCP disolution and abandonment of outlying states. It was possible to see the stern resolution in Grandfather ... he was not happy with the way life had turned out. He fervently wished ... indeed ... prayed ... as much as a communist could ... for the return of Marxist rule.
Grandma (ba-bu’-sya) and Grandpa (di’-du-s) Hordiyenko were aristocrats of the old style. That they had existed through the purges and takeover was the stuff of legend. After the failure of the CCCP, their influence had kept their son-in-law in his position as Consul General.
The only thing they held in common was their love for their sole surviving grandchild. We had been grilled by daddy ... the inquisition the grandparents put us through ... oh my. Daddy was a lamb ... we were sitting with the hungriest of lions.
The questioning began with, “How do you afford such a boat?”
“Insurance payoff,” I said.
“Mind your manners, young lady, I was talking to your elder.”
“Who? Cynthia?”
“Your brother.”
“Ah ... the middle child, poor boy.”
“Middle child? But he is so much bigger. How can he be younger?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed ... we’re triplets,” Cyn said. Cyn was midterm pregnant ... beginning a belly but still able to sleep at night. Cyn looks more content than she did when hormones took over. She still looks like mom ... but relaxed. I imagine that will change the closer to term she gets.
In a change of tactics, he switched from we three as persons to our parentage. “Flintkote? What kind of a name is that?”
I stuck my finger in his nose and used leverage to lift him off the settee, “You can work us over to your black hearts content,” I snarled, “But you keep daddy out of this. Daddy was an honorable man. Not that you would know the term.” Then I set him back on his cushion and made a feeble attempt at smoothing his feathers.
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