But me and Cora? Hell, that was another story.
26
Cora
We drove all day and night.
It was a rush at first. As we left the city, I thought about Alex, about how he would’ve loved to have gotten away from all that, how none of this was fair—how he never should’ve ended up on that sidewalk.
And how I was lucky I didn’t end up there with him.
Lucky that I found Reid, as crazy as that sounded.
We left the city and headed west toward Pittsburgh. Neither of us talked about it, and I don’t think it mattered—we wanted to put distance between us and the city, and that was all.
I watched him drive and as the hours ticked past and the miles churned beneath the tires of his black sedan, I saw something strange happen—at first, I thought it was a trick of the light, or maybe my imagination, but he seemed to relax. His shoulders hunched less, his angry face turned into a smile, and I felt a lightness fall over him that I’d never seen. He tended to carry himself with a scowl, like he was always ready to be pissed off at the world, ready for it to fuck with him, but as we got farther away from the city that all seemed to disappear.
We stopped for gas and food, and through silent agreement chose to keep driving through the night. He drank coffees, paid for in cash that he had hidden all over the safehouse, and listened to the radio. I slept for a little while after we ate fast food for dinner, licking French fry grease from our fingertips and laughing as we tossed the trash into the back seat.
Around three in the morning, he pulled off the turnpike at a small town on the Ohio border and found a late-night diner, its bright neon lights shining like a beacon, trucks parked in the back, big metal slabs covered its front. He took the spot right in front of the door and got out. I followed and we headed inside. It was quiet, a couple of guys in flannel and denim at the counter, a bored-looking waitress staring at her phone. He sat at a booth and asked for coffee and apple pie when the waitress appeared. I asked for a hamburger and a diet Coke.
He tilted his head and reached out a hand. I took his hand, squeezed it, and leaned across the table to kiss him.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
The question took me by surprise. “I don’t know.”
“I’m happy.” He laughed softly, grinning like a little boy. “Do you know the last time I said those words? Hell, the last time it even occurred to me that happiness was something I’d ever have?”
“I can’t imagine.” I shook my head and smiled back. “Yeah, I’m happy too.”
“I wanted to ask you something, but you might think it’s stupid.”
“Go ahead and ask. At this point, I don’t think you could surprise me.”
He released my hands and stood up. I looked at him, not sure what he was doing, and my heart began to beat faster as he dropped to one knee. “Cora, I want you to marry me.”
I laughed a little. “We’re already married,” I said, reaching to touch the ring on my finger—but realized it was gone.
He reached into his pocket and held it up. “For real this time. We’ll do a ceremony, or however you want to do it, but this’ll be on our terms. None of that fake, arranged marriage mafia bullshit. Just me and you.”
I sucked in a breath and nodded. “Of course.”
He slid the ring on my finger. “I love you. I don’t think I’ve said it yet, but I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He kissed me, and I heard the truckers and the waitress clapping. I laughed, smiled, waved at them, and he grinned. She brought over our drinks, his apple pie, and a slice of cheesecake, “On the house, hon.”
He sat back down and took a big sip of his coffee. I watched him, at his rough body, at his rumpled clothes, at his handsome lips and hair, and I wondered how this happened—how we found each other.
“I hated you, you know,” I said, voice soft. “When we first met.”
“I hated you too. Well, I was happy you weren’t ugly.”
“But it wasn’t really you, it was all of you. All you mafia guys.” I chewed my lip and realized something. It hit me, nearly overwhelming, and I knew without a doubt that we’d made the right choice—because if we hadn’t, we never could have been happy. Even if we made all the right choices, the families, the crews, they would’ve torn us apart. I would’ve hated him, resented him, and sooner or later, he would’ve felt it and returned the feeling.
There was no other way. We had to leave if we ever wanted to have a chance to be happy together, and now we did it. We did it, and we’re free.
“I’m sorry your friend couldn’t see this,” he said. “I’m sure he would’ve been happy.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. He would’ve wanted me to get out.”
“You know something? I’ve never been out of Philly before.”
I snorted. “Really?”
“Seriously. Never had a reason to. That was my whole damn world.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” He leaned toward me. “So where do you want to be?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“How’s California sound? Or maybe Seattle?”
“Seattle,” I said, not sure why. “Let’s go to Seattle.”
“Sounds good to me.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’ve got money, you know. Got a few hundred thousand in the bank. I’ll take it out over the next few weeks, never stay in one spot for long. I figured we’ll drive around for the next month, slowly make our way out west. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like fun. Can we see the Grand Canyon?”
“Cora, darling, we can see whatever the fuck you want.”
I laughed, ate my cheesecake, drank my diet Coke, and let myself hope—for the first time in my entire life—that things might be better for me, that I might let myself be happy.
When we finished, he paid the bill and led me back to the car. We got inside and started driving, and I fell asleep with my head against the window, a smile on my lips.
27
Cora
Two Years Later
I stood at the front window tapping nervously against my thigh. The house was quiet and dark and always felt so empty when Reid was working—which was more and more these days. Not that I minded, it kept him out of trouble and brought in a lot of money, but sometimes I felt lonely.
That lonely feeling wouldn’t last long. I chewed on my lip and felt a thrill when I saw the headlights of his limo round the corner and park in the driveway. Ever since we landed in Seattle, he’d thrown himself into business driving clients around, starting out with a tiny fleet of one single car, and building it up to where it was today: ten cars, ten drivers, including his own. They were doing fantastic business and he seemed to love it, though it kept him out at odd hours sometimes.
He slammed the door shut and came up the front porch steps. They creaked under his weight the way they always did, and I’d begun to associate that sound with joy—pure, unbridled joy at having him come home. I stood in the living room, nervously shifting from foot to foot, as he came inside and stomped his boots to get the rain off then sat on the front step and peeled them off.