“How long’s it been since you lived here?” Not that it matters much to me, but I hate the idea of her living with the fucker who told the Italian scum where to find her instead of protecting her; the dickhead who almost forced her to let him work his perverted fantasies on her.
“A few years. I’ve been living with Alvin …” Her voice dies and she purses her lips. “How’s he doing?”
“His jaw’s wired shut, which I assume is a major reason he isn’t singing like a bitch to the cops, but I have men watching him.” Men ordered to shoot first and then ask questions if he even crosses the road heading toward the police department.
She clears her throat and looks down at her hands folded in her lap. “I didn’t know he was like that … with the sex stuff.”
If she thinks I didn’t know that, she must think I don’t know her at all. She’s a playful lover and she enjoys a toy or two—thank God—but getting her freak on her way doesn’t mean being assaulted by a toy the length and width of her thigh. He could’ve killed her with that thing.
He’s lucky I didn’t kill him for it. Maybe I still will. Depends on when and under what circumstances I run into him next.
“I should go.” She motions with her head toward the door.
“I’ll get your bag.” I stowed it in the trunk because I planned for a last kiss as I pulled it out. No. That was the second-to-last. The last one would come at the door.
But before I can lean in under the porch light, the door swings open from the inside and her dad slaps a hand on my shoulder.
“As I live and breathe! If it isn’t Tommy Dubrovsky.” He’s squeezing hard. Maybe he hasn’t quite forgiven me for breaking her heart all those years ago. “Come on in.”
I look at Corrie. This wasn’t the deal. This wasn’t what we agreed on and I want to make sure it’s okay with her. She shrugs.
“Alright.”
Corrie takes her bag and Arthur steps out the door and, with a hand on my chest, pushes me back. “Before you come inside, Tommy …” He looks over his shoulder to make sure Corinne has gone inside.
When he turns back to me, his voice is pitched lower, quieter. “I know it’s been a long time, but I want to thank you for the money for Corrie’s college. I would’ve never been able to send her without your help.”
“It was the least I could do. I only ever wanted the best for her.” That’s not a lie.
“I hated lying to her.” Arthur’s lips are pursed, and his eyes are lowered. “But her future …”
I nod. We concocted the plan the night I came by with the money. A night I knew Corrie was at work at the horse farm. “It was for the best. Still is.”
I want to make sure we agree. Corrie never needs to know that I was the one who funded her college education.
Arthur nods and I think how much he looks like her. Blond. Big brown eyes. She’s a hundred percent Arthur. She even has his smile. “Now, Mikaela has some apple pie right out of the oven. Can’t let you leave until you come in and have a piece.”
Even if I wanted to refuse, there isn’t time before he propels me inside, through a time warp, back to the best days of my life.
11
Corinne
It’s an odd thing to wake up in the morning with my life so out of sorts that I’m back in my childhood room at home. Especially with how innocent all the stuff in here looks. Old computer manuals stacked up on the shelves, clothes I haven’t worn in decades hanging in the closet… It’s all a reminder of a past life. A simpler life.
The life Tomas ruined when he left.
I shudder and get out of bed quickly. I can’t stop thinking about what I overheard last night. I wanted to thank you for the money for Corrie’s college. When my dad said that, my heart plummeted.
I’d actually, honest-to-goodness spent years believing the story he and my mom told me. I should’ve known better. A rich uncle no one has heard of leaving an inheritance behind that miraculously had the exact right amount to pay for my college education?
Uh, hello! How could I be so stupid? That kind of thing happens exclusively in Hallmark movies. Not in real life. Not in my life.
Part of me is mad. They lied to me. If I’d known it was Tomas’s money, I never would’ve taken it.
But when I get downstairs and see my dad on the couch, my rage fades away. He looks so old sitting there in his favorite spot beneath the lamp, doing his crossword puzzle. He’s my dad. He did what he thought was best for me.
He looks up when he hears me enter the room. “Morning, sunshine!” he greets.
I go slump into the couch next to him and squeeze him in a tight hug for a long minute. Then I pull back and smile. There are a thousand things I want to say. That he shouldn’t have lied to me about the money. That we’re a family and they consciously excluded me from what can only be called—even after all these years—family business. That I should’ve had a vote in whether or not we took the money for my education.
I can’t honestly say what I would’ve chosen back then. Without that money, I wouldn’t have made it to school. Not the one I went to, anyway.
But I don’t say anything at all because I don’t know how to speak up about this without sounding ungrateful.
He pats my hand. “You’re awful loving this morning.”
I stand and stretch. “Just missed you, that’s all. I should get going though.”
“Why so early?” Because he’s the dad he’s always been, he knows I’m lying. Knows I don’t need to leave right now. But he’ll let it go. Because that’s also part of the dad he’s always been.
It’s not the only question he wants to ask. I told him that Alvin and I got into a huge argument the night of the wedding and that we needed some time apart to think things over. It sounded bogus even as I was saying it, but he and Mom seemed to take it in stride, at least as far as I could tell. At the very least, it bought me a little bit of time to think of a better explanation.
“I haven’t been at work for a week, and I probably have a lot to catch up on.” Mostly, though, I just can’t wait to get back to normal. This whole wedding/husband/murderers—plural—in my hotel room is something I want to put behind me. That means a new place to live, standing on my own, not in my old bedroom at Mom and Dad’s, and getting back to work. This is my first step.
It almost didn’t happen, either. I told Tomas I intended to go back to work and he flat-out told me that wasn’t possible. We’d fought about it for a while, but eventually he relented when I agreed that he could station some guys in and around my building to keep an eye on me.
So that’s one piece of normality. My plan is to use the ride to work to process the rest of the decisions I have to make, to figure out how I feel about it all. Sixty minutes should be enough time to work out the history of my life and the lines zigzagging from one issue to another and another, right?
“Alright, honey,” he says with another one of his warm smiles. I squeeze his hand.
“I’ll see you tonight, Dad.”
“You’re not going to see Tomas tonight?” His genuine curiosity is fine with me, but I honestly don’t know. We haven’t talked about our relationship or the things that happened between us or even when or if we’re going to see each other again.