“Please give your husband our regards,” her husband adds. “The Hartwells.”
Stunned by the about-face, I just nod again.
At this point, I’m aware that a lot of people in the dining area are staring at me, just like last time—but their attitudes are markedly different this go-round. Apparently being Dante’s wife means I’m suddenly worth their time.
The hostess seats me and I order a bottle of rosé, along with two fingers of whiskey neat.
“And two place settings, please. I’ll order now, too.”
“Of course.”
Without even consulting a menu, I order a carb fest of Italian comfort food classics: pasta carbonara, lasagna, fried ravioli, garlic knots, and two desserts, which I request to be brought out along with the meal—tiramisu and profiteroles. I need all the sugar and starch I can stand to help process what I’d overheard.
A waiter returns to pour the wine just as Charlie shows up and slides into the booth.
“Hey, you,” she says, setting her purse on the seat and sipping her wine.
I’m so relieved to see her that tears sting my eyes. She takes one look at me and her forehead creases.
“What’s wrong, Frankie?”
It’s impossible to speak with how upset I am, so I drain half my glass first, clearing my throat after I set it down. “Before I get into all that, we need to talk about Livvie. One of us has to take her. She cannot stay home alone with Dad. Not anymore. So either I take her or you do.”
“Okay, I’ll talk it over with—”
“No. There’s no time for that. Like, this has to happen tonight.”
Charlie scoots closer and swallows hard. “What did he do?”
“You sure you really want to know?”
I polish off my wine and reach for the bottle for a refill. She puts her hand over mine.
“Listen,” she says quietly. “My husband is off on some mysterious work trip for an ‘indeterminate amount of time.’ His words, not mine. But you know Livvie won’t leave her horses longer than one night, so why don’t I just move back into the house for now? That would be easier than running her back and forth every day.”
My throat is dry, despite the wine. I nod. “Okay. For now.”
“You’re scaring me, Frankie. You weren’t even this upset when you found out about your surprise wedding.”
I give a humorless smile. “This is just a tad worse than that.”
Our food shows up before I get a chance to elaborate. My sister sits back frowning as the waiters set down the dishes, top off our wine, grate us some fresh parmesan, and finally leave.
“Were you expecting someone else? Perhaps an entire army?” my sisters asks. “This is a lot of food.”
Twirling spaghetti around my fork, I wave off her sarcasm. “Just shut up and eat.”
Hesitantly, she picks up her fork and stabs a ravioli. I sample each of the dishes, but my heart’s not really in it. Finally, Charlie sets her fork down with a clank and stares at me. I pause mid-bite. She gives me an eye roll when I gesture to her empty plate.
“That lasagna isn’t going to eat itself.”
“Frankie, come on. You’ve got me so worried about what’s going on that I can’t eat, okay? Whatever it is, just spill it.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” I wipe my mouth and grasp the stem of my wineglass. Glancing around first to make sure no one is listening in, I lower my voice to a whisper. “I overheard Dad talking to one of his bookies. He said that…that he knew the name of the person who tampered with Enzo Bellanti’s car. It had to be what caused the accident that night, right?”
We lock eyes. Charlie’s face goes white.“I don’t know. Maybe Dad was just gossiping.”
“No. Herecommendedthe guy’s ‘services,’ Char. What does that sound like to you?”
