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I’m Scared
“Bic!”
Sophie holds up her arms, and he hoists her up easily. “Are you gonna help your mom clean up Uncle Vic’s office?”
Uncle Vic. Did Dante tell him something? Or is he making assumptions?
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I watch as Vic kisses the top of Sophie’s head and sets her back down. “I’m right across the hall if you need anything,” he tells me, and goesout.
The scope of the work to be done is daunting, but the office isn’t going to clean itself. Rolling up my metaphorical sleeves, I get towork.
* * *
By lunchtime,the office doesn’t look any tidier, but there’s a pattern to the chaos. When Vic walks in, I point a finger at him. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream ofit.”
“Everything on this side has been sorted into categories. Everything on that side still needs to be gone through. Tomorrow, I can keep sorting, or start filing things to clear more space.”
“Do whatever works for you, Heather. You’re in charge. Hey, bro.”
Dante comes in. “Ready toroll?”
“They didn’t eat yet,” Vic objects. “Her or Sophie.”
“They’ll be fed,” Dante says, in what feels to me like a somewhat cryptic tone. “But feel free to send takeout with them if youwant.”
“Good idea. It’ll take you a few minutes to pack everything up anyway. Heather, you like Frenchdip?”
“It’s my favorite.” How did heknow?
“Great. And how about a grilled cheese for the littlelady?”
“Perfect.” Maybe Vic is a food psychic.
It doesn’t take long to pack up Sophie’s toys so Dante can put the playpen in the back of his SUV, but Vic works fast. By the time we’re ready to go, he has a takeout bag to hand to me. Sophie and I each get a kiss on the cheek, and then we’reoff.
At first I assume we’re heading to Izzy’s place, since she talked about meeting again today. A few turns later, though, I’m pretty sure we’re heading in a different direction. Sure enough, we pull up in front of a home I haven’t seen before, in an older neighborhood similar to the one we went through on the way to Dante’s.
It’s a basic ranch house, but immaculately kept. The siding has been recently painted, the roof looks new, and the yard is beautifully landscaped. If whoever lives here ever sells, their realtor will be crowing about pride of ownership.
While we go up the walk to the front door, Dante’s hand rests at the small of my back. My heart speeds up. It’s a casually possessive gesture, but at the same time not casual atall.
The door opens before we can knock or ring the doorbell. A short, softly rounded woman in her sixties stands back to let us in. Like her surroundings, she’s picture perfect, from her clothes to her hair to the subtle hint of perfume she wears.
I’d be intimidated, except that her eyes are sokind.
And then Dante says, “Heather, I’d like you to meet my mother, Carlotta Adamo. Mom, this is Heather Gardner and her daughter Sophie.”
My smile freezes on my face. Carlotta looks from me to her son. “You didn’t tell her whose house you were taking herto?”
Dante opens his mouth and then closes it again. Carlotta lets loose with a stream of Italian. Judging from her tone of voice, she’s dressing him down, not harshly but very firmly.
Since he’s more than a foot taller than she is, it’s hard not to laugh, but I manage it. Barely.
Carlotta turns to me. “Welcome, Heather. It’s a pleasure to have you in my home.” She’s gentle, gracious, and so sincere that I can’t help relaxing.
“Thank you, Mrs. Adamo. It’s a pleasure to meetyou.”
